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“I can’t believe we’re eating kimchi fried rice at an Italian restaurant,” Chayoung commented as she lifted her chopsticks to her mouth, laden with rice. “Mmm, it’s delicious.” She ate her bite then eagerly dug in again. “Chef Toto is an amazing cook.”
Vincenzo snorted as he carefully picked away the mushrooms and placed them to the side.
“He’s passable at Korean food. Terrible at that contrivance he calls Italian.” Vincenzo cast a disapproving look in Chef Toto’s direction. “An Italian child can cook better than him.”
“Does that mean you can cook too?” She playfully nudged his knee under the table. “And why hasn’t the great Vincenzo Cassano offered to make spaghetti for his dearest partner Hong Chayoung? Hmm?” She folded her arms in mock anger.
“You never asked,” he shrugged before taking a delicate bite of kimchi.
“It’s a date then. You cook, I’ll bring the wine,” Chayoung lifted her water glass in a salute. “Call me when you get home.”
“Hey, you can’t pick the wine,” Vincenzo said, sitting up straight. “You’d probably get something French.”
Chayoung’s heart skipped a beat when she realized he didn’t argue about it being a date. “What’s wrong with French wine?” she asked, eager to change the subject. She could feel her cheeks burning. “Don’t they make the best red wine?”
Vincenzo’s chopsticks clattered to the table, thankfully oblivious to her blushing.
“The French make the best red wine?” He raised his voice at the horror of it all. “Do they make the best pasta dishes too? Why would I want French wine with Italian food?”
Chayoung couldn’t help but lean forward, placing her elbows on the table to watch him fondly. Vincenzo was always so attractive when he was engrossed in a subject he loved, whether it was fighting or talking about food and wine.
After agreeing to cook for Chayoung, Vincenzo now had the dilemma of what to cook.
He took stock of the contents of his refrigerator, wanting to put his imported Italian goods to use but unfortunately, he didn’t have much.
Babel kept them busy and restocking his luxury items had been pushed to the wayside.
But didn’t his adopted mother always say that the best dishes were often the simplest?
Inspiration struck and he began moving around in his small kitchen, pulling out the flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt.
It was a simple recipe, one he’d been making since he was a youth who only spoke Korean, and needed to stand on a chair to reach the countertop.
His adopted family used cooking as a chance for them to bond and teach him those Italian words that had felt so foreign in his mouth. Soon, mixing and kneading the dough had grown into a simple but pleasant experience, one that had become a weekly habit in Italy.
Maybe that was part of the reason he was feeling at ease now?
He hadn’t bothered cooking anything that required more work than boiling water since coming to Korea but now, as he tossed flour onto the counter and worked his hands into the dough, he felt different. Until recently his apartment had been little more than a hotel room, a temporary place to sleep until he could obtain his gold while he and Ms. Hong fought Babel.
His kneading slowed as he thought about Chayoung, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. She frequently crossed his mind these days making him feel... lighter. It was a foreign feeling that he couldn’t name yet but found pleasant and refreshing.
He dropped the dough before he could overwork it and wrapped it in plastic so it could rest, and then moved on to start his prep work for the carbonara and the scene for dinner. With an eye on the clock, he sent a quick text to Chayoung telling her to arrive in an hour before he settled back into the kitchen.
Running on autopilot Vincenzo went to work mincing shallots and garlic while remembering his earlier conversation with Chayoung.
She’d called this a date, maybe setting out a candle would be appropriate? It was also cliche as hell and she’d probably make fun of him, but he wanted to make her happy, to feel just a fraction of the warmth he did when he was in her presence. He smiled softly, glad to be in the privacy of his apartment so he could be alone with his thoughts and away from the rest of Geumga Plaza.
His smile disappeared, and his eyes widened in horror. Would Chayoung compare his table setting to Chef Toto’s garish setup?
A small sigh escaped him as he moved onto the next step of dinner. He didn’t question how Chayoung would react to their revenge plans against Babel which involved actual murder but something as simple as a candle for dinner made him… nervous?
It was such an unfamiliar feeling after being the Cassano consigliere for so long.
The alarm on his phone went off as a timer he didn’t even remember setting finished. He stared at it blankly before shaking his head, half an hour had already passed and he didn’t even notice.
He finished dicing up the pancetta and turned his eyes to the resting pasta. Asking ‘Chef’ Toto for his pasta machine would’ve saved him time but his pride demanded that he do it by hand, especially for Chayoung.
Besides, it was easy enough that he could go back to thinking about Chayoung, a soft smile returning to his face.
Chayoung loved alcohol and would drink soju, beer, and makgeolli, but she didn’t know much about wine.
It bothered her that Vincenzo didn’t think she was sophisticated enough to know what wine to choose, so she took it as a challenge.
She was going to surprise him with the best Italian wine.
