August Romano liked the quiet moments before the chaos.
The Romano Catering van was parked just off the corner of Fifth and Union, where the curb dipped slightly and the coffee shop's window gave him the perfect view of the counter inside. He wasn't staring - not really. But he could still see the back of her.
Alessandra.
Even her name had a rhythm to it. Like music played in minor chords.
She hadn't appeared to see him leave, not really. He's just left the number, lifted his cup in that little half-toast, and walked out like it was nothing. Like he wasn't still thinking about her sharp voice softened by exhaustion. Or the way her fingers lingered on the edge of the want-ads. Like she wanted something to anchor her - but couldn't quite bring herself to grab hold.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaled slowly, and checked the time.
The screen blinked 8:09. Right on schedule.
As if on cue, his phone lit up in the cup holder. Angelo.
August smirked. His brother never just "called". He announced himself like a freight train.
He picked up. "You're early."
"You're late," Angelo shot back, no preamble. "Gala for St. Peter's moved. Diana's already halfway up the Amalfi Coast and texting me pictures of her feet in the sand."
"Tell her I'm happy for her feet."
"Tell her we need a chef."
August leaned back in the driver's seat, staring through the windshield at the quiet street. "Sal can handle desserts."
"Sal can handle desserts," Angelo agreed. "But unless we're serving six variations of tiramisu and nothing else, we've got a problem."
"I'll find someone."
"You've got someone in mind?" There was a pause. A beat of silence long enough to catch the weight in his brother's voice. Not suspicion. Just pressure. The kind that came with running something you all built together.
"I'm working on it," August said carefully.
Angelo sighed on the other end. "We don't need a miracle. We just need someone who knows what the hell they're doing and won't light the basil on fire."
"That was one time," August muttered. "And it was Julian."
Angelo grunted. "Still smelled like scorched pesto for a week."
There was another pause - not awkward, just familiar - and then Angelo said more quietly, "I trust you. Just don't take too long."
August hung up, pocketed the phone, and glanced back toward the cafe window.
She was gone.
No napkin. No sign. No clue if she'd even think twice about calling him.
But he didn't regret it.
Some people showed up in your life like storms. Others - like a sunrise. Slow. Soft. Quietly changing everything.
He didn't know which one Alessandra was yet. But he had just enough time to find out.
***
Alessandra held her phone loosely in one hand, her other cradling the ceramic mug she'd brought with her from Rome when she was nineteen. It was chipped near the handle now - a casualty of a long-ago move - but she still reached for it every morning. Today, it sat cooling beside the last clean plate in her apartment.
The email was short. Polite. Brutal in its finality.
"We understand the inconvenience this may cause, but with your employment contract now terminated, your corporate housing agreement will end in seven days."
Seven days.
She sat on the edge of her neatly made bed, eyes on the lone suitcase she'd already half-packed out of instinct when Casa d'Oro shuttered it's doors. A white box of kitchen knives sat beside it, closed but not taped. she hadn't decided if she was staying in Manhattan or cutting her losses and heading home.
If home was still home.
She rubbed a thumb against her temple. Mira had wired her a small severance, enough to float a week or two in a modest hotel. Her parents had quietly sent more, no guilt in the message, just love. Still, the fact of it stung. She was thirty-two. She'd build something real. Important.
And now it was gone.
The silence in the apartment was unfamiliar. No prep lists, no calls from her sous. No rush of adrenaline when she checked her watch and realized the lunch crowd was already lining up. She had always known how to stay busy. How to stay needed.
Today there was just... quiet.
She stood, walked to the window, and looked down at the street below. A woman walked with two paper bags balanced on her hip and a little boy clinging to her coat. Life, moving forward without her.
Alessandra reached for her phone again, stared at the single name she hadn't allowed herself to call until now.
August Romano.
His voice, just a day ago, had been warm and a little frayed around the edges. Hopeful in a way that didn't quite make sense to her yet. But he had offered her a lifeline.
Not out of pity - she wouldn't have taken it if it was pity - but because he saw something in her. Or thought he had.
She pressed call before she could talk herself out of it.
It rang twice before he answered, voice low and warm. "Hello?"
She swallowed. "Hi. It's.... Alessandra."
He paused for only a moment before responding. "Oh, hey. I... I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."
"I hope it's okay that I called."
"Of course it is," he said, no hesitation in his tone. "I'm glad you did."
Silence settled for a second too long before she spoke again. "I've thought about your offer."
There was movement on the other end, like he was pacing. "Yeah?"
"If you still need someone... I'd like to take it," she said, voice quiet but steady.
August didn't respond right away. She could hear him exhale - not surprise, more like relief.
"I do still need someone. And I'm really glad you called." There was a smile in his voice now. "Honestly, If I'd had your number, I might've called you first."
She chuckled. "You? Call someone?"
"Hey, I make exceptions," he said, mock offended.
She snorted. "Let me guess. Your mom and your sister."
"And maybe the butcher. But only when I'm desperate."
A soft laugh escaped her, the first one in what felt like days. "Well, I'm officially desperate. I lost my apartment his morning."
"I'm sorry, truly," he said, quiet but sincere.
She sighed. "My parents wired me some money to help me land on my feet, but it won't last. So if you meant what you said..."
"I did."
"Then I'd like to meet your family and let them help make a decision. Today, if possible."
He didn't hesitate. "I'll pick you up. An hour?"
"That works."
