Page 46 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

SANTINO

“ C ut!” the director shouts after a grueling day of filming.

I wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead, as a crew member grabs my final plate and brings it over to the panel of judges.

It doesn’t seem to matter how many of these competitions I do, they always take a lot out of me.

Between the cameras constantly in your face, trying to come up with a cohesive dish on the fly, and not to mention the time constraint of it all, it’s a lot of pressure.

It’s not that I’m not used to working under time constrictions and pressure when I’m at the restaurant, but this environment is different.

Competing against peers, having your food being judged and televised, is a lot.

Then toss in having Lorena here and making it to the final round up against DeStefano, of all people, to say I’m on edge right now would be an understatement.

We went through multiple rounds today, and now it’s just me and DeStefano, and the winner gets to go up against Chef Caiazzo who has been like a mentor to me, since I won the original competition show he had years ago.

DeStefano mutters something under his breath as he stands next to me, off to the side of the judges.

The producer goes over the judging sequence with the guest panel of esteemed chefs and restaurateurs, all of whom have served as major sources of inspiration, as well as culinary idols for me.

No matter the accolades I’ve received, it’s still intimidating to be judged by them.

Though I try to focus on that instead of the sleazebag next to me.

“What, too good to talk to me?” DeStefano tries to egg me on.

I give him a quick glance, and as I do, I catch Lorena’s eye. She shoots me a stern, behave yourself look. And I will, only for her.

“Nah, I’m just too tired and not in the mood for your bullshit,” I quip.

He laughs dryly, sounding amused by my response. “That’s rich, considering I didn’t press charges on you like I should have. You should be thanking me. I could have ruined you. You know that?”

I take a deep breath in. Yes, technically, am I lucky that he didn’t press charges, like he had every right to do? Sure. It’s something that Tomás has reminded me of multiple times, but I’m not going to be made to feel like an asshole who needs to get on my knees and be eternally grateful to him.

I get on my knees for no one…unless their name is Lorena Ramos. Then and only then will I get on my knees and beg, crawl, do anything she asks of me. But everyone else? Well, they can go get fucked.

“Yep, I appreciate it,” I say, looking ahead at the judges finishing talking amongst themselves as they deliberate.

DeStefano snaps his fingers for my attention.

“What?” I ask, trying to maintain a stoic front even though at this point we both turned off our mics as instructed by the producer until the official judging portion begins.

“You hittin’ that?” He tilts his head to where Lorena is sitting. She hasn’t taken her eyes off us, probably on edge, nervous that I’m going to do something I’ll regret.

Anger trickles into my veins, not only from the question but from the smug look on his face.

“Excuse me, I mean, fucking. Sorry, it’s just that your face has become synonymous with the word hit.”

Going over his dig, I respond. “What’s it to you?

” I ask, instantly regretting it, wishing I just said a simple no.

But then if I did say no, I don’t doubt he’d try to say something about her and swoop in to make a move, warranting another punch to his jaw like before.

However, I should know by now that it’s always a losing battle with him, he seems amused by my response, and he will likely say something dickish.

“Nothing, curious is all. I don’t blame you; she’s fucking fine as hell. If you didn’t send me to the fucking hospital that night, I would have made a move. Hearing the way she yelled when you came charging our way that night, makes me think she’s a loud one in the sack.”

This motherfucker.

I swear, he’s pushing his fucking luck.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I grumble as the producer announces judging will begin in sixty seconds and for us to turn our mics back on. “ Ever . You fucking hear me?”

“Aww, come on, I’m just joking around.”

“Well, I’m not. You keep my best friend’s sister’s name and anything else pertaining to her, out of your fucking mind and your mouth. Understood?”

He clicks his tongue. “Ah, yeah, wouldn’t want to add to that mess.”

Not sure what the fuck he means by that, I decide to let it go. He can act smug all he wants, but I can tell from the way he swallowed thickly at my warning he knows I’m not messing around.

“Thirty seconds!” the producer announces.

DeStefano brings his hand to his mic, but before he turns it on, he looks at me. “You want to know why I didn’t press charges?”

Jesus Christ, this motherfucker, he’s relentless. I shake my head exasperated. “Why?”

“Because it’s been too much fun watching you self-implode every chance you get.