Chayoung remembered Vincenzo saying that the wine store near her house was better stocked than the one near Jipuragi. Initially, she’d thought he was merely giving an excuse to walk her home but he did have a point.
The wine store in her neighborhood was a large one that stocked drinks from all over the globe.
“Sforzato di Valtellina,” her tongue tripped over the Italian. According to the label, it was an intensely scented red wine that had an interesting origin of Nebbiolo grapes that had been left to wither.
Wasn’t that like her and Vincenzo? On the outskirts of society, left for dead as outsiders?
She bought the bottle of red wine, and white wine, just in case.
The knock at the door was right on time.
“The door’s open!” Vincenzo made sure he was loud enough to be heard, too engaged at the stove to leave it. He did take a look behind him, not wanting to miss Chayoung’s animated reaction to the amazing smells filling his apartment.
He wasn’t disappointed.
“Omo!” Chayoung sniffed the air dramatically as she entered Vincenzo’s apartment. She eagerly kicked off her shoes in the foyer and slipped into house slippers. “Am I at a Mafia’s house, or an Italian Chef? It smells delicious!”
“Don’t be silly,” he grumbled, stirring the pot, though his mouth curved upward in a smile.
“If Babel puts us out of business, we can always open up an Italian stall in the night market.” Chayoung stepped into the kitchen. “You can cook behind the scenes, and since I’m the pretty one, I’ll attract customers and sell.”
“Are you finished with your wishful thinking?” Vincenzo asked, rolling his eyes, though he agreed with her assessment that she was the pretty one.
“Never.” She poked his side and eagerly peered at the pot on the stove. “Can I taste?”
“No, it’s not finished.” Vincenzo batted her hand away though it was more playful than anything. “What’s that?” He gestured to the bags she’d left on the kitchen table.
“I hope you like it.” Chayoung blushed, uncharacteristically shy. “I wasn’t sure what to get,” she mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear, feeling self-conscious. “I don’t usually drink wine and-”
“Don’t worry. I’ll like it,” Vincenzo said softly. His heart skipped a beat, as it always did when Chayoung seemed vulnerable. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that everything was okay, and he’d never make her feel inadequate.
He helped her unpack the bags. “You bought Italian wine and not French?” His slight smile turned into a grin. “And two bottles?”
“And soju. And makgeolli. Just in case.” Chayoung’s cheeks were flaming now because she felt silly.
“It’s perfect,” Vincenzo said, not taking his eyes off her. “Thank you.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgment, then changed the subject. “So, if times get tough, can we cook Inzhagi, or is he a family member now?”
Vincenzo couldn’t move two steps without Chayoung being behind him. She wanted to see what he was doing, taste the sauce along the way, whilst commenting on the process.
Normally, he was able to adapt to her being around, but this time, he was getting nervous.
Suppose he didn’t cook it correctly?
Suppose he did it right, but it wasn't to her taste?
Suppose-?
“Ooh, Mr. Cassano, are these candles?” Chayoung interrupted his thoughts.
Vincenzo turned around. She was at the dining table, holding the tea light candles he’d fished out from a drawer, probably left there by the previous tenant.
“Are you planning to seduce me?” she smirked. “How naughty!”
“Ms. Hong -”
“They’re scented,” she made a show of holding the candles and sniffing them. There were about half a dozen of them, in an opened package, smelling faintly of vanilla. “How romantic!” She scrunched her nose at him playfully.
Vincenzo didn’t even hide his smile as she meandered off. He was happy and enjoying it. Just then, the timer for the pasta began beeping, and attention diverted, he left her to her own devices.
While he was distracted with marking dinner, Chayoung slipped into his bedroom, looking for a lighter.
His room was dark, smelling faintly of Vincenzo’s cologne and her breath caught, wondering if he’d ever thought of her in his bedroom. Would he think of her as he showered and dressed, the way she always thought of him? Her gaze moved to his bed, tucked in the corner, plain and neat as a pin, and begging to be messed up.
Unbidden, an image formed in her mind.
One of her leading Vincenzo to the bed and making him sit quietly, hands to his side so he could watch her slowly disrobe.
Would he like to be teased? Or would he prefer to take the lead, pushing her on the bed and pinning her arms above her head, kissing her deep and rough, like he wanted to-
“Lighters are on my dresser. If that’s what you’re looking for.”
Chayoung yelped, almost dropping the candles. Vincenzo was right beside her, watching her intently.
“Of course that’s what I’m looking for,” she gathered her wits. “Why else would I be in your bedroom?”
“Why else indeed,” he smirked, as he gestured to his dresser, on the other side of the room. “Make yourself at home.” He abruptly turned and left.
Chayoung’s face flushed. He couldn’t have guessed her thoughts, could he?
But she forgot about her embarrassment when she came across his lighter collection.
