It Cannoli Be Murder (Bread and Batter Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Page 2

  Rocco “Squeaky Clean” Mastrostefano has purchased Sweet Hill Winery and intends to produce his own wine as soon as possible. No news on whether he plans to change Sweet Hill’s name. Mr. Mastrostefano is the alleged consigliere for the Bellafiori crime family in New York City and is rumored to be next in line to be capo bastone. Mastrostefano has faced multiple extortion, bookmaking, and loan-sharking charges, but these allegations, made in court statements by the FBI and the U.S. Justice Department, have never been proved in any court. He has never been convicted of a felony crime, despite numerous attempts by federal investigators.

  Well, that certainly explained his nickname. I continued reading.

  He’s also thought to have been behind the murders of Little Ricky Riccio and Joey “wonder boy” Marino, maybe even killing them himself. But this town is nothing if not fair, and we will give Mr. Mastrostefano, and his wine, the benefit of the doubt. Mr. Mastrostefano plans a big opening for his winery. The Destiny Trumpet will be covering every minute of it.

  I wondered where Bobby Crandall, part-time newspaper reporter, and full-time car salesman, had picked up these terms and information. I hoped he wouldn’t wake up with a severed horse’s head in his bed à la one of the old-yet-still-popular mob movies. I was impressed with his mafia savviness. Maybe like me, he’d been a big Sopranos fan when it had been a huge hit. But there was quite a difference in watching a fictional TV show about the mob and having one of their members land in your own back yard.

  I ate my spoonful of oats before I dumped it in my lap, then went in search of my cell phone. By now, Noelle had forgiven me for disrupting her sleep and was happily crunching away at her kibble.

  I found my phone buried at the bottom of my purse. No surprise there. Hi there. Are you busy? I texted. No telling how long it would be until Sean replied, so I began reading the newspaper again.

  A winery of all things. I thought the mafia went in for pizza places, or trash hauling businesses. Maybe to haul away dead bodies? There’s a pleasant thought. Although, Destiny’s only garbage company could use some improvement, that’s for sure. Maybe Rocco could have a chat with the owner.

  My phone beeped. Hi babe. What’s up?

  Have you heard the news?

  What news?

  Rocco Mastrostefano is buying Sweet Hill Winery. The paper said he’s an alleged consigliere of the Bellafiori family. I assume as in the mafia family as opposed to a cousin or brother-type family. Do you think he bought it so he can move here and whack someone?

  No.

  Have you heard of him?

  Yes.

  And?

  ????

  Please don’t get the impression that Sean has no personality, or is severely lacking in social skills. He’s not. He’s charming, sweet, handsome, sexy, funny, and the life of any party. He’s certainly at the center of my life. He just hates when I pump him for information he feels is going to lead me down the wrong path. I admit that sometimes he may sort of have a small point vis-a-vis our last two murders, but the past, like the dead, should stay buried, should it not?

  It’s odd he just shows up and buys a winery. Are you sure he’s not here to kill someone?

  Relatively sure. Can we talk tonight? Kinda busy. Love ya.

  Ok. Ditto. xoxo

  I wasn’t thrilled about having someone from the Bellafiori crime family in our midst. I looked over at Noelle, still busy eating in the kitchen. “I don’t know any crime family members personally, how about you?”

  She barked, then looked at me expectantly, her tail wagging, waiting for more information.

  “I didn’t think so. What if this character tries to extort money from businesses in town for protection? Bread and Batter included.”

  She came over, jumped up and placed her paws on my lap. I smoothed my hand over her head and down her back. “I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry. I don’t think it’s a huge worry.”

  Except that in Olivia and I hadn’t allotted any funds for extortion in our bakery’s budget. I put the thought out of my mind since I realized the ridiculousness of it. Maybe the man simply wanted to own a winery and didn’t want to go all the way to California to do so. Who could blame him? This region is home to many excellent wineries, and the scenery around Destiny Lake is exquisite, even in the winter. And, we’re conveniently only six hours or so from New York City, depending on traffic and all. I finished my breakfast, showered, gathered up Noelle’s toys, settled her in my small hybrid, and we set off for Bread and Batter.

