The Bear Chef Luca Novels & Stories

Chef Luca was raging with jealousy as if Gift had snatched his lover when all they did was catch up like normal friends. “I can't belive you made me waste my vacation in her. I'm really sad I'm not spending it with you,” Chef Luca pouted a little too cutely for his 50 years old self as he held the phone tightly to his left ear, the veins at the back of his hand popping out as he walked towards the door and out. He wasn't letting anyone else steal his call time with his lover. Gift breathed a sigh of relief while Winifred waked up to her with a hug to calm her down and shield her as well.

I just shook my head and quietly watched him cook our dinner. Luca immediately served the chop suey he cooked on the table. I just smiled because he also knows how to cook rice. Luca just fanned himself... he's sweating... but he still smells so good. "Do you still want to stay here? It's hot here; there's no aircon." I chuckled and crossed my arms. Luca smirked at me and flicked my forehead. "You must have forgotten that I'm a soldier, baby. I'm used to the heat," he said with a smirk.

Zinnia said, her voice raising an octave in the excitement of seeing all the pretty things for sale. Luca was hoping she had forgotten but resigned himself to his fate. He had always been taught that a promise was a promise. Thinking to enlist either of the other males for a little help he practically begged, “Anyone else want to come?” “I’ll stay here and get started on dinner, I cook a mean stroganoff,” Beecher declined as checked the pantry and fridge for ingredients. “Could you pick up a bottle or two of wine? I think we’re all legal here.”

Lucia took the opportunity to compliment Linda's cooking and she managed to force a smile with a, "I learnt from you, Manager Lucia" "Call me Lucia," She reminded her just as CEO Luca would say, "Call me Luca" They had a lot in common on a normal day except CEO Luca was a cold-hearted person who murdered people with no emotion but Manager Lucia did not appear as one who could strangle a baby dog. Luca kept to his space and engaged himself with his phone as he chewed. After several failed attempts to get him to engage in the discussion, Lucia gave up on her brother and finished her meal.

I asked, leaning against the counter, trying to make small talk. The chef smiled warmly, wiping his hands on a cloth. “I make enough for everyone. Luca’s rule is there’s always food.” “Luca’s rules, huh?” I chuckled, though it didn’t feel funny. “What else does he rule around here?” The chef raised an eyebrow, as if unsure how much he should say. But his smile never wavered. “He likes things done a certain way. But he’s a good man. You don’t have to worry about him. Just... stay busy.”

We enjoyed cocktail at the 18th century bar before moving into dinner prepared in the state of the art kitchen by our own private chef - Luca - utilizing the game, cattle, fish, herbs, and vegetables found on the land. “Luca, you should teach me how to speak Italian some time.” she told him. She didn’t get to learn from him before she went abroad to study. “certo, mia signora (Of course, my lady)” he replied. “Maybe I should just take you with me when I go back downtown.” she says. “I don’t think Natasha would love that idea.” The vast wine cellar , whiskey and beer dispensary and tasting room create a refined setting in which we retire to after the incredible meal was filled with our laught

Luca purred, still holding her hand like it belonged to him. And she let him. “You see, cara mia, I’m Luca Vicenzo. I own the Ratel Hotel. The Ratel businesses. Empires, riches, and a taste for spoiling pretty little things like you.” He smirked at me. “What do you say? One dance? I’m sure this ogre bores you to death.” “You forgot to add that you’re a mafia Don who kills pretty little things like her,” I cut in, voice sharp enough to slit throats.

he said, tipping his head toward one of the lingerie girls, “She’s a dancer-slash-nutritionist. Practically a doctor.” Luca appeared next, deadpan as always, sipping whiskey and looking like someone had dragged him here against his will, “Someone just tried to give me a lap dance,” he said dryly, “I threw her off my lap and now she's crying. You know I don’t do well with tears or strangers. Or people in general.” He took a sip like that explained everything. “Luca,” Madeleine said, blinking, “you’re my favorite.” “Obviously.” Then came Silvio.

“Don’t look so surprised, Alessia. I’m a man of many talents.” “Clearly,” I teased, settling into one of the mismatched chairs. “This is a side of you I wasn’t expecting.” Luca turned off the burner and brought over a skillet of scrambled eggs, paired with toast and a side of sliced fruit. “Well, don’t get used to it,” he said, setting the plate down in front of me. “I don’t do this often.” I raised an eyebrow, picking up a piece of toast. “Clearly. But I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, a gesture that was less comforting and more a claim of victory, then jerked his head towards the hallway. I reluctantly tore my gaze from Violette and followed. The aroma of something warm and herby drifted down the hallway as we entered the kitchen. Luca had inherited our father’s soul in the kitchen. While Marco, could burn water, Luca moved with an innate grace amidst the chaos of creation. The air was thick with the scent of roasted garlic, rosemary, and something sweet, probably the balsamic glaze he was obsessed with. Platters of prosciutto-wrapped melon, bowls of glistening olives, and a massive pan of what looked like his signature chicken cacciatore co