Chapter 4
4
R eeves walked through the restaurant. He knew come tomorrow the place would be a buzz with people looking for authentic Spanish dishes. If they did their research, they’d know La Familia was the place to go. Some came for the food. Some came to catch a peek at a real mafia family. Which was the rumor that floated around the area, fueled by the locals.
Some wanted the whole thing, the food, the atmosphere, and to have a chance at seeing mafia bosses sitting around eating and drinking wine. There were no mafia bosses sitting around tables. Those days were long gone. There was, however, great food, interesting atmosphere, and occasionally, a few actors they hired to look like associates and captains just to give the tourists what they wanted.
A few years back, the interior had remained a nod to their great grandfather’s era. With velvet blood red drapes covering the walls parted by large, tasseled ropes, which revealed exotic wallpaper and antique mirrors framed in gold. Patrons could look at generations of the families through photos hanging on the walls in gilded frames. The sounds of Montserrat Caballé filtered through the speakers still played, but the drapes, gilded framed mirrors, and exotic wallpaper had been replaced.
Walnut tables still sat in rows on both sides of the room, leaving a direct path to the head table. They had kept the ‘family’ table, which was reserved for businessmen to have lunch and dinner meetings at.
Tonight, the restaurant was closed like it was every Sunday. Reeves wiped his hands on the white apron he adorned as he prepared dinner for, he and his brothers. Reeves heard Monroe calling out from the front of the restaurant. Knowing they would be waiting on Jackson to arrive, he picked up a plate of olives, meats, and cheeses and headed out of the kitchen.
“What business are we discussing tonight?” asked Monroe as he walked behind the bar to pour a round of drinks. Glancing around, he hated to admit he missed the old interior of the place. He would never admit that to Jackson or Reeves. After all, it was he who suggested they upgrade the place. From the dated lighting to the red curtains, he had convinced himself he hated it.
The place had once been a speakeasy during prohibition when their great grandfather had opened it. Now that they remodeled the place, he wished he’d kept his big mouth shut.
“We have a few things to discuss. It’s easier to discuss things here once a week than at the house with Whiskey, the guards there and Maria.”
“You need to give Maria a chance.” Giving Reeves a hard stare, Monroe almost laughed at his brother’s expression. He watched Reeves roll his eyes as he popped a marinated olive into his mouth. The youngest Salvador needed to relax a little. “Are you dating anyone lately?”
Reeves stared at Monroe. Did his brother just ask if he was dating? “Dating. Are you ill?”
“You’re still hung up on the raven-haired beauty that ran far, far, away from you.”
“Stormy didn’t run away. She went home to get back to her life.”
“And you let her go.”
After taking a seat, Reeves leaned back in his chair, the quiet hum of the restaurant around them almost soothing, but the tension in his shoulders wouldn’t ease. The room was dim, the soft lights casting long shadows against the walls, but Monroe’s eyes were sharp and full of concern as he studied him from across the bar. Reeves tried to focus on his beer, the cool bottle a welcome distraction from the weight of his brother’s words, but he could feel his gaze boring into him, like he could see right through him.
Monroe was such a woman sometimes. Watching him, Reeves noticed his brother seemed distracted as he stood behind the bar. He hadn’t opened the bottle of Bodega Ayni Uraqui. “What’s got you distracted?”
“You. You have me distracted,” Monroe muttered, his voice rougher than he intended, as if he’d been holding this conversation back for a long time, not sure how to let it out.
Reeves raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Why?”
Staring at Reeves, the weight of their responsibilities still pressing on him, like a constant shadow. The life of an enforcer, of someone who lived the lives they did, wasn’t something you could just walk away from. He had commitments, loyalties to people who had his back, but who also demanded that he have theirs. That was the deal, the price of belonging. And while part of him relished the work, there were moments like this one when the toll it took on him felt too heavy to carry alone.
“I worry about you, Reeves,” Monroe said, his voice softer now, a little less teasing and a lot more serious. “You’re not living your life. All you do is work.”
The words hit Reeves harder than he expected. He set the bottle down with a faint clink and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the bar, eyes locked with his brother’s. He could feel a familiar defensive wall going up inside him, but it didn’t quite reach the surface. Maybe it was because it was Monroe. He never let him off easy, never treated him like he was invincible. Maybe it was because he knew him better than most people did.
