Mattia Polibio Family Restaurant Novels & Stories

"The Don said the whole family is coming for dinner tonight." "Grandpa too?" "Mr. Giovanni is on his way. And Mr. Leo, Marco, Tony, all the top guys." "Tonight is a family dinner. To celebrate you being safe." I followed her into the kitchen. The long counters were covered with ingredients. Fresh lobsters, prime cuts of steak, truffles flown in from Italy, and all of Sofia's classic Sicilian dishes. "This is enough for twenty people," I laughed. "This is how a family dinner should be," Sofia said, not missing a beat. "Plenty of food, and all the family together. That's what matters."

Jared declared. “I want pizza!” Lorenzo exclaimed. Sophia looked at Pietro. “What do you think I should get, Dad?” Pietro smiled. “How about the lasagne? It’s supposed to be really good here, and you’ve always liked it.” Sophia nodded. “Lasagne it is.” As they waited for their food, Pietro raised his glass of sparkling water. “To new beginnings, to family, and to our incredible journey together. I love each and every one of you.”

I say. "I was crazy that day," Theo says. He holds my hand across the wood table. His hand is very warm and huge. "The competing syndicates were trying to take our docks. I had no sleep. I am sorry, little wolf. Let me buy you a big dinner tonight to make it up to you." "The Blackwood University residence hall has food," I say. "That food is garbage," Theo says. He stands up and pulls my arm gently. "Come to La Famiglia Rossa. It is a syndicate-owned restaurant. The best food in the Harrington district."

Palermo, Sicily – June 26th 2020 It's grandma Angie's birthday today, so Lorenzo made an exception and gathered the whole family at her house for dinner. The 'family' meaning the extended family that includes the Barone and Altieri families as well. Grandma Angie lives in the townhouse next to their old house in Palermo. It's a one-story old building that she and her husband bought when they got married. A nice four-bedroom townhouse that looks almost historical with its giant paintings and crystal chandeliers. She used to host Easter and Christmas dinners there until last year, and it's the biggest townhouse Matteo has ever been in.

he indicates. "Thank you, can you recommend anything from here?" I ask the guy. "I would recommend the spinach and ricotta ravioli," he replies. "It's one of the customers' favorite dishes." "I'd also recommend it to you," Matt interjects. "I'll order it." "Fine, then the ravioli it is," I say, handing him back the menu. "Perfect. Any drinks?" "Bring us a bottle of white wine," Matt instructs him, and my face shows a hint of astonishment at his request.

"Everything is set for Thursday. The perimeter is secured, and the pilot is on standby." I ignored the tablet for a second and leaned back, crossing my arms. "Forget the pilot for a second, Luca. How did you enjoy dinner last night?" Luca froze. He blinked rapidly, his hand twitching slightly at his side. "Oh. Uh, dinner. Yes, sir. It was... it was very nice. Miss Delia is a wonderful host. The lasagna was... exceptional." Matteo snickered into his coffee. "He’s talking about the pasta like it’s a government secret. Come on, kid. You survived a meal at the Don’s table without being stabbed. That’s a win."

‎"Alessio, he isn't family,“ Aunt Marisol mentioned with a sharp tone. ‎Alessio adjusted his cuffs without saying anything. ‎Vito Moretti cleared his throat. Aunt Marisol looked at towards him trying to say something, his cold face made Aunt Marisol's words die in her throat before he glanced at Alessio. ‎Aunt Marisol who had just been glared at by Vito mumbled low grudgingly. ‎The doors slid open and several chefs walked in with fancy plates on trays, placing it down before leaving quietly. ‎Dinner started quietly, soft clinks of spoon and knives. ‎Roman sat directly across from Alessio. Two seats apart, yet it felt like inches. He hadn't stopped smiling since they walked in. ‎“Father,” Rom

Like they hadn’t shattered something fragile last night. The drive to the restaurant was silent. The place was neutral territory—an upscale Italian spot in Midtown, private room booked. Both families already there when they arrived. Salvatore Vitale stood as Alessio entered, smiling like a proud father. “There’s my brother. Married man now.” Alessio smiled back—perfect, fake. “Thanks to you.” Giovanni Rossi clapped Luca on the shoulder. “Good. It’s done. Peace holds.” They sat. Food came. Toasts were made.

ALESSANDRE Le Dorna Restaurant was definitely one for the books. Its amber chandeliers reflected light across white-linen tables, every crystal cup reflecting back a hundred fractured faces. Power and hunger hummed beneath the chamber-music soundtrack, soft enough to lull a fool. I wasn’t a fool though. Not after everything I’d suffered. Matteo and I had come here to get much needed information. But to the public eye, we were just two well-to-do men, having a meal at an obnoxiously grand establishment.

I explain all this and more, the different factions, the various groups, as we get drinks and circle the room, shaking hands, making introductions and small talk. "Alessandro Russo, you haven't been to one of these in too long," Hedley Pibroch croons and tugs over her husband, a white-haired man with hearing aids and medals pinned to his overly large tuxedo that I'm pretty sure are fake. "Darling, it's Alessandro Russo, you know the Russo family? They own all those restaurants and drinking establishments?" Her smile is bolted on. "Yes, why yes, liked your father," the old man drones. Speaking too loudly. Probably can't hear himself.