by Ethan Egorov
However, his dark voice had taken on a hard edge, a sort of defiance. Trent admired this about his father, but he recognized that posturing beforehand didn’t mean much. Looking tough in front of family was easy. Needing to take action on your enemies was likely to be a hell of a lot tougher.
“However, we won’t let this ruin our evening,” his father said. “We’ve dealt with far worse.”
Trent narrowed his eyes and worked his jaw muscles. It angered him to see his father like this. His father may have been something of a stoic leader, but Trent could read him well. He knew when something was irking the old man. And though Trent tried to stay above the family business, especially the bloodier kind, he decided to throw the old man a bone.
“Don’t worry, Dad. Me and the boys will handle it,” Trent said. But first, we need information. “What happened?”
Trent’s father sighed and pulled him in close so only he could hear it. The other cousins and members of the table got the hint and went back to their conversations. It was pretty well understood that most family business was on a need-to-know basis, and if they didn’t need to know it, they would do damn well to not try and know it.
“It seems as if there was a fire at one of our businesses by the docks,” his father said. “I don’t need to tell you it wasn’t accidental. There was a special note left just for us, informing us of this unpleasantness.”
Pop coughed a couple times then cleared his throat. Apparently, the old man was not as hard of hearing as he had often complained about being. It was no surprise to Trent, but it was amusing how clever the old man could act.
“Such a pity,” he grumbled. “I’m growing tiresome of these scuffles. I’m an old man now and just want to retire in peace. I have seen this battle rage since my birth, and it appears I will see it rage to my deathbed.”
“And Trent,” his father said. “I hate to say it, but you need to know something. A lot of this bad blood, well . . . some of it involves you.”
“What do you mean?”
Trent didn’t take it personally. Family feuds had a way of passing down by generation even when one generation didn’t share any dark, violent days. If anything, Trent welcomed this development— it meant some of the pressure might come off his father.
And in any case, Trent had something of a nagging suspicion why he was involved, though it wasn’t necessarily something he had ever confirmed. It was just a gut feeling, signs across his lifetime that had piled up to the point of a suspicion that he was just waiting for the right time to ask about.
“To answer that, I need to start at the beginning, because, as you see, the Mikkelsons have always been a fierce competitor with us,” his father said. “Every time we would get a building down by the dock—”
“They’d do the same,” Pop said, interrupting. “Every time we’d score with a new shipment of powder, they’d go out of their way to find a new shipment of their own. Now keep in mind, Trenton, there are two sides to every story, but I’ll tell you all the story the way my father told it to me, and how I told it to your father.”
It was to no one’s surprise that neither Trent nor his father bothered to cut off Pop. When Pop started speaking, even if he had rudely interrupted a story, no one tried to gain it back. Getting back on Pop’s side was one of the more difficult tasks in the Salvatore family.
“It begins with—"
The waiter suddenly returned with an expensive bottle and opened it in front of his patrons, turning the conversation back to more casual dialogue for now. He took his time pouring the amber-colored liquid into chilled glasses with small ice cubes floating near the bottom. Trent stared at the liquid as it bubbled and the ice began to bob in his glass.
He took a sip of the drink, letting its luxurious bitterness roll over his tongue and slide down his throat. It burned when it hit his stomach, but just like any antiseptic, it seemed to cleanse and heal an unseen wound.
His grandfather looked at him and sighed. He took a long drink of scotch and nodded at the waiter with approval before the waiter walked off. Despite Trent’s fear that Pop would react with harsh words and critical language against the waiter for interrupting, he seemed surprisingly in control of himself.
“Ya see, Trent,” Pop resumed, having the room back to himself. “Back when the town was first growing, everyone wanted a piece of the pie, and following Prohibition, the most successful bootleggers needed something to one-up the danger of illicit alcohol once it was made legal again. Your ancestors, well, they were smart men who came over from the Old Country. They saved their money and began investing in legitimate businesses, not just speakeasies.
“But you see, there was a grudge carried over from the Old Country. Alessandro Salvatore was an immigrant and he made a fast friend on the ship, Roberto Mikkelson. They had lots of things in common and shared some passions such as fine drinks and, of course, food. When they both arrived, they decided to room together and split expenses until they could find their way in the world.”
As Pop began his story, it occurred to Trent that while he had heard bits and pieces of this family legacy, he hadn’t actually heard the full story in nearly the same amount of detail as he suspected he was about to from Pop. Something always seemed to interrupt the story.
Hopefully, nothing would do so tonight.
“Alessandro began working as a butcher in a small store in the city, but Roberto really didn’t find any legitimate work, instead offering his services as a carpenter and a contractor. While Roberto would find odd jobs here and there, he did little to help Alessandro with expenses. Alessandro worked night and day to be able to afford the little flat they shared.