  ###

  Kendra, Olivia, and I were catching our breaths after our morning rush when the door was flung open with unnecessary vigor. My mouth dropped open, along with Kendra’s and Olivia’s, I’m sure. I have a thing in general for tall, dark, and handsome, especially if they’re of the Italian persuasion, and a thing specifically, for my own tall, dark, and handsome Italian, Detective Corsino. There’s a certain cockiness about Italian men, which strikes the right balance between arrogance and aplomb. They’re a delightful combination between boy and man. At least that’s what I read in a blog somewhere, and I must agree.

  I hadn’t seen this man before, but intuition said he was Sweet Hill Winery’s new owner. With his smooth, glowing bronzed skin, short, black, wavy hair, and fancy navy-blue suit, he was either Rocco or a new funeral director at Addair Funeral Home. We’re a casual town. Jeans and a clean t-shirt are perfectly acceptable for most day-to-day occasions, even church sometimes, so someone this dressed up gets noticed in a hurry.

  And how could he not be hot wearing a suit in this weather? His sparkling greenish blue eyes made me think of pictures I’ve seen of the Trevi Fountain in Rome. The sunglasses perched on his head gave him a stylish, suave look. Whenever I try that with my sunglasses, they usually tumble to the floor behind me.

  He inclined his head toward us and smiled, his perfect white teeth blazing brightly against his olive skin. “Good morning, girls. How’s everyone doing this morning?”

  I’m not sure what I expected him to sound like. Maybe someone with a tough Jersey accent along with bad grammar? I felt a flash of guilt at my stereotyping. But I certainly didn’t expect such a rich, deep, slightly raspy, yet strangely melodic voice, with perfect enunciation.

  “Fine, thank you.” Olivia recovered first. “You must be new in town. Welcome to Destiny and to Bread and Batter. I’m Olivia.”

  “Thank you, Olivia. My name is Rocco Mastrostefano. I’m the new owner of Sweet Hill Winery.” He looked around then wandered to our t-shirt, mug, and tote bag display.

  Ah, I was right. Sean is no slouch in the sexy male department, but this guy was surrounded by a cloud of testosterone, and some nice smelling cologne. I breathed deeply. I was sure if you bottled masculinity, Rocco Mastrostefano would be inside.

  “Is that what they call a sharkfin suit?” whispered Kendra.

  “Sharkskin,” Olivia and I whispered back at the same time.

  “Who knows?” whispered Olivia again. “I’m too busy looking at what’s in the suit.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mastrostefano,” I said to his back. “I’m Molly. Olivia and I own the bakery together. Kendra works here too. Is there something special you’re looking for?”

  Olivia elbowed me. “Stop flirting. You’re taken,” she hissed.

  I glared at her. She called that flirting? “I am not flirting,” I hissed back. “It’s called customer service. What’s wrong with you? What about Anthony?” Olivia was having a long-distance semi-sort of relationship-y thing with Sean’s brother, Anthony. I was ecstatic. I had no idea how the logistics would work, but I hoped it would turn into something significant. He owns Anthony’s on 55th in Brooklyn, and he buys cupcakes for his restaurant from us, which makes Olivia and me very happy. At the moment, however, that was beside the point.

  “I’m glad to meet all of you.” He turned around. “Forgive my back.”

  The bell on the door jingled. Both Olivia and I had a hard time looking away from Rocco.
On my part, it wasn’t so much his looks or the dangerous, but sexy aura I imagined was wafting from him, or his enjoyable, citrusy cologne. I was busy wondering how many people his elegant hands and well-groomed fingernails had killed. I felt a little quiver track down my spine.

  “Hi guys.”

