Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Waverly
My father is one-fourth of a crime syndicate superpower called the Four Families—four different mob organizations tied together by a shared history and tricky grandmothers. While my grandma did speak English, her accent was so strong, most Americans only caught every eighth word. The other grandmothers—Russian, Italian, and Mexican—all convinced their families they didn't speak English at all... for fifty years. By then, their sons were running the business and the grandmothers were pushed out.
When the first grandmother died, they revealed their secret, linking the families even more. Our dads’ street cred would vanish if the other crime organizations found out they were all pranked by their moms for a half-century.
My father’s hold is the most tenuous. While the other three sons were placed in control by birthright, my father married into the mafia. My mom was the crime leader, and together they made a power couple. Then Mom died. It wasn't cancer, something we could've prepared for, a car accident, or some sort of violent mob hit. Mom was killed by a blood clot.
The Grandmas swept in and took care of us, and everything changed. It felt like the whole family got together in a big conference room and came to a collective decision: Waverly must never be included.
Sure, I was welcome at all the dinners, parties, and social stuff. The kids were always nice. But they would stop talking when I walked in. My presence hung around like over-cooked brussel sprouts.
“What's wrong, Wave?” Uri watches me from across the table. Wearing a perfectly clean and ironed, white shirt and black slacks, he’s got those classic good-looking gay man vibes.
It’s our weekly brunch. Uri and I are close. He was nice to me as a kid; played with me and Izzy, and continued to check in as we got older. And unlike the other guys in the family—who watch me the same way Lance, a professional bodyguard, watches the kids—Uri treats me like I matter. I might not be in the inner circle, but he still steps out to hang with me.
He has his own issues and fears. Maybe he doesn’t entirely feel like he belongs either.
“Nothing,” I lie, and he flicks a ball of paper from his straw wrapper between my eyes. With fake outrage, I gasp, “Cheap shot, you can do better.” He gives me one of the judgmental glares he uses to intimidate people. I squirm under his gaze, and my fresh tattoo is totally my excuse. “Everything.”
Uri raises an eyebrow. “Oh, is that all?”
He stabs a grilled peach with his fork. We’re the only two in the restaurant. It's a shame, because the food is excellent. Every event for Angie’s wedding happens at the Whispering Willows Inn—the bridal shower, the wedding, and the reception. It used to be a mansion for a railway tycoon, but over the years it's been bought, sold and repurposed dozens of times. The inn has an elegant Gatsby feel to it, though cobwebs hang in the corners. Angie picked this place because it was cuter than a banquet hall and less expensive than the high-end hotels in the city.
“If it’s everything, I can’t help you. Pick the third biggest thing weighing you down,” he tells me.
“Why not number one?”
“When everything’s wrong, fixing tiny things isn’t going to make a difference. The biggest area of wrongness is probably deeply ingrained in you and will take too long, cost too much in therapy, and as you’ve spent a lifetime coping with it, the pain of fixing it won’t be worth it.”
He’s right, and I’ll have to talk to my mom later. Problem number three seems like the least scary one to say aloud.
“I need to break up with Adam,” I admit.
“OH NO! Why? You two are perfect together,” Uri says in a melodramatic over-the-top way with a dash of sarcasm to keep it spicy.
“Shut up.” I fling the paper ball back at him. He deflects and it lands on the table next to us.
“You should’ve dumped him a while ago.” Uri sets his fork on the plate after shoving another peach into his mouth. Between bites he points out, “He changes the TV whenever you're into something, he fully expects you to clean up after him, he's on the phone when you’re talking. It’s clear as day he doesn't respect you.”
“And he watched The Knights of the Night without me,” I add, reaching for a glass of water.
“What!? Girl, dump his ass.”
“I guess I could do it after Angie’s wedding.” I don’t want to ruin her big day with extra drama. She deserves the best wedding possible.
Uri doesn’t like this answer. “That’s over a month away.”
“I’ve dealt with his shit for three years, what’s thirty more days. There are logistical aspects, too. I need to pick the right time.”
Uri pushes his food around his plate. “I'm gonna give you some advice and you can take it for what it's worth. Life changes in a millisecond. I barely escaped Russia with a huge amount of luck and a sliver of strategy.”
“And Specs.”
He agrees, “And Specs. There's no point in not being happy. Life is too short, and then you die. Live while you can.”
I push my goat cheese and peach salad around on the plate. “This isn’t about my happiness. At least with Adam I know where I belong.” But is that where I want to be?
Uri sighs and leans back in his chair. “Wave, we aren't trying to ice you out. After your mom died, the family collectively decided your dad couldn't handle another loss. Every family took turns watching you, protecting you, until we partnered with Mastodon Security.” He looks out to the tree line. “The families only work if there are four. It makes everything even. Three will lead to conflicts, war, or completely annihilate everything we worked to build.”
I guess their logic makes sense. “It still sucks. I feel like I can't figure out who I am because I'm always missing a piece. Know what I mean?”
Uri laughs, but there's darkness and sadness in his tone. “Woman, I am a gay mobster who lived in Russia through his late teens and most of his twenties. Russia, where gay people aren’t allowed to exist. I get it.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Still, I wonder what the Four Families would have been if we had invited you in. Maybe if we’d nerfed you instead of cutting you out completely.”
“Nerfed?” I’ve never heard that term before.
“Playing with toy guns rather than real ones.”
“Why would you set me up for failure?”
Uri swirls his drink in his hand and gazes over my shoulder. “Because you’d still beat us with toys, so it was safer to never let you play.” His phone buzzes and captures his attention.
While he attends to his messages, I people watch. One minute things are quiet, sedate, then there’s a significant shift in the vibe. One of the front desk staff grabs our waitress by the elbow and whispers something. The waitress covers her mouth and runs off to the kitchen. A man in a chef's uniform comes sprinting out and vanishes. More staff leave their stations and congregate at the entrance of the restaurant.
About a minute later, red and white lights flash in the parking lot. Leaving Uri at the table, I walk out to the lobby because I'm a nosy bitch.
EMTs are bringing out a stretcher, and one of the workers explains where to go. There’s frantic finger pointing and someone says, “The path is through the woods.”
What?
One EMT hangs his head and runs ahead, barking orders to the guys behind him. By now, pretty much the entire staff has congregated in the lobby.
Uri sneaks up behind me and asks, “What’s going on?”
Our waitress dabs her eyes. “Mr. Ferguson, the hotel owner, collapsed. His wife called 911. He basically raised all of us and has lived on the property his whole life.”
One of the receptionists says, “He lives in a little cottage on the edge of woods. You can only see it in February when the trees are bare.”
The waitress leans on the receptionist. “What are we going to do?”
Uri leaves a hundred dollar bill on the table and walks me to my car. “Life's too short, Waverly.”
I'll break up with Adam when the dust from the wedding settles. It’ll give me plenty of time for an escape plan.
As I walk out to my car my phone buzzes.
Angie: Bad news.
Me: What?
Angie: Kyle picked Lukas to be a groomsman.
Lukas. My stomach tingles and I can't tell if it's nerves, embarrassment, or relief Adam wasn't picked. Of course, it could be the image of Lukas in a tux.
Me: He’s gonna hate that.
Angie: Yep.
Angie:
Angie: And he'll have to spend time with the family and go to all the social gatherings, not pop in for five minutes and leave.
Angie: We should welcome him.
Me: Any suggestions?
Angie: Only one answer.
Guess I’m off to the grocery store.