“When Roberto was at the flat, the enthusiasm he had for moving to the New World was quickly spent. He saw people who had also arrived from the Old World, having much nicer things than he had. Alessandro didn’t seem to have any ambition, according to Roberto, and wouldn’t amount to anything because he had no desire for vast wealth.”
And then his grandfather’s face grew dark as if finally arriving at that which would most disturb Trent.
“Alessandro only advised Roberto to have faith and patience. But he did not. He most certainly did not.”
Kristina
One Week Earlier
“I knew you were cheating on me!”
Kristina stood in the living room of her apartment, staring at John, her current romantic interest. They had just returned from vacation, but if the vacation had meant to quell their issues and make them happy, it had only succeeded in the short term. In fact, in some ways, it was making this moment more frustrating.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said John, a tall man with greased-back hair and dark, searching brown eyes.
“Don’t bullshit me, John,” Kristina said. “If you’re going to cheat, don’t you think you should do it with some bitch who is smart enough not to text you when you’ll be with me?”
With that, she held up John’s phone, which he had placed on the kitchen island, oblivious to the fact that the full content of messages sent to him showed up on his screen. And Kristina could see as clear as day that “Joanna” couldn’t wait to have John inside her later that night.
“Why?” Kristina asked. “Why the hell did you do it?”
But though Kristina was addressing John at that moment, she was addressing herself as much as anyone. Too often, far too often, she found herself in the wrong kind of relationship. She chased men of adventure and men of status, but too often, that meant that she wound up with a man who just couldn’t stay stable and sane. To be clear, Kristina did not envision herself as the marrying type. She had too much baggage, too odd of a background for the normal world, and too much in her past. But she just wanted for once to find someone who, for the time they were together, wouldn’t try to go behind her back.
“That’s an old fling from years back who has me mistaken with someone—”
“Jesus, John, if you’re going to lie to me, at leas
t think through your lies before you do it!” she said. “You know what? Just get the hell out of here. Out! Now!”
“Kristina—”
“Don’t,” she said with such conviction that even a police officer trying to arrest her— or, worse, an enemy of the Salvatores— would have backed off.
And if John knew what was good for him, he damn would have. Kristina may have been a young, beautiful woman, with long, flowing red hair, sultry blue eyes, and a voice that sounded like it belonged at the other end of a customer service line, but that only meant she could hide her killer side well. And that wasn’t a metaphorical description of her either. Kristina knew the Salvatore family business and had even dipped her toes into it.
Far more than anyone she had been with knew, at least.
Well, with one exception.
“Get out,” she said.
John bit his lip, stood, and took his phone. Kristina nearly yanked his arm out of the shoulder socket, trying to pull her hand away. John stopped at the doorway, thought about saying something, and then wisely thought otherwise. Kristina didn’t know if she would ever contact John again— the chances of them getting back together were practically nil right now— but she knew full well that no matter what John said, the longer he was here, the more she was going to consider taking a different course of action.
“Fuck!” she screamed as soon as John had exited.
She went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine, and downed it as if it was a shot of liquor. She shook her head, frustrated and disappointed with herself. Why did she keep going for the shitheads? Why did she keep ignoring the red flags when she could spot them practically the instant she met these guys in person?
Why couldn’t any of them be like Trent Salvatore?
No, no, no . . .
But the thought of his name brought back many memories. She and Trent laughing across the town. Her and Trent going down to the river and sitting, chatting. Her and Trent making love passionately in her bed, the best sex she’d ever had, not because they tried some wild positions or were in some special place but because they were connected more than anyone she had ever been with.
It was, in many ways, the closest she had ever come to a perfect relationship.
Granted, because they were young and stupid, they fought a lot. They had a lot of issues they needed to work on. Trent could be a bit overbearing, and she could be a bit emotional and dramatic.
But Trent never cheated on her. He called when he said he would call. He remembered the important dates. He took care of her.
She hadn’t had that since.
But unfortunately, the chance for them to be anything had passed. Trent had grown closer to the Salvatore family, to the point she feared doing anything with him would imperil her relationship with them, no matter what Pop or Antonio said. She had taken more dangerous work, and he the same. It was inevitable that someday their paths would collide in business, and when that happened, it was impossible to know what would result from a personal perspective.
And for that matter, it was just time to move on. That relationship was good in their late teens and early twenties. Now?
Well, maybe it would work. But that was going to be much harder than actually pursuing a relationship with someone else. Just about any other person was going to come in with a clean slate. Kristina could build something new with them. Meanwhile, she and Trent had so much baggage, they could crush a man with their collective weight. Even if they tried to get rid of it all, it would take months, if not years, to get rid of everything.
It was time to let the memory of him go. It was time to move on. It was time to go for someone stable like him, but not him.
You get a day to think about him. You’re hurt from John, and you’re looking for support elsewhere. Fine. But don’t you dare text or call him. Don’t do anything beyond looking at old photos. And leave it at that.