And now you’re fucking your best friend’s sister, who is supposed to be helping your irreparable image?

Shit, that’s just too damn good. Oh, and now that we’re seconds away from hearing that you’re about to lose to me? Well, that’s just icing on the cake.”

“Fuck you,” I say through a tense jaw.

“You wouldn’t get mad if I wasn’t right.”

“Microphones on, judging is about to start!” the producer announces.

We both turn our mics on and one of the camera people comes near us for a close-up shot. I ignore everything that just went down, channeling my TV persona as DeStefano’s dish is set down in front of the judges.

He goes through his whole spiel on what he made: lobster and porcini mushroom risotto. I watch as the judges do what all food competition judges do, they rip it to shreds.

You can have the most well executed meal, but if the challenge was a high-end meal and your plating screams homestyle comfort food, you’re toast. And forget it if there isn’t enough acid to balance out a dish or if there isn’t the perfect juxtaposition of textures or, one of the worst offenses in a competition aside from an undercooked protein and that is undercooked rice.

Which from what I’m hearing the judges say, seems to be the biggest critique with his risotto-based dish.

Risotto in such a limited time frame is a bold move, which, from the sounds of it, didn’t pay off.

“Chef Amato,” the host says, and all the cameras go on me. “Can you tell us a little bit about the dish you made today?”

I cross my hands in front of me, my palms resting on my apron.

“Of course. Since the challenge was elevated comfort food, I decided to go with one of my favorite comfort dishes, ravioli. Which is something my pops used to make for me and my brothers all the time, when we were young.” My throat grows tight as I mention my dad.

But thankfully, I’m able to push through, like I always do when filming.

“But to elevate it, I sauteed the porcini mushrooms we were required to use in rendered fat from the guanciale, which I used within the ravioli filling with herbed ricotta cheese. Then, in lieu of traditional sauce, I took some of the guava fruit I had at my station and made a quick glaze to balance out the richness of the ravioli filling.”

The judges are silent, which is always nerve wracking, but once they are done with the tasting portion, they begin to critique.

Words like ‘flavorful’, ‘juxtaposition of the sweet and savory components’, ‘phenomenal use of required ingredients’, and ‘blown away by the unexpected combination of flavors’ are said, making me feel confident that I won.

After they deliberate for a few seconds, they write down their selection, and the host collects it.

Paper in hand, the judge announces my name, and the first thing I do is look at Lorena.

The smile on her face, the look of pure pride, is more rewarding than anything I’ve ever experienced before, even beating DeStefano’s sorry ass.

DeStefano turns to me for an obligatory handshake, and he pulls me in unexpectedly for a hug. “This isn’t over, not even fucking close,” he murmurs, sounding like a threat.

I pay him no mind, and he waves to the judges, thanking them, and walks right past the crew, throwing his mic off.

Lorena waits until he’s gone to come up to me.

“Congrats, Tino. That was amazing!”

I don’t know what overcomes me, maybe it’s the adrenaline from just winning, or all the pent-up anger I have from DeStefano mixed with the relief that I beat him, but I bring Lorena close, wrapping my arm around her waist pulling her in close enough that I can kiss her cheek before whispering in her ear.

“Looks like you’re my good luck charm. I should spiral more often so you have no choice to get on those knees and suck me off before I have to compete.” She blushes at my bluntness, biting her lip.

“What are friends…” Lorena adjusts her tone, it has a hint of playful mischief to it, “like us for.” She winks.

“Right.” I nod, the reminder of where we stand both stings and feels good at the same time.

I let go of Lorena when Chef Caiazzo walks over to us to shake my hand.

“Congratulations, Santino.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

“Looks like it’s me and you competing tomorrow.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me. No pressure there.

” I breathe out, sounding like I’m joking, but I’m not.

Chef Caiazzo is one of the most respected chefs in the industry.

He’s not only a James Beard Award winner, but he has also opened multiple restaurants worldwide, all of which are wildly successful and have one to two Michelin Stars each.

Not to mention, on the rare occasion that he competes, he rarely, if ever, loses.

Which will make going up against him for tomorrow’s portion of the reunion special that much more gratifying if I were to beat him, since he’s one of my culinary idols and mentors.