  I’ve read that these mob guys can kill someone on Saturday night, then show up at church on Sunday morning, followed by homemade pasta, a nicely done salad, and chocolate cake at their mama’s house when church is over, all without batting an eye.

  “Molly? Hel-lo? Olivia? Kendra? Hel-lllo???”

  I finally realized Emily was speaking. She’s mine and Olivia’s other best friend and owns the bookstore next door. “Hi, Em.”

  Rocco turned toward Emily as well, his eyes traveling the length of her body. “I see this town is full of beautiful girls, each more exquisite than the last. Do you also work in this delightful bakery?”

  Emily blushed a deep rose pink and pushed her tortoise shell glasses up on her nose. “Er, no. I own the book store next door. Barking Mad Books. Actually, it’s not right next door, it’s just past the driveway for the parking lot.” She gestured as if Rocco could see through our wall.

  “Fantastic. How wonderful! I love to read. If you don’t read, you can’t grow and learn, and you become small and boring.”

  Emily gazed at him in awe as if the words had fallen out of his mouth had been made of pure gold. If you ask me, he hadn’t said anything that brilliant. I gave it a so-so in profoundness. She held a hand to her chest. “Exactly. You understand so well.”

  Oh, please. Somehow, I managed to squash the sound of inappropriate laughter that had bubbled up in my throat.

  “I’ll make sure to stop in.” He took her hand and slowly kissed the back of it. I looked away afraid of making an appropriate sound. Like gagging. “Rocco Mastrostefano, the new owner of Sweet Hill Winery. I will have to name a wine after you. A gorgeous girl with a beautiful name.”

  Eeesh! I refrained from rolling my eyes. I was afraid they’d get stuck at the back of my head. He was laying it on a little thick, but I didn’t think it prudent to point that out to the man. I didn’t want to end up at the bottom of Destiny Lake, or in the trunk of a large car being taken who knows where.

  “Did you need something, Em?” I asked. “Emily?”

  She finally tore her eyes away from Rocco. I was loath to admit that in all honesty, I understood her reaction. If I didn’t have Sean in my life, I’d probably fall under his spell too, consigliere or not, but only for a few seconds, then I assure you, my senses would quickly be regained. “Sorry, Molly. Can I have an egg bagel toasted with a smidgen of butter?”

  “Sure. I’ll get it,” said Kendra, before I could reply. “A smidgen of butter. Coming right up.”

  “What can we help you with, Mr. Mastrostefano?” Olivia asked.

  He held up his hand. “Please. It’s Rocco to people in my circle. I’m planning a party to celebrate the opening of Sweet Hill Winery. Would you be willing to cater it?”

  I had no idea he had that in mind. Frankly, I was taken aback. He didn’t even know us. Or Bread and Batter. “We can do desserts,” I started to say, although I wasn’t sure we needed to be in his circle.

  “Of course! We’d love to,” Olivia gushed at the same time, drowning out my words. “Have you set a date yet?”

  He rubbed his hands together as he thought. “I’m thinking in two weeks give or take a few days. A Saturday night. Can you do it?”

  “Of course.” Olivia handed him one of our business cards. “Give us a call this week, or come back in, so we can sit and discuss your needs. Please give us at least five days to plan everything.”

  “Mr. Mastro—Rocco, we don’t do—” I tried interjecting forcefully.

  He ignored me, pocketed the card, and gave us a little salute. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’ll be in touch.” He turned to Emily. “I will visit your bookstore, and you, very soon. That’s a promise.”

  “Please do,” she replied, her eyes following him as he left the bakery.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, I turned to Olivia. “Catering? Since when do we cater? What if he wants seven courses?”

  She waved off my concern. “How hard could it be?”

  I was aghast at her naiveté. “Um, how about very? What if he invites five hundred people?”

  Olivia didn’t answer. I hoped that meant that she realized the merits of my concern.

