Chapter 2 - THE MAN IN ANTONIO'S STUDY
“It was Matteo.”
Teresa's voice was barely audible.
But Luca heard every word.
He stood beside the warming station, one hand resting protectively against his mother's back.
“Matteo?”
Teresa nodded.
“Your brother was in the study with Vanessa yesterday.”
Across the dining room, a chair scraped against the marble floor.
Matteo Moretti had been sitting near the far end of the table, quietly watching everything unfold.
He was thirty-four, four years younger than Luca, with the same dark hair and his father's brown eyes.
For seven years, he'd managed Antonio's original automotive repair shop.
He was also the one person Luca had trusted to keep their father's business exactly as Antonio had left it.
“Matteo,” Luca said. “Come here.”
His brother hesitated.
Then he stood.
Vanessa immediately stepped forward.
“Luca, your mother is confused. Matteo was helping me prepare a surprise for you.”
Teresa's fingers tightened around Luca's hand.
“I know what I saw.”
Something in her voice made Matteo look away.
Luca turned toward him.
“Were you in Dad's study yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“With Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Matteo glanced at the small covered bowl.
“We were looking for Dad's pocket watch.”
Luca frowned.
“What pocket watch?”
“The gold one he wore every Sunday. Vanessa thought you might want it for the engagement photographs.”
For a moment, Luca's expression softened.
Antonio's watch had been in the family for decades.
He'd worn it while repairing engines, eating Sunday dinner, and teaching both his sons how to change a tire.
After his death, nobody had touched it.
“Then why didn't you tell me?” Luca asked.
“Because it was supposed to be a surprise.”
Teresa shook her head.
“That isn't all you were doing.”
Matteo looked at her.
“Mom.”
“I saw Vanessa holding that bowl. And there was a little yellow jar beside it.”
The chef, Peter Kline, looked up sharply.
“A yellow jar?”
Teresa nodded.
“With a green label.”
Peter glanced at the covered dish.
Then at Luca.
“Sir, may I open this?”
Luca stepped aside.
“Please.”
Peter lifted the silver lid.
Inside was a thick reddish sauce covering several small pieces of meat.
At first glance, it looked ordinary.
Then Peter leaned closer.
His expression changed.
“That's unusual.”
“What?” Luca asked.
“There are ground nuts mixed into the sauce.”
Teresa made a small sound.
“Oh, dear God.”
Luca turned toward her.
She gripped his sleeve.
“Walnuts.”
Nobody moved.
Then Matteo whispered, “What?”
Teresa pointed toward the bowl.
“Antonio used to make a walnut sauce for himself. But he always kept it separate.”
Her eyes filled.
“Because Luca couldn't have it.”
I looked at my employer.
His face had gone pale.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet.
“I've had a severe walnut allergy since I was eleven.”
Peter immediately replaced the lid.
“I can't identify the ingredient with certainty just by looking. Nobody should touch this food until it's checked.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“I'll secure it, sir.”
Luca nodded.
“Keep the bowl, spoon, and anything it came with. And contact the authorities. I want this examined properly.”
Vanessa gave a sharp laugh.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
Luca turned.
“Is it?”
“You're treating a dinner mistake like some terrible crime.”
“My mother spent thirteen hours making food you destroyed. Then you brought me something that might contain an ingredient that could put me in the hospital.”
Vanessa's expression flickered.
“I didn't prepare that food.”
“You brought it here.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“You told the chef to serve it only to me.”
She stopped speaking.
For several seconds, the only sound was the quiet hum of the warming station.
Then Matteo said, “Vanessa told me the dish came from a restaurant.”
Luca looked at him.
“What restaurant?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't ask?”
“I didn't think I needed to.”
Luca stared at his brother.
“You were standing beside her in Dad's study while she prepared something for me, and you didn't ask what it was?”
Matteo lowered his eyes.
“I thought she was trying to do something nice.”
Teresa slowly released Luca's sleeve.
“Your father always said something nice shouldn't have to be hidden from the people it was meant to help.”
Matteo looked at her.
For the first time that evening, he seemed genuinely ashamed.
Then Peter spoke again.
“Mr. Moretti, there's something underneath the bowl.”
He carefully lifted the porcelain dish from its silver serving tray.
A folded white card lay beneath it.
The paper was expensive, with a narrow gold border.
Peter handed it to Luca.
Luca unfolded it.
His jaw tightened.
I watched his eyes move across the writing.
Then he looked at his mother.
“Mom, did you write this?”
Teresa adjusted her glasses.
He held the card closer.
She read it slowly.
Her face changed.
“What is it?” I asked.
She didn't answer.
Luca turned the card toward us.
In neat blue handwriting, someone had written:
Antonio's Sunday gravy.
Prepared with love for my son, Luca.
Please serve his portion first.
Underneath was a signature.
Teresa Moretti.
For several seconds, I couldn't understand what I was seeing.
It was exactly how Teresa had described serving Antonio's sauce that morning.
Exactly how she'd always served Luca first.
And the handwriting looked like hers.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“There. You see? Teresa wanted to surprise you.”
Teresa shook her head.
“No.”
Vanessa pointed at the card.
“That's your handwriting.”
“It is.”
The room fell silent.
Luca looked at his mother.
“Mom?”
Teresa took the card.
Her hands trembled as she studied it.
Then she looked toward Matteo.
“I know where this came from.”
His expression tightened.
“Mom, please.”
She ignored him.
“Vanessa asked me to write something for the engagement last Tuesday.”
I remembered that afternoon.
Teresa had been sitting at her little writing desk, carefully making notes while Vanessa stood beside her.
“She said she wanted a message for the wedding program,” Teresa continued.
She looked at Luca.
“I wrote those exact words. But I wasn't writing about that dish.”
Luca slowly turned toward Vanessa.
“Then what were they for?”
Teresa swallowed.
“For a little recipe card. Vanessa said she wanted everyone to have something from our family.”
Vanessa's face had gone completely still.
I looked at the bowl.
Then at the card.
Suddenly, I understood.
Someone had taken Teresa's genuine handwriting and attached it to food she had never prepared.
Food that might seriously harm her son.
Luca looked toward Daniel.
“Find the original recipe card.”
Daniel nodded.
Then Peter leaned closer to the folded paper.
“Sir?”
Luca turned.
Peter pointed to a faint line printed beneath Teresa's signature.
It was so small that none of us had noticed it.
I stepped closer.
Four words were printed in gray ink.
Special dietary exception authorized.
Luca read them twice.
Then he looked at Matteo.
“Who authorized that?”
His brother didn't answer.
And for the first time, I noticed that Matteo wasn't looking at Vanessa anymore.
He was looking toward the end of the dining table.
At the older man sitting quietly beside Vanessa's empty chair.
May you like
Her father.
Enzo Bellini.