"Okay. And Alessandra?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for trusting me," he said softly.
"Don't make me regret it," she teased lightly.
"You sound like my Nonna."
Both of them laughed and something in her began to relax. She could do this. Maybe...
***
An hour and a half later, August stepped into the kitchen of his parents' home, Alessandra beside him. The smells of garlic and fresh basil hit her immediately, grounding her. This was a real kitchen - nothing glamorous, just people who lived here, worked here, and knew how to make magic with their hands.
No one was there but August's eldest brother. Angelo. August stepped forward to make introductions.
"Alessandra, this is my brother, Angelo - the eldest and our backbone." His voice was steady, though there was something in his eyes that said he wasn't sure how this was going to go.
Angelo turned, his eyes narrowing as he took in the woman standing beside August. His gaze was sharp, measuring, the kind that only came from years of running a business from the ground up. He was impeccably dressed, a sharp contrast to Alessandra's worn jeans and simple tee. The look made her feel exposed, as if she was under a microscope.
"Pleasure to meet you, Angelo," Alessandra said, her voice calm but a little tight with nerves. She offered a polite smile, though the underlying tension in the room was impossible to ignore.
Angelo gave a stiff nod, his jaw set. "Nice to meet you as well." His eyes flicked to August, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "You said you had someone in mind."
Alessandra bristled but held her tongue. Manners, Les. Manners. She would let August take the lead - for now.
August sighed, his patience thinning. "Trust me, Angelo."
The tension in Angelo's shoulders didn't ease. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes still on Alessandra. "Where did you meet?"
August hesitated for a moment before explaining how the met in the café. He didn't embellish, but the way he described it - the chance encounter, the shared coffee - did nothing to ease the tightness in Angelo's jaw. The elder Romano brother started pacing.
"You mean to tell me," he muttered, voice low and clipped, "you met in a café by chance, saw her looking at the want-ads, and thought, 'Oh, here's our chef'?" His words were like a challenge, a test.
It wasn't like that," August protested, but Angelo wasn't hearing it.
Alessandra, feeling the weight of Angelo's doubt settling in the room like a cloud, decided it was time to speak. She didn't need to shout, but her voice held a quiet strength.
"If I may say something..." she began, hoping to ease the tension.
Angelo stopped in his tracks, his gave flickering between her and August. His stance was defensive, but not hostile. He was, however. clearly on edge.
"Go ahead..." he muttered, not exactly welcoming, but not dismissive either.
Alessandra took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "I know what this looks like. And I know you don't know anything about me, so you have no reason to trust my word. But it truly was not like that." She met Angelo's eyes, her voice steady. "For starters, I was head chef at Casa d'Oro -"
The moment the words left her mouth, Angelo's entire demeanor changed. His face hardened. "Oh... great," he muttered. "She's a pedigree."
At this point, the rest of the Romano family - Mama Giorgia, Papa Leo, Salvatore, Anthony, Matteo, and Julian - had joined them in the kitchen. Alessandra's gaze was still trained on Angelo. She didn't cower under the weight of his gaze.
"No, she is not a pedigree," she said calmly, though there was an edge to her voice. One that made even Angelo take notice. "If you would take a moment to get to know me rather than letting your assumptions do the talking, you'll see I'm what you need - even if you only need me for this one event. But I assure you, Mr. Romano, you'll want me long past that."
Every person in the room, Angelo included, held their breath. When it came to Romano Catering, not many people were willing to challenge Angelo. Alessandra didn't flinch.
If anything, she stood taller. "Yes, I was head chef at a Michelin 5-star restaurant with a reputation for high-quality service and even higher quality food," she continued, her voice unwavering. "But that doesn't make me a pedigree. I have five years of culinary training under my belt, and I started from the very bottom, working as a line cook for three years before I even met Mira, the owner of Casa and helped her build it from the ground up."
"Alessandra..." Angelo tried to interrupt, but she didn't give him the chance.
Her words continued, steady and sure. "What's more than my training, Mr. Romano, is my passion. My heart. My father immigrated to this country when I was three months old with nothing more than the clothes on his back, and my mother and I by his side, just hoping to build a better life. He taught me the value of hard work from the time I could hold his hand and walk on my own two feet. I've worked my entire life for everything I have."
She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. "So regardless of what you think my status or my pedigree is, perhaps you should give me half a chance before you decide I'm not what you're looking for."
The room was silent. No one moved, no one breathed. Finally, it was Giorgia who spoke, her voice soft but firm.
"Angelo?"
"Yes Mama?"
"Perhaps she could help you with the evening meal - give you a chance to see what she can do."
"I'd love to," Alessandra said earnestly, without hesitation.
Angelo looked at his mother, then back to Alessandra. The storm in his eyes hadn't completely dissipated, but it had softened. "Then let's get to it," he said, his voice kinder now, almost reluctant but with an edge of respect.
"Angelo?" It was Leo's voice now, calm and steady. The patriarch of the Romano clan didn't often speak, but when he did, everyone listened.
"Yeah, Papa?" Angelo answered without even looking back, his focus still on Alessandra.
"The lady is hired." Leo's voice was final, and there was no room for argument.
Angelo didn't respond, just nodded. Because now he could see what his father saw - what he didn't see before.
Alessandra was the answer to a long running prayer in the Romano family. Someone who loved the food industry with as much heart as they did - and had a willingness to roll up her sleeves and prove it.