“How beautiful,” she breathed.
There were six golden lighters set upon a navy blue cloth with different sheens from bright lusters, to worn patinas. She gravitated towards the one that looked like a pocket watch, as it was the only round one, but then she noticed the plain lighter with no engraving. It wasn’t as eye-catching as the rest.
It made her think.
When did Vincenzo start collecting lighters? What made him choose one above the other? Did they have to be gold? If she gifted him with a lighter, would he accept it?
She chose the plain one, then returned to the kitchen where the pasta was already drained, the sauce finished, and Vincenzo was now setting the table.
Chayoung’s chest tightened as she clutched his lighter and blinked back tears.
She remembered life before her mother passed away, and the mundane things that made them a family. Cooking her father’s favorite food, and buying her mother’s favorite dessert, and spending time together in their kitchen.
How did it all go wrong, where she was now an orphan and alone?
Just then Vincenzo looked up, his eyes widening in alarm as he saw her face, before softening.
“Light the candles, Ms. Hong?” he asked, gently. “While I pour the wine?”
She nodded, choked up.
With the food done, wine poured, and Chayoung lighting the candles, the atmosphere was almost set for their evening.
The silence between them was a comfortable one, however, Vincenzo wanted more to fill his apartment.
His music library was limited to the soundtracks of his favorite operas, one of the few comforts he’d allowed himself when he was homesick for Italy. Some Wagner, a Mozart, but it was Puccini's Tosca that his fingers settled on.
It was hard to pick a favorite opera but this was easily his favorite soundtrack.
He put it on, turning down the volume so it would fill the background with the pleasant soprano of the titular Tosca before taking his seat across from Chayoung.
She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling, and his breath caught. This was life and joy, and he wanted to experience every moment.
He picked slowly at his food, twirling his fork in the pasta, eating at a leisurely pace.
“This is so good,” Chayoung moaned, closing her eyes. “You’re such a good cook.” She opened her eyes, grinning mischievously. “What else are you good at, Mr. Cassano?”
Vincenzo took a sip of wine as his heart thudded.
“I made this for you, so I’m glad you like it.” He avoided her flirtatious question, raising his glass in a toast, though his face grew warm. “I want you to be happy.”
Her smile faltered as her gaze drifted to his lips, and then his hands which were clutching his wine glass.
“I love it,” she said, dipping her head before she attacked her pasta again.
The tea lights had burned down and the first bottle of wine had been finished off along with the carbonara when Vincenzo and Chayoung moved to the couch bringing the second bottle of wine.
Music played softly in the background, filling the comfortable silence that stretched out between them. He was at ease, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. It had been a long time since he had felt this level of peace with another person and Cha-young…
She was special.
He didn’t know the words to describe how she made him feel or the way she affected him. But Vincenzo knew he wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet, even as their drinking slowed and Chayoung’s head rested on the back of the couch with her eyes closed.
It was foolish to sit there, savoring the way she looked like he savored the Sforzato in his glass but he had no choice.
She looked peaceful in that half-asleep state with only a small frown resting on her lips and not all the tension and worry of the Babel case etched on her features.
“What are we listening to?”
He tried not to jump when she spoke up, masking his surprise with a hum. Chayoung didn’t seem to notice as she continued on.
“It sounds terribly depressing and sad. I can’t imagine how bleak the words must be.”
Vincenzo chuckled softly, she wasn’t wrong.
“It’s Puccini’s Tosca ,” he said. “We’ve been listening to it since dinner started.”
“No wonder I’m sleepy now,” Chayoung snorted, snuggling close to Vincenzo, her head laying on his shoulder.
“I can turn it off,” Vincenzo offered. He settled into the couch, making room for Chayoung, and following her lead, he wrapped his hand around her waist so she could cuddle closer to his side.
“No. I can like it ‘cause you do.” Chayoung melted into his side, closing her eyes. “Stay.”
Vincenzo exhaled as he looked down, her silky hair fanned across his chest, and her long eyelashes dark against her cheeks. He gave in to the feelings of tenderness that had been creeping up all evening and letting it wash over him.
“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” he murmured. It was hard for him, letting his guard down, and being vulnerable. But he would do it for her.
“I think I could fall in love with you, Mr. Cassano,” Chayoung whispered, burrowing even more into him. She was now laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her legs tucked under her as she fell into a deep sleep.
And just like that, Vincenzo knew that his plans had to change, that he couldn’t leave Korea without considering this woman who’d been at his side, showing him light and love, and a better way to live.
He stroked her arm, waiting for her breathing to even out, and when she started lightly snoring, he smiled, closing his eyes and resting his head on hers.
“I’m already in love with you,” he confessed, deliberately speaking in Italian.
Curling up into the couch, and around Chayoung, he fell asleep as well.