“Okay, the sauce is done,” Dante said, stepping back and wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “What’s next, Chef Isabella?”
I grinned at his mock title. “Lock it in the container and make sure it doesn’t spill all over the car.”
Dante nodded approvingly, helping me pour the sauce into a sleek, insulated carrier that looked like it belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant. I admired it for a moment before snapping it shut.
“There. Perfect,” he said, giving the carrier an affectionate pat.
“Now for the hard part,” I muttered, glancing toward the door.
“What hard part?” Dante asked, leaning against the counter.
“Getting this to Alessio,” I said. “He’s always so...particular. What if he hates it?”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “He’s not going to hate it. Trust me, Alessio eats to survive, n
