Page 1 of Unrelenting
ONE
Lucia
By the endof the night, all I can think about is slipping into a nice warm bath with a glass of red wine and a cozy mystery novel set in some quaint English village.
I downloaded one last night about the headmistress of a girls’ school who’s teamed up with the barmaid from the village pub to solve crimes. I can’t wait to read it.
Perhaps I’ll use some of my favorite lavender-scented bath oil and light a few candles to create just the right atmosphere.
I suppose I could also open the box of Swiss chocolates I’ve been saving for a special occasion. This hardly qualifies, but I deserve a treat after the shit my staff and I have had to put up with over the last six hours.
Most days I love running the restaurant my grandmother passed down to me, but service tonight was brutal. We had several difficult customers to contend with at the restaurant.
There was a rowdy party of Brits who drank far more than they ate and left a hell of a mess behind.
Then there was a Dutch tourist who kicked up a fuss because we don’t stock the beer he wanted. I actually had to come out of the kitchen to placate him with the offer of a twenty percent discount on his party’s bill when my serving staff couldn’t appease him.
Really, I should have thrown him out, but he was with a large group and I didn’t want to lose their custom.
As much of a pain as he was to deal with, the prize for the biggest asshole has to go to the world famous Australian actor who insisted his steak was undercooked, despite me almost cremating it for him.
By the time he was satisfied with it, I might as well have served him burned shoe leather. A part of me is tempted to post all over social media about his rudeness, but I won’t. Gianetta’s is my grandmother’s legacy, and it will remain a bastion of discretion as long as it’s in my hands.
There were issues with the staff tonight as well. One of my best servers had to leave halfway through the evening when she got a call to say her son was sick. I didn’t hesitate to let her go home to take care of him.
Family comes first. That’s something my grandmother drummed into me. She always looked out for the people who worked for her, and I try to do the same. Unfortunately, letting Carina go home meant my front of house team was stretched thin.
There were mishaps in the kitchen too. Davide, a talented chef I hired straight out of culinary school cut himself badly enough to go to the emergency room.
It’s what happens when you allow frustrations from your personal life to fog your mind at work. He’s going through a painful break-up and he wasn’t concentrating on what he was doing.
He’ll be fine, but his injury left us two people down in the kitchen because one of the apprentices is out of town for a family funeral. Since we were fully booked as always, it put us under pressure.
To top off an already challenging evening, a fight broke out in the restaurant. Some macho idiot thought another man was checking out his girlfriend. Harsh words were thrown, followed by fists.
During the scuffle, the vase my grandfather bought for my grandmother to mark the opening of Gianetta’s sixty-two years ago got knocked over. It smashed into a thousand pieces on the terracotta floor.
Then my poor sommelier, Stefan, took an elbow to the face when he tried to put a stop to the fight. It will be days before his black eye fades.
“I wish I’d gone to that damned wine tasting after all,” I tell Angelina as she comes in from the main dining area.
The youngest of the serving staff, she’s working here to pay her way through university. I only took her on as a favor to her sister, Gabby, who I’ve been friends with since high school, but she’s worked out well. It’s selfish, but I wish she wasn’t destined for a career in the art world. Our customers like her bubbly personality, and I also enjoy having her around.
“Wine tasting?” Angelina asks.
“Yes, I was invited to a tasting at Casa di Lupo.”
Angelina purses her lips thoughtfully. “That’s Lorenzo Volante’s new place, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“I’ve heard it’s pretty awesome.”
So have I. The vineyard, which is halfway between here and Siena, used to belong to the Alvize family. I went there a couple of years ago when Sergio Alvize was running things. On a questto find new suppliers for the restaurant, I thought I’d check them out.
Although they produced an impressive range, I couldn’t do business with Sergio. He was completely disorganized, unable to give me firm details on pricing and delivery arrangements.
The state of the vineyard didn’t fill me with confidence either. The vines may have been healthy, but the buildings on the property weren’t in a good state and the road leading up to the house where Sergio had his office was full of potholes. It was a beautiful setting, though.
