Gemotions

The scent of garlic and basil, which usually calmed Marco, felt irritating that evening. He’d seen the Instagram post: "Chef Giovanni's Pasta alla Norma: The Taste of Sicily!" His stomach clenched. That was his grandmother's recipe, the one he'd spent years learning and perfecting. He could have made it himself, but had other commitments.

He threw the newspaper onto the kitchen table with a loud thump. The audacity of this Giovanni, a renowned chef, stealing his family’s culinary heritage. He pictured the man, arrogant and smug, taking credit for something that wasn’t his.

He grabbed a bottle of Chianti, the cool glass a temporary relief against his heated skin. The pressure building in his chest felt unbearable. He needed to do something, anything, to release it.