Mafia's Little Dove
n't fully here. It wa
ant, insuf
cc
and Vincenzo shoved that check into her hand like she was so
Mont
an who radiated power with every step,
stead, here she was, still fuming, still thinking about the way his sharp jaw tensed when she dared to touch him. The way his light brown
s, Sienn
ly and turned bac
ntically, their movements precise, their focus razor-sharp. The judges-some of the
porter, always effortlessly elegant, always in control. She was watching, sipping fro
efused t
r used to make. It was comforting, nostalgic, but elevated with her own modern twist-seared
oing perfectly.
jor
her finishing garnish. The next,
sh herb
d she misplaced them? No. They had bee
on settled in he
s-Elena, a cutthroat chef with something to prove. And in Elena's s
ut there was no time to a
, adjusting on the fly. Instead of the herbs, she grabbed a hint of smok
ed down. Three.
ike that,
Judg
r chest heaving as the
asted, murmuring a
thed as the woman's lips wrapped around the spoon. For a second, Lucinda said n
ice smooth as silk.
nt, their murmurs of approval maki
t win fir
on someth
before approaching her. She was graceful, controlled, ev
ted," Lucinda
nk you. That means a
udying her. "I mean it. Your kind
those words before Lucinda leane
e an opportu
ked. "An op
"I know someone looking for a personal chef. He's very particu
itched. Was this
trembling fingers, her heart h
mething
ess..." sh
arched
g to go there for an i
ng behind it. "Is that so? Well, consider yourself luc
ckened. She wanted
lready pulling her deeper into