“I have responsibilities to Devil’s Perch, and the family,” he replied, his tone flat, like he had said this a thousand times already, rehearsed it. He was used to carrying the weight of those words, like they were a shield, a reason for why he couldn’t let his guard down. Why he couldn’t just…live.
“I think we’ll survive if you take some time for yourself,” Monroe shot back, his smile turning into something more affectionate, but no less serious. “You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. You’re gonna end up with nothing left if you keep going like this.”
Reeves let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Part of him knew Monroe was right, but the other part of him didn’t know how to step away. He had always been the one who took on the burdens, who kept people in line, who made sure things ran smoothly. But sometimes, in moments like this, he felt as if he was losing himself in the process.
“I don’t know how to just be , Monroe,” he admitted, his voice lower now. When you lived like he did—you didn’t get the luxury of having just a life. Everything was always part of something bigger. You had to keep moving, keep protecting, or everything fell apart. He said nothing at first, just sat weighing Monroe’s words, like he could see the cracks he was trying to hide.
“Well, maybe it’s time to figure out how to live again, instead of just existing.” Monroe leaned forward, his hands firmly placed on the bar top, his expression full of concern. “I’m not saying you have to quit being a solider. I just…I want you to remember there’s more to this life than just doing the job. I care about you, Reeves. You deserve to have something for you, too.”
Reeves looked at Monroe. His brother’s sincerity cut through the armor he’d built up over the years. For a moment, he almost felt like he could drop everything and walk away from it all—take a break, find something simple, something peaceful. But the weight of his choices, his loyalty to the people in his life, always brought him back to reality.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, a reluctant concession, but it was the best he could offer right now.
Monroe nodded. “Good. Just remember, you don’t have to do it all alone.”
Before Reeves could respond, the door opened, allowing Jackson to step into view. Reeves didn’t miss how serious Jackson appeared. He wondered if it was something with Whiskey and the baby or something with one of the businesses.
“Gentlemen, what are we drinking?”
“Bodega Ayni Uraqui.”
“Finally, I was wondering if Monroe would ever open that bottle of wine,” he said directly to Reeves, all the while keeping an eye on Monroe waiting for his response.
Monroe held out his hands, looking at Jackson with a what the fuck expression. “I was waiting on the right time.”
“And tonight is the right time?” Jackson asked Monroe, serious to why tonight when there had been previous opportunities to drink that particular wine.
“Reeves is cooking mama’s spaghetti for us,” Monroe said. Reeves had always been a bit of a perfectionist when it came to food, and the way he prepared his mama’s spaghetti was nothing short of a ritual. Monroe had tasted it countless times, but it never failed to evoke a sense of nostalgia mixed with awe. The rich, savory sauce, simmered for hours, clung to the perfectly al dente pasta. It was the kind of meal that made you feel grounded, as if each bite was a step back into a time when things were simpler.
Monroe could already imagine the warmth of the kitchen, the scent of garlic and basil filling the air, and Reeves standing over the stove with that focused, almost meditative expression. It was hard to believe the same man who would spend hours turning a simple family recipe into something divine would spend the same amount of time and dedication to kill their enemies. Monroe realized he was almost in awe of his younger brother. Except he could see how hard Reeves was struggling to keep himself from falling apart from the pressure. “Also, it’s just us, I thought we could sit back and appreciate the moment.”
Opening the bottle, the wine had a subtle floral hint of violet that added a delicate layer of refinement, balancing the more robust, earthy elements. Pouring a small taste into his glass, Monroe lifted it bringing it to his nose.
The wine presented a complex and intense bouquet, where the deep, ripe aromas of blackberries were intertwined with smoky notes of tobacco and the rich essence of dark cocoa. Taking a sip, he let the liquid settle on his tongue. Finally satisfied with his choice of wine, Monroe set his glass down and poured himself and his brothers a glass.
Satisfied with his choice of wine, Monroe sat his glass down and poured out three glasses and handed his brothers a glass each. Picking up his glass again, he swirled the wine in his glass one last time, the ruby-red liquid catching the light just so, before turning to his brothers. “Here’s to family,” he said, raising his glass with a grin, a silent toast to the familiar comfort of their shared meals and memories.
His brothers, already anticipating the meal, echoed the sentiment, each in their own way.
