Risotto Nero Novels & Stories

I saw the slight wince, but I believed she couldn't stop smiling. "Tonight’s special," she began, placing the plates gently before us, "is a saffron-infused risotto paired with pan-seared scallops. Chef’s recommendation for the evening." The scent hit me first—warm and rich, with the faint floral sharpness of saffron mingling with the buttery aroma of something decadent. My stomach growled in anticipation, and I gripped it, wincing as a pang flared at my side, reminding me I had barely tasted anything today.

“You ordered a creamy burrata with cherry tomatoes and fresh basil pesto, a handmade tagliolini in a white truffle butter sauce.” His eyes moved with his face as he looked at the door. He must sure think I was crazy. I saw him roll his eyes, and cover the lid then open the second plate. This time he had a piece of paper and he glanced at the plate before he spoke. “This looks like seared Chianina beef filet alla Rossini with foie gras and truffle demi-glace with truffled mashed potatoes and sautéed seasonal greens.” By then the guy was already annoyed and I was quietly laughing about it. “With a warm Torta Caprese with Madagascar vanilla gelato and a touch of orange liqueur syrup, accompanie

“You ignored the dress.” “It’s not my style.” “It’s not about style. It’s about compliance.” The food arrived. No staff I could see—just dishes appearing through a side door. Risotto al nero di seppia. Squid ink. It stained the white plate like a warning. I picked up my fork. “So what happens now? You parade me at parties? Use me to make some rival jealous?” Alessandro cut into his steak, precise. “I don’t parade possessions, and I don’t get jealous. I eliminate problems.”

Mancini, smiled softly and listened. They all looked up when I walked in. “Good evening,” I said politely, forcing a small smile. “Good evening, cara,” Mrs. Mancini said warmly, patting the seat next to her. I sat down gracefully, trying not to make it obvious that I was slightly nervous. Dinner was a beautiful spread of Italian delicacies, Risotto alla Milanese, creamy and golden with saffron, paired with roasted lamb and grilled vegetables. The aroma alone could make anyone forget their problems.

"I can also make spaghetti aglio e olio, carbonara, blueberry pancakes, barbecue ribs, beef bourguignon, suckling pig, casserole…" Isolde listened with wide eyes, her mouth watering despite herself.

They place the dishes gently in front of us. When they lift the covers, the aroma hits me like a warm, delicious wave. Perfectly made truffle mushroom risotto sits beside butter-seared scallops, sprinkled with herbs. On the second plate handmade ravioli stuffed with ricotta and spinach, glazed in sage butter. My stomach betrays me. It rumbles loud. Very loud. Heat floods my cheeks again. Santino pretends he doesn’t hear it, but the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise. “Dig in,” he says.

Then, with the faintest nod, he allowed it. Mira stepped back reluctantly, and I reached for the spoon, holding it with a careful smile. “Any special request from the dishes before you?” He studied me for a moment, silent, like he wasn’t sure what game I was playing. Finally, his lips curved. “I’ll eat whatever you serve me.” “That’s great,” I replied sweetly, serving him a generous portion. I began talking lightly as though we were just an ordinary couple having an ordinary breakfast. “Personally, I love the risotto alla milanese. It’s creamy, rich, and the taste is just perfect.”

"Alessia, here. Next to me." Vittorio was forced to sit opposite Romeo. He gave him a cheerful little wave with his salad fork. Irene sat next to Romeo while looking at the six different spoons in front of her with deep suspicion. As soon as we sat, servers arrived. They poured wine for others, sparkling water for me and placed plates of truffle risotto in front of us. "Eat." Serena told me happily. "The chef used extra parmesan. Calcium is good for the bone density of the... queen." She winked.

"Would you care for a drink?" "No, thank you." She pulled Zoe's chair out and helped her up. "We don't drink around her." He said nothing. But she didn't miss the flicker of something in his gaze. A dish of saffron risotto was placed before them by another ghostlike server. Zoe blinked at it. "What is it?" "Rice," Anya said gently, stabbing a bite with her fork. "Fancy rice." Zoe leaned in and whispered, "Does it have cheese?"

I was ready. She knocked. I answered the door and said, "Key not working?" "Oh, I forgot I had it," she said breezily. And then she saw the dining room table. White table cloth. Steam rising from two large, shallow pasta bowls. Candles lit. She turned to me. "Black truffle risotto," I said. "The season is in full swing. I got them in from New York."