The Chefs Obsessive Don

The Claiming

The lawyer arrived at noon.

He was not what I expected. No silver tongue, no shark smile, no expensive suit that screamed I make my living from other people's suffering. Instead, he was a small, rumpled man with thick glasses and stains on his tie, carrying a battered leather briefcase that looked older than I was.

"Signorina De Luca," he said, extending a hand that trembled slightly. "I am Cesare Lombardi. I was your father's attorney for twenty years."

I shook his hand. His palm was damp. "You knew him?"

"I knew the man he became in prison. I cannot speak to the man he was before." He set his briefcase on the kitchen counter my kitchen now, the cathedral kitchen in Dante's fortress and opened it with a click. "Shall we begin?"

Dante stood behind me, a silent presence. He had offered to leave, to give me privacy, but I had refused. If I was going to claim my father's empire, I was going to do it with my partner at my side.

"The assets," Lombardi said, pulling out a stack of documents thick as a novel, "are considerable. Three vineyards, as I'm sure you've been told. The shipping company operates out of Palermo and Naples. The real estate includes commercial properties in Rome, Milan, and Turin, as well as residential holdings throughout Sicily."

He spread the documents across the counter. I saw numbers that made my head spin millions, tens of millions, amounts I had never imagined in my poorest days as a culinary student.

"There is also," Lombardi continued, lowering his voice, "the other assets."

"The other assets?"

He glanced at Dante, then back at me. "Loans. Debts. Favors owed. Your father was… meticulous. He kept records of every transaction, every promise, every threat. Those records are as valuable as the properties. Perhaps more so."

I picked up one of the documents. It was a list of names dozens of them with numbers and dates scrawled beside them in cramped handwriting.

"These are people who owe my father money?"

"These are people who owe your father everything." Lombardi adjusted his glasses. "Politicians. Judges. Police commissioners. Men in your fiancé's organization, if you'll forgive my saying so, Don Gallo."

Dante's hand tightened on my shoulder. "I know."

"You knew?" I turned to look at him.

"I knew your father had connections throughout the underworld. I didn't know the full extent." His gray eyes met mine. "No one did. He kept his secrets well."

I looked back at the list. At the names of men who had power, who made decisions that affected thousands of lives. Men who were beholden to my dead father and now, by extension, to me.

"What do I do with this?" I asked.

Lombardi spread his hands. "That is not my place to say. I am here to transfer the assets, not to advise on their use. But I will tell you what I told your father, many times: power is a weapon. Use it carelessly, and it will cut you. Use it well, and it will protect everyone you love."

I stared at the documents for a long moment. Then I picked up a pen.

"Where do I sign?"

Dante’s POV

I watched her sign her name Sofia Elena De Luca on page after page, document after document. Her hand was steady, her face calm. She looked like a woman who had been preparing for this moment her entire life, even though she had known about it for less than a day.

When the last signature was dry, Lombardi packed his briefcase and left. The door closed behind him, and the kitchen fell silent.

"It's done," Sofia said. She was staring at the stack of documents, her expression unreadable.

"It's done," I agreed.

"I own a shipping company."

"You own a shipping company that launders money."

"I own three vineyards."

"You own three vineyards that produce excellent wine. I've had the '04 Barolo. It's exceptional."

She turned to look at me, and I saw the tremor beneath the calm. "I own debts. Favors. Leverage over men who could destroy us."

"Yes."

"I own a legacy of violence and blood and”Her voice broke. "I didn't ask for any of this, Dante."

I crossed to her and took her in my arms. She pressed her face against my chest, and I felt her tears soak through my shirt.

"I know," I said. "I know you didn't ask for it. But you're not alone. You will never be alone in this."

She pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "What do I do now?"

"Now, we tell the Colonnas. We call a meeting. We present your claim." I cupped her face in my hands. "And then we dare them to challenge it."

She took a breath. Then another. I watched her pull herself together, piece by piece, until the woman who stood before me was not the crying chef or the frightened daughter, but someone new. Someone harder. Someone who looked like she could run an empire.

"Call the meeting," she said. "I'll be ready."

The meeting was set for three days later.

In those three days, I learned more about my father's empire than I had learned about anything in my life. Lombardi returned with ledgers and files, explaining the intricacies of money laundering and loan sharking, of political bribes and judicial favors. I took notes until my hand cramped. I asked questions until my throat was raw.

And every night, Dante held me while I slept, chasing away the nightmares of a man I had never known.

The morning of the meeting, I stood in front of the mirror in our bedroom and studied my reflection. I wore a black dress severe, elegant, the kind of dress that said I am not here to be your friend. My hair was pulled back in a tight knot. My makeup was minimal but precise.

