Before I ever imagined writing a suspense novel like For Sale, I wrote something very different — something that came from my heart and my history.

In 2001, after the tragedy of the World Trade Center attacks, like many people, I was shaken. The world felt uncertain, heavy, and fragile. I needed comfort — something familiar, something meaningful — and for me, that meant going back to the kitchen.

I’m Italian, and in my family, food has always meant more than just nourishment. It’s memory. It’s tradition. Its love passed down through generations. My grandmother used to make the original anise biscotti — the kind that filled the house with warmth and licorice-sweetness. Watching her bake was like watching someone tell a story without using words.

In the weeks that followed 9/11, I found myself baking those same biscotti — and then experimenting with new flavors, new twists, new combinations. Chocolate-dipped. Orange and almond. Lemon pistachio. I baked for friends, family, neighbors, even strangers. It was my way of giving something small but heartfelt. My way of coping.

That’s when the idea came: why not put it all together in a book? A love letter to biscotti, and to the strength of family, food, and tradition. That cookbook became my first published project.

Now, all these years later, I’m writing fiction. I’m exploring mystery, secrets, and suspense in For Sale, but it all started with a simple cookie — and a need to feel grounded again.

No matter where my writing takes me, a piece of my heart will always be dusted in flour and tucked inside a tin of biscotti.