Picking up his glass, Reeves raised it and toasted his brothers. “Salud.”
“Salud.” Jackson and Monroe repeated.
“This wine is a perfect match for the meal I’ve prepared for us,” Reeves said as he carried his glass with him to the kitchen, leaving Monroe and Jackson to talk amongst themselves. He didn’t want to listen to his brothers talking about their women. Reeves loved they were happy and in loving relationships. For him, he would go down in flames before dragging a woman into the life he led. What was he supposed to do, come home, wash the blood from his hands, then sit down for dinner? Not him. No matter what, he would not drag Stormy into the life of a mafia family. That was how much he loved her. He heard his brothers walking into the kitchen behind him as they continued chatting.
Monroe picked up an olive from a little bowl on the counter. “I have to be in Austin tomorrow, then I’ll be back home.”
Jackson grabbed an olive for himself. “Are you going to see Parker at school?”
It sounded weird to hear Jackson ask Monroe if he was going to see his girlfriend at school. There was an age gap between the two, but not that big of one.
“Does she call you daddy?” Reeves laughed asking Monroe. Ducking his head he dodged the dishtowel Monroe tossed at him. “Hey, I’m cooking here.”
Monroe ignored Reeves, turning his attention to Jackson. “I’m going to help her pack up her apartment. She’s done with school and heading home.”
Jackson didn’t want to remind Monroe that Parker had worked hard to get her last two degrees as well. “She worked hard to get this degree.”
“She has,” Monroe said picking up another olive.
Reeves dipped the spoon into the pot of sauce, bringing it up he sampled the heavily scented sauce. “Stormy’s coming back to town.” He heard Jackson announce out of the blue. Hearing his brother’s words, Reeves choked on the sauce. Bringing the apron up to his mouth, he wiped the sauce from his face.
“Reeves, are you okay over there?” Jackson asked, trying not to laugh at his younger brother.
Turning around Reeves stared at Jackson. His brother could have mentioned Stormy coming into town when they were standing at the bar waiting on Monroe to pour the wine. It was a stab to his heart, one that had his chest tight. “When will she be arriving?”
Jackson shifted uncomfortably, but then spoke up, his voice measured. “A week from yesterday.”
Reeves studied Jackson for a long beat, weighing his words, his face unreadable. Finally, he exhaled, the tension in his posture easing ever so slightly, though the fire in his eyes didn’t go out entirely. “I might be in town.”
Monroe looked at their younger brother, wondering if he ever thought about anything other than work. Before he could comment, Reeves spoke, answering Monroe’s unasked question. “It’s a business trip.”
Cutting a look at Jackson, Monroe shook his head slightly, wanting their older brother to tread carefully. Their younger brother was already on edge for some reason.
Jackson blamed it on the rich wine and the aromas of the kitchen that had him reflecting on the changes in Reeves. Once upon a time, his younger brother had been driven by more personal desires, primarily sex. Now he was solely focused on business. Jackson appreciated the dedication to family Reeves showed, still he worried he should have forced Reeves into remaining in school. If he could go back, Jackson would force Reeves to remain in school. He’d have picked someone else to become Consigliere. “What business trip?”
Without looking back at Jackson, Reeves explained his reason for leaving town. “I have to be in Houston for a meeting with a new investor.”
Jackson found the tone of Reeves’ voice to calm, but there was something in the way he spoke that suggested his mind was already elsewhere. That he wasn’t interested in discussing the details, and the mention of Houston seemed like an afterthought, as if the trip were merely a step in a larger, more complicated plan.
Nodding, Jackson tried reading between the lines, but Reeves wasn’t offering much more. “Reeves, I asked you a question not as your brother, but as the boss.”
Setting the spoon aside, Reeves turned to face Jackson. “We’re having some push back from the Serrano family.” He had wanted to wait to discuss Marcello and Martinelli, but it seemed he had to lay it out on the table. “It’s not just Serrano, I have a meeting with two of the New Orleans bosses in Houston.”
That got his attention, setting his wineglass down Jackson’s good mood was deteriorating. “Why haven’t I been read into this development?”
“You’ve been busy with a new baby. It’s my job to talk with the other families and figure things out. Which means what’s best for everyone concerned.” Reeves wouldn’t apologize for handling things on his own. If giving Jackson time to settle into family life made his brother mad, so be it.