18. Saverio
18
SAVERIO
T he pen glides smoothly over the paper, ink drying beneath my familiar scrawl as I sign the last page of the contract. Tens of hundreds of perfectly printed words spell out everything from where my hard-earned money’s going to the precise percentage I’ll make back every month. Not a single detail is overlooked, from the fine print detailing potential risks to the clauses protecting my interests.
“It’s done,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “We’re in business, Kristopher.”
My younger brother eagerly snatches the contract from the table, his fingers deftly flipping through the pages as he meticulously verifies that every line has been signed. A wave of relief washes over his features, softening the tension that had been etched there moments before, when he finally confirms that all is in order. The moment he spots me placing a check on the table, a gleam of satisfaction ignites in his eyes. “This is incredible,” he says as if I just gave him life-changing money.
A million years ago, I might have thought $50,000 was life-changing, too. But now, it’s just another day in my life. “I’m proud of you, Kristopher. You knew what you needed, found an investor, and provided the facts and figures necessary to facilitate this relationship. You’re a good businessman.”
Kristopher rises from his seat, a newfound confidence in his stride as he makes his way behind the polished mahogany bar. His eyes scan the array of bottles lining the shelves. After a moment’s consideration, he reaches for the familiar amber bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon, its label worn but proud. With practiced ease, he plucks two crystal tumblers from the rack above. The clink of glass on glass echoes softly as he sets them down. “Let’s celebrate,” he nods his head at me.
It’s 6:00 pm on a Friday. There’s no better time than now to break out a bottle of bourbon and start the weekend.
Kristopher returns to the table, his movements fluid and assured. He uncorks the bottle with a satisfying pop, the rich aroma of oak and caramel immediately wafting through the air. With practiced ease, he tilts the bottle, pouring a generous measure into each glass. He slides one tumbler across the polished wood towards me. His eyes meet mine as he raises his glass in a silent toast. “To our new partnership,” he says.
I take the offered glass, the amber liquid catching the light as I raise it. “To Tate’s,” I respond as the clink of our crystal echoes through the quiet room.
We drink in silence, the bourbon burning a smooth path down my throat. I relish the warmth and sip on the whiskey slowly, savoring its complex flavors of vanilla and spice. The rich liquid coats my tongue, leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. Meanwhile, Kristopher throws the whole glass back in one swift motion, almost too eager. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and he exhales sharply. The contrast between our drinking styles is stark, and I can’t help but wonder if it reflects our different approaches to this new partnership.
“You should come by tonight,” he says excitedly. His glass slams down on the table a second later as if punctuating his request. “Now that you’re one of the owners, you should come see Tate’s when it’s full. You know, get a real feel for the place now that you’re invested.”
Reluctance wells up in the back of my chest, turning the flavor of the bourbon bitter. A knot forms in my stomach as I contemplate the invitation. I don’t go out to bars anymore, at least not local ones like Tate’s, where barely legal girls and boys fall over themselves and run into walls when the liquor’s too strong. The thought of being surrounded by that chaos, the deafening music, and the sticky floors makes me cringe inwardly. I’ve outgrown that scene, preferring quieter evenings and more refined company.
I offer Kristopher a polite smile and set my glass down with a soft thud, my reaction a sharp contrast to his. “Not tonight. You know how it is. Other business and all that.” I have no other business, not tonight, but Kristopher doesn’t need to know that.
His enthusiasm falters, and so does the cheery expression on his face. I can tell that he’s hurt by the refusal, but he recovers quickly, nodding. “Of course. Another time, then,” he says with a half-hearted smile. A second later, his phone starts buzzing against the table. Kristopher shoots it a glance and his brow furrows. “I’ve uh, I gotta take this. It’s my beer distributor,” he explains as he mutters a quick apology.
I wave him off. “No worries. Take care of business.”
Kristopher accepts the call with a grimace and rises from his seat, striding several paces away toward the far corner of the bar. He engages in a strained conversation with the supplier on the opposite end, his voice rising and falling in barely contained frustration. Before the discussion can escalate, he shields the mouthpiece with one hand and turns to me, mouthing that he’ll return shortly. With an apologetic shrug, he vanishes through a side door, abandoning me.