For now, though, Kristina wasn’t about to do that. She had just broken up with her ex. Jumping right into old photos felt like some sort of a whore move. She may not have had as much shame as others, but that didn’t mean she acted cruelly.
Instead, having just gotten back from vacation, she decided to check her mail. She figured it would be full of spam and advertising letters, but at least it would give her something to do while she tried to clear her mind.
Naturally, she failed to do just that. Her brain brought up all the times she’d had with John, and in those thoughts, she tried to figure out if he had been cheating on her this whole time. Was it a one-off? Had it happened regularly? Had she done a bad job as a girlfriend? Or was someone like John just destined to repeatedly cheat, whether she was Kristina or whether she was Jennifer Aniston?
The questions were never going to get answered, but Kristina knew she needed to work on herself first. The easiest way to handle someone like John was to just never get involved. Apparently, with my personality and my clinginess, that’s easier said than done.
She got to her mailbox and, sure enough, the damn thing was so stuffed that many of the letters were bent. Sighing, she pulled out everything she could, taking it all back to her apartment. The discarding of promotional materials and useless envelopes would have to wait until she didn’t worry about spilling everything on the floor.
As soon as she got back, she started throwing anything out that had a typed address. American Express, Chevrolet . . . cruise materials . . . college materials . . . a letter from Pop Salvatore . . .
She grabbed that letter before she tossed it, her curiosity getting the best of her. What in the world?
It wasn’t unusual for Pop Salvatore to reach out to her. The Salvatores liked to do things the old-fashioned way by writing letters, but still. It had been a few months since she had seen any of them, and it had been years since she had communicated in anything other than passing with them. She suspected her breakup with Trent had something to do with it, although Tommy and Antonio still warmly greeted her with kisses on the cheek, so maybe it was just in her head.
She opened the letter slowly and read it.
“Dearest Kristina,
You are invited to celebrate the birthday of my grandson, Trent Salvatore.”
Not quite that, but that’s sweet.
“Trent will be turning twenty-eight this year, and we are planning to celebrate in true Salvatore style. We will have as much of the family there as possible, and we will look to bring all friends of the family.”
It seemed like Pop Salvatore had written the first bit of that letter for everyone. But as she kept reading, she quickly realized that even if Pop had done that, much of the letter for her was actually personalized.
“Kristina, I know that you and he have had some ups and downs. I understand that you and he have not spoken in some time, and the experience may be awkward. But you are considered family to us. Furthermore, I believe that time and reaching out has a way of healing wounds on multiple fronts.
I do not know what will happen if you come. It may very well be contentious. But I believe the process of healing and forgiveness starts by coming together. So we would very much appreciate your presence.
You will find details about the event below.”
And with that, Pop Salvatore listed the address for Penninni’s Restaurant as well as the time and date. Kristina felt flattered and a little surprised that Pop had invited her. And more than that, a part of her desperately yearned to go and see Trent again. She missed him. She missed seeing his handsome presence and his rugged smile— when he smiled, that was.
But when she thought about it more, there was just no chance of her going. It was still too raw, and in many respects, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it in front of the entire Salvatore family. If she couldn’t handle herself in a dignified manner, she would be taking the attention away from the birthday dinner and putting it on her. That was something that she was not willing to work with. She and Trent may have had their fights, but that didn’t mean she was going to make
his birthday hell.
With a sigh and some emotion, she threw the envelope and the letter into the trash can with the rest of the junk mail. She decided that if she got asked about it, she would simply say that she had come back from vacation too late, but that she hoped Trent had a happy birthday. Tommy, Antonio, and Pop would see right through that excuse—though they wouldn’t press her on it—but the rest of the Salvatore clan might buy it enough to at least avoid further conversation.
Sorry, Trent. Maybe something else will bring us together someday. But I don’t want to ruin your birthday.
Besides, she could just picture his reaction when she showed up. That alone would have thrown him off for the night, and that alone then was reason enough not to go.
She was looking through the last bit of the letters when she came across something curious. She got a letter that didn’t have her address, only her name, and her name was clearly hand-written.
She looked around the room, careful to make sure she wasn’t being set up for anything. These kinds of letters were notorious for saying something that walked the person right into a trap. Kristina didn’t see anything here, but that didn’t mean someone or something wasn’t waiting.
With some hesitance and caution, she opened the letter. The handwriting was clean and perfect, but the text immediately grabbed her eye.
“I have a job for you.”
Trent
Trent had heard bits and pieces of the family story before. It was practically family gospel to know the doings of the Salvatore family, but Trent had managed to somehow not hear it all at once. Now, sitting here on his birthday, it seemed he would get the full story.
Around him, much of the table was still conversing amongst themselves, but as time went by, more and more people went silent, wanting to listen to Pop Salvatore tell the story. It was akin to a Christian hearing the story of Genesis— when it was being discussed, it didn’t matter what else was being said, you just went silent and listened.
