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“What does that mean?”
“Vito’s cool and in control at all times. This guy is . . . not.”
I heard a loud voice through the walls. “Is that him?”
“Yes. He’s done nothing but yell at the kitchen staff since they arrived twenty minutes ago. He’s also rearranged everything in there.”
“That’s not good. We can’t afford to lose any more staff. Why haven’t you put a stop to it?”
My brother grimaced. “I’m terrified of him. And what if he tells Vito?” He drew a line across his throat. “I don’t want to get whacked.”
“Vito isn’t going to whack you. Jesus, Mikey.” I straightened off the bar and started for the kitchen. “And I’m not afraid of either D’Agostino brother.”
“You’ll be sorry!” Mikey said behind me.
I pushed through the swinging door and into the kitchen. I drew to a halt, my eyes taking it all in. The place was . . . spotless. The surfaces gleamed, the walls free of grease and smudges. Everything was stacked neatly, not the haphazard chaos of before. This looked like a real restaurant kitchen, like Giovanni’s kitchen at Val’s trattoria.
I was impressed. It hadn’t been this nice since my dad renovated it.
“That is not how you chiffonade!” A bearded man was pointing at a cutting board. The sleeves of his white chef coat were rolled up, revealing tattooed olive skin. “Gentle, gentle. You are mangling those herbs!”
“I’m sorry, chef,” said Hannah, one of our prep cooks. She was three years older than me, but I remembered the parties she used to throw in high school. Right now, she looked terrified.
“Hi.” I hurried over to stand next to them. To the man, I stuck out my hand. “You must be Vito’s brother, Massimo. I’m Maggie.”
With a frown, he shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, Maggie.”
“Can I have a word?”
His frown deepened. “I’m busy right now, signorina. Maybe later.”
“No, chef. I think we should talk right now. In fact, I insist.”
He stared at me, silent. I could see the resemblance to his brother in his nose and jawline, though his eyes were brown, not dark blue, and his lips were a little fuller than Vito’s. Massimo was handsome in a different way, like if you took Vito and blended him with a rock star. Still, that didn’t give him the right to act like a dick to the staff.
“Va bene,” he said with a nod. “I can spare a few minutes.”
On our way out of the kitchen, Massimo gave orders to the kitchen staff on what to do in his absence. I couldn’t believe this guy. Was he trying to get everyone to hate him on his first day?
I pushed outside and he followed. When we were alone, I decided to start with something nice. That was an old management trick when you had to deliver bad news. “Thank you for coming at the last minute to help us. We’re very appreciative.”
He folded his arms. “You are welcome. A great band,” he dipped his head toward my chest.
I glanced down. It was unusually warm this morning so I hadn’t bothered to zip up my coat, which meant my Raveonettes t-shirt was visible. “Thanks. I’m surprised you know who they are.”
“I saw them in Copenhagen last year,” Massimo said.
“Wow, that’s cool. I’ve never seen them live.” I hadn’t seen any bands live, actually. I didn’t get away from the winery much and it was hard to buy tickets to a show when I wasn’t sure I could attend.
“It was. But you didn’t bring me out here to talk about bands.”
No, I hadn’t. “Listen, you have to go easy on the staff. I don’t think they’ll be receptive to someone yelling in their face all the time right off the bat.”
He pressed his lips together like he was struggling for patience. “Signorina, a chef is like a general. I must lead them through the preparations and through the dinner service. I’m the one responsible for the food put on the plate. And the pieces must be prepared correctly.”
“I understand, but they’ll quit if you’re too strict with them.”
“I promise you, they won’t. They will learn, they will get better, and we will become a team.” He threaded his fingers together to clasp his hands. “And you can’t interfere or second guess me.”