Amy's POV
The interview with Giuliana lasted forty-five minutes.
She asked about my training; 'self-taught', my inspiration; hunger and necessity, my technique; instinct and my nose. I stuck to careful half-truths while Lorenzo watched from across his office with those predatory gold-flecked eyes.
When she finally left, promising the feature would publish by Friday, Lorenzo closed the door and turned to me.
"Now," he said, his voice deadly calm. "We need to discuss what happens next."
Before I could respond, his phone rang. He answered, listened for a moment, then his expression shifted to something almost amused.
"Put it on speaker."
A man's voice filled the office, frantic, excited. "Mr. De Luca, you need to see this. Giuliana just posted a preview on social media. It's already gone viral. Twenty thousand shares in thirty minutes. The food blogs are exploding. Everyone's calling about reservations…"
"Send me the links," Lorenzo said, then hung up.
He pulled up his computer, and I watched as he scrolled through post after post.
"MYSTERY CHEF AT STELLA D'ORO CREATES MIRACLE BISQUE"
"Who is Amy Rossi? The Self-Taught Prodigy Taking Rome by Storm"
"From Janitor to Genius: The Cinderella Story of Italian Cuisine"
There were photos. Of me. Of the restaurant. Giuliana's preview quote: "In 30 years of food criticism, I have never tasted anything as transcendent as this bisque. Amy Rossi is a culinary phenomenon.
The comments were in the thousands. Restaurants offering me jobs. Cooking schools wanting to recruit me. Media outlets demanding interviews.
"Headlines explode," Lorenzo said softly, reading my expression. "Just like I knew they would."
My stomach twisted. "I didn't ask for this…"
"No. But you created it the moment you made that bisque." He stood, moving around his desk.
"Which brings us to a problem. Every food critic, every chef, every culinary journalist in Italy is going to want to taste your cooking now. They're going to want proof that you're as good as Giuliana claims."
"So I'll cook for them…"
"You'll cook for me first." His voice was steel.
"Right now. You're going to recreate that bisque, exactly as you made it, while I watch.
And then you're going to explain to me how a broken girl like you who can barely get by posses such a gift that makes dishes glow like moonlight."
"I don't know how it works…"
"Then figure it out. Because until I understand what you are and what you can do, you're not leaving this office." He gestured to the small kitchenette in the corner of his office. "There are ingredients in the refrigerator. You have ten minutes. Start cooking."
It wasn't a request.
I moved to the kitchenette on shaking legs. The ingredients were already there: lobster shells, cream, aromatics. Like he had been planning this.
Like he had known exactly what would happen.
I started cooking, my hands moving through the familiar motions, but everything felt wrong. The pan was too small. The heat was too uneven. And Lorenzo was watching every move I made with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
Butter. Shells. Tomato paste. Cognac.
"Tell me about your parents," Lorenzo said suddenly.
I fumbled the bottle. "What?"
"Your parents. How did they die?"
"Hunter raid. I was nine."
"And your sister? Sofia? How did she get silver poisoning?"
My hands stilled. "How do you know her name?"
"I know everything about you, Amy. I've known since the night you started. Your pack. Your sister. Your thirty-seven failed job applications before Stella d'Oro." He moved closer. "I know you sneak out of the enclave against Elder Marco's orders. I know you practice knife cuts on tree roots. I know you steal cookbooks from donation bins and memorize them by candlelight."
Ice flooded my veins. "You've been watching me."
"I've been protecting you. There's a difference." He reached past me, adjusting the heat under my pan. "The hunters who shot your sister? They were tracking your scent from the city. You led them right to your pack."
"No…"
"Yes. Which is why Elder Marco wants you banished. Why your pack sees you as a liability." His breath was hot against my ear. "You're dangerous, Amy. Not because you're weak. Because you're reckless."
Tears burned my eyes. "I was trying to save her…"
"And you will. If you sign my contract." He stepped back. "Finish the bisque."
I forced myself to focus. Cream. Saffron. The final touches.
When I plated it, my hands were shaking so badly the bowl rattled.
Lorenzo tasted it slowly, his eyes closing.
When they opened, they were pure gold.
"Perfect," he breathed. "Exactly like before. How do you do it?"
"I don't know. I just... feel it. The ingredients talk to me. Tell me what they need."
"And the glow?"
"It only happens when I care. When I cook with everything I have." I swallowed hard. "I've spent my whole life trying to suppress it. But sometimes it just... comes out."
Lorenzo set down the bowl and pulled out a contract from his desk drawer. Thick. Official. Intimidating.
"Here's what's going to happen," he said. "You're going to sign this contract. Personal chef at my Amalfi estate. Head chef at Stella d'Oro. One year, non-negotiable. In exchange, I pay for Sofia's medical care, full removal of the silver fragment, rehabilitation, whatever she needs. I also provide protection for your pack from hunter tracking."
"What's the catch?"
"The catch is you belong to me. Completely." He slid the contract across the desk. "You cook when I say. You attend events when I need you. You live where I tell you. And you fulfill all duties as my fated mate."
"I'm not your mate…"
"The bond doesn't care what you think you are. It exists." His eyes hadn't stopped glowing. "I've spent ten years on suppressants, controlling every alpha instinct, building an empire on discipline. Then you walked into my restaurant and broke all of it. Now I can't taste food unless you've cooked it.
"That sounds like your problem…"
"It became your problem the moment you were born an omega with a gift." He placed a pen on top of the contract. "Sign it, or Sofia goes back to that forest with silver still in her spine. Your choice."
I stared at the contract. At the pen. At my life I was about to sign away.
"If I do this," I said slowly, "I want Sofia's care in writing. Non-negotiable. If anything happens to her because of this contract, it's void."
"Write it yourself. I'll sign it."
I picked up the pen with shaking hands and added a clause about Sofia's unconditional medical care. Then I signed my name.
Amy Rossi.
The moment the ink dried, Lorenzo's hand closed over mine.
"Welcome to the De Luca Hospitality Empire," he said. "A car will pick you up at your enclave at noon tomorrow. Pack light. Everything you need will be provided."
"My pack…"
"Will be informed that you're taking a position in Naples. They don't need to know the details."His grip tightened. "And Amy? While you're under contract, you belong to me. That means no unauthorized contact with other packs. No putting yourself in danger. And absolutely no other males."
I yanked my hand back. "I'm not a possession…"
"Read clause seven. Exclusivity agreement." He stood, dismissing me. "The car will be there at noon. Don't be late."
I walked out of his office in a daze, the signed contract burning in my pocket like a brand.
By tomorrow, I will belong to Lorenzo De Luca.
Completely.
And there was no going back.