  Kendra handed Emily her bagel, which took a few tries, as Emily was still staring out our large plate glass window at Rocco. If this were a cartoon, she’d have pink hearts pumping in and out of her eyes and chest.

  CHAPTER 3

  * * *

  Certainly, I never act that way over Sean. In public, that is. Rocco got into a sleek, new model, gunmetal gray luxury sedan with blacked-out windows, blowing a kiss in Emily’s direction before his head disappeared inside. What a player! Surely, she wasn’t falling for his schmaltz.

  “I didn’t know you guys wanted to be caterers, too,” said Kendra. “You never told me. I like being kept in the loop.”

  “We don’t,” I snapped, glaring at Olivia. “Bread and Batter is doing very well as a bakery. That’s what our sign says.”

  “I’m sorry,” Olivia’s shoulders slumped a little. “I couldn’t help it. He looked so … so ….”

  “Handsome? Sexy? Alpha male? Classy? Debonair?” supplied Emily.

  I hardly believed what I was hearing. Of my two best friends, Emily was the most serious and pragmatic. She approached all love affairs calmly and logically. Fawning over Rocco was such a not-Emily thing to do. I guess we all have our weak moments. But I just couldn’t picture her as a mob groupie. Or, God forbid, a mob mistress. I turned my attention to Olivia. “We need to let him know we don’t cater full meals, ASAP.”

  “We can’t do that,” cried Olivia. “We promised.”

  “‘We promised? I believe you promised. Oh yes, we absolutely can, and will, tell him we don’t cater full meals. By ‘we’, I mean you. The sooner, the better. I don’t want him putting out a contract on us, or blowing up Bread and Batter because he isn’t happy with our service.”

  Emily looked at me in what can only be described as utter confusion. “What are you talking about? What contract? Why would he blow the bakery up? Are you feeling feverish?”

  “You sound hysterical, Moll,” proclaimed Olivia. “Lower your voice a few pitches, please.”

  I gave them both the fish eye, which was my great-grandmother's version of the stink eye. Why she’d called it the fish eye, I couldn't say, but it’s stuck in our family all these years. “I’m fine,” I practically growled. “I most certainly am not hysterical. Do any of you know who he is?”

  “He said his name was Rocco,” Olivia replied slowly, her eyes now brimming with concern. “The new owner of Sweet Hill Winery. Didn’t you pay attention? You were standing right here. Did you fall and hit your head lately?”

  “Have any of you read this morning’s paper?” I asked, not bothering to respond to her ridiculous questions.

  Three heads shook back and forth.

  “Mr. Mastrostefano is allegedly part of the Bellafiori crime family in New York City,” I explained, making dramatic air quotes around allegedly.

  “What?” Kendra shrieked. “Crime family like in The Sopranos? My parents loved that show.”

  “Me too,” I told her, but that was neither here nor there. “Yes. Like that. But in real life.”

  Emily gulped. “Crime family? Do you mean the mafia?”

  “Exactly.” I was relieved they were catching on so quickly.

  “He’s part of a crime family? Oh no. I had no idea,” cried Olivia. “Now what?”

  At least I had their attention, and we were all on the same page about the crime family thing. I remained calm, and was confident I could put everything right. “I don’t see why we can’t accommodate him, mafia or not. His…um…occupation is non
e of our business. But someone,” I looked pointedly at Olivia, “has to tell him we do desserts, not full catering. And bread. We can give him lots of bread. He probably won’t want our chocolate banana cupcakes, but we’ll think of something. At the moment, he’s probably under the impression that we can provide filet mignon, lobster, caviar, and what have you, along with appropriate appetizers and sides. I don’t have to tell any of you that that’s not our thing.”

  Olivia sighed heavily. “I see your point. I guess I got carried away. Okay, I’ll tell him.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry for being snappy,” I told her, softening my tone.

  “You’re forgiven,” Olivia replied.

  “He seems too nice to be in the mafia. I don’t believe it,” lamented Emily, looking deflated.