Signora Conti had taught me how to dress for war.

"You look like a don," Dante said from the doorway.

I turned. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, his hair swept back, his face a mask of calm authority. But his eyes those gray, gray eyes were soft.

"I look like a woman who is about to walk into a room full of men who want her dead," I said.

"You look like a woman who is about to make them regret that."

I crossed to him and straightened his tie. "Are you nervous?"

"I'm terrified." He caught my hands and held them. "But not of them. Of losing you."

"You're not going to lose me." I rose on my toes and kissed him soft, quick, a promise. "Now let's go meet the wolves."

The meeting was held in a villa outside Palermo, neutral ground, owned by a family that had no stake in the Colonna-Gallo conflict. The room was large, with high ceilings and windows that looked out over a garden full of dying roses. A long table dominated the center, surrounded by chairs that were already filling with men in dark suits.

I counted twelve Colonnas. Their capos, their soldiers, their advisors. They looked at me as I entered Dante's hand on the small of my back, my spine straight, my face calm and I saw the calculation in their eyes.

She's young. She's weak. She's a woman. She doesn't belong here.

I smiled at them, and the smile did not reach my eyes.

"Thank you for coming," I said, taking my seat at the head of the table. Dante sat to my right. Enzo stood against the wall behind us, his hand on his gun. "I know this is unconventional."

"Unconventional," one of the Colonnas a fat man with a red face and small, mean eyes scoffed. "You're a cook. A woman. You have no place in this business."

I turned to look at him. "And you are?"

"Salvatore Colonna. Your father's cousin."

"Then you know, Cousin Salvatore, that my father named me his heir. His assets his debts, his favors, his power now belong to me." I folded my hands on the table. "You can accept that, or you can fight it. But if you fight it, you fight me. And if you fight me, you fight him."

I nodded toward Dante. Salvatore's face purpled.

"You think because you spread your legs for a Gallo, you have the right to”

Dante was on his feet before I could react, his gun drawn, the barrel pressed against Salvatore's forehead. The room went still.

"Finish that sentence," Dante said, his voice soft and deadly, "and I will paint this table with your brains."

Salvatore's mouth opened and closed. No sound came out.

"Sit down, Dante." I kept my voice calm, even. "He's not worth the bullet."

Dante didn't move for a long moment. Then he stepped back, reholstered his gun, and sat.

I looked around the table. The Colonnas were watching me differently now. The calculation was still there, but beneath it, something else.

Fear.

"I am not my father," I said. "I am not a Colonna. I am not a Gallo. I am Sofia De Luca, and I am claiming what is mine by blood and by law." I stood, my hands flat on the table. "I am not asking for your approval. I am telling you how it's going to be."

Salvatore found his voice. "And if we refuse?"

I smiled the same cold, empty smile.

"Then I will destroy you."

The room was silent. Even the dying roses outside seemed to hold their breath.

Finally, an older man at the far end of the table a man with white hair and a face like cracked leather spoke.

"She has the stones," he said. "That's more than Antonio ever had."

He stood and extended his hand across the table.

"I'm Matteo Colonna. I was your father's consigliere. I'll serve you, if you'll have me."

I walked to him and shook his hand. His grip was firm, his eyes clear.

"I'll have you," I said. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"You call me Don Sofia."

Matteo's mouth twitched. Then he laughed a genuine laugh, warm and surprised.

"Don Sofia," he repeated. "I like it."

One by one, the other Colonnas stood. Some shook my hand. Some just nodded. Some left the room without a word.

Salvatore was the last to rise. He looked at me with naked hatred, his face still flushed with humiliation.

"This isn't over," he said.

"No," I agreed. "It's not. But for today, it is."

He left. The door closed behind him, and I was alone with Dante and Matteo and the ghost of my father.

I sat down heavily in the nearest chair and put my head in my hands.

"You did it," Dante said, kneeling beside me. "You claimed your inheritance."

"I did it." I looked up at him. "Now what?"

"Now, we plan." Matteo sat across from me, his weathered face serious. "Salvatore won't accept this. He'll try to take what's yours. He'll try to kill you."

"Let him try." I straightened my spine. "I have a shipping company. I have three vineyards. I have debts and favors and a man with a gun who loves me." I glanced at Dante. "I think I can handle one fat cousin with a grudge."

Matteo laughed again. "Antonio would have hated you."

"I know." I stood and offered him my hand. "Welcome to the family, Matteo."

He took my hand and shook it.

"Don Sofia," he said, and the title sounded like respect.

Outside, the sun broke through the clouds, lighting the dying roses in gold.

It was not an ending.

It was a beginning.