I outlined the Elevate Events business model, its expansion into the region, and the systematic way they approached suppliers and clients. Sofia listened, her expression fixed except for the occasional nod or small Italian sound of disapproval.
"They want to own everything," she said when I finished. "Dominate the entire region. I've seen it before. Big companies come in, promise everything, deliver garbage."
"The problem is, small businesses like mine can't match their prices."
"You don't need to match their prices," said Sofia, her tone brooking no argument. "All you need is to be better. Offer your clients something those bastardi can't. Something authentic."
She pushed back from the table, stood with surprising energy, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Daemon and me looking at each other.
"She's scheming," he said, a smile playing at his lips. "That's her scheming face."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Depends on whether you're the target or the beneficiary."
Sofia returned with a large, worn notebook. "My nonna's recipes. Everything she taught me, I made a note of. Forty years' worth." She set it on the table between us with reverence, then turned to Daemon.
"I'm old, bambino. Not stupid. You hoped that if I invited Nadia to dinner, you'd get me on your side. And that we'd like each other."
Daemon had the grace to look sheepish.
"And we do," continued Sofia, turning to me. "I like you, Nadia Becker. You're smart, hardworking, and you won't let this one," she jerked her thumb at Daemon, "get away with nonsense like that."
"Sofia," protested Daemon.
"Hush. I'm talking." She swatted him and turned back to me. "I'm too old to cater events anymore. But my recipes, my knowledge, my grandson isn't interested, and they shouldn't die with me. If you can use them to fight these corporate bastardi, then we should talk."
My throat tightened at the enormity of what she was offering. "I can't ask you to..."
"You're not asking. I'm offering." Sofia's expression softened. "But not for free. If we do this, we're partners. You use my recipes, my name, and we share the profits. Fifty-fifty on any events that feature my food."
I blinked. "That's... that's very generous."
"Is it?" asked Sofia, smiling. "You do all the work. I supply the paper with instructions. Seems fair to me." She collected the empty plates. "Plus, it will drive those corporate idiots crazy when you take back your clients with Sofia Ferrari's Authentic Italian Cuisine."
Despite everything, the stress, the uncertainty, the fear, I laughed. "You're a little ruthless, aren't you?"
"Bambina, I'm a lot ruthless. You don't survive eighty-six years by being nice." She patted my hand. "Now, let's have dessert. I made tiramisu."
SIX
NADIA
Later that evening, stuffed with pasta and tiramisu and more than a little tipsy thanks to some special brew of Sofia's, I found myself on the front porch saying goodnight.
"Thank you," I said, meaning it more than she could know. "For dinner, for the business idea, for everything."
"Thank me by making those corporate scum regret coming to my town," said Sofia, before pulling me into a powerful hug.
"And you," she said, smacking Daemon's arm with the back of her hand. "Walk her to her car like a gentleman."
"Yes, ma'am," said Daemon, rubbing his arm in mock outrage.
"Even better," said Sofia, eyes twinkling with mischief, "give her a tour of the garden. It looks lovely with those solar lights you installed. Let her see you're not altogether hopeless."
I caught the look that passed between them. Part exasperation, part affection, all family.
"I should get going," I said, even though I didn't want to. "Early morning tomorrow."