Initially, I hadn’t intended to sign the paperwork for Kristopher in person. The idea of stepping foot in this place made me uneasy, so I suggested he send me digital copies instead. It seemed like a convenient solution for both of us. But then he reminded me about the check, and the thought of entrusting a $50,000 payment to just anyone made me reconsider. So, against my better judgment, I volunteered to drop it off in person when I finished my day at Konza Elite. The detour would eat into my evening, but at least I’d have peace of mind knowing the transaction was handled securely.
Things ran a little later than expected. A worker’s compensation incident unexpectedly unfolded at a construction site in Wamego, causing a flurry of activity and concern among the crew. To complicate matters further, some critically important paperwork related to the incident mysteriously vanished, leaving the site supervisor and project managers scrambling to piece together what happened. The missing documents not only jeopardized the proper handling of the injured worker’s claim but also raised questions about site safety protocols and record-keeping practices.
As the hours ticked by, I apologized to Kristopher for being late, but he said it was fine. I’m surprised we got out of the office just after five, but I make sure all mishaps on a Friday are resolved before anyone goes home, so everyone was quick to do their job.
Now, with a belly full of bourbon and $50,000 poorer, I consider my options for the night. I could go back home and read through the contracts Konza Elite is working on with the city regarding a piece of historic property. I could call my brothers and see if they’re interested in getting drinks. I could reach out to Lucia and see if she wants company.
Lucia.
My heart beats for that woman, and it pisses me off some days. I bet she isn’t at home on a Friday night contemplating her plans. She’s probably out with that girl who talked her into a double date last weekend. I make a mental note to track the woman down and tell her to keep my Lucia out of her future schemes.
I pull my phone from my pocket. Muscle memory takes over as I swipe the screen, unlocking it with a familiar pattern. Without hesitation, I navigate to the Find My Friends app, my thumb hovering for just a moment before tapping the icon. The screen flickers to life, and Lucia’s tracker blips into existence, a pulsing dot of blue light against the stark map.
My eyebrows raise in surprise as I realize she’s down the street, less than a mile from where I sit. Curiosity and a hint of something else—perhaps jealousy—spark within me as my eyes narrow, focusing intently on the screen. I tap on her name, and the app smoothly transitions, directing me to my message thread with her. Our past conversations are laid out before me like a road map of our relationship.
Saverio
What are you doing in Manhattan?
A reply arrives swiftly. The app indicates she’s composing a message, and within moments, her answer materializes on the screen.
Lucia
Stalker
I’m having dinner with Luc. He wanted to catch up.
Luciano Terlizzi, Lucia’s bad-tempered twin. Now that’s a guy who could use a good fuck, a good cigar, and the best bourbon money can buy. Talk about a man whose panties are jammed so far up his ass he wears them as a hat.
Saverio
What are you doing later?
Lucia
Depends on why you’re asking…
Saverio
I invested in my half-brother’s bar, and he invited me to see it in action.
There’s a pause before the ellipses appear, indicating she’s typing. I can feel her reluctance through the screen.
Lucia
I don’t know. I’m restructuring my social studies teaching plan this year. I figured I’d head home after dinner and work on that.
Saverio
Come. I’ll make it worth your while.
The offer hangs in the air, and I can almost see her on the other end of this exchange, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she weighs her options. The silence stretches, pregnant with possibility. But after a few moments that feel like an eternity, her response pings through, and she agrees.
Lucia
Okay. What time?
A satisfied smile tugs at my lips, but I’m torn from the conversation before I can respond. Kristopher returns with his phone in hand and a frustrated look on his face. “Everything okay?” I ask, noticing the shift in his mood.
“Yeah,” he sighs heavily. “Prices are going up. Typical, right?” Kristopher settles back into his chair.
“Cost of doing business,” I lament alongside him. I’ve been hit by price raises, too, though mine were a little more substantial since they affected the price of wood exponentially and increased costs for every housing development we had under construction. The lumber market’s volatility has been a thorn in our side for months now. Nonetheless, I feel his pain. “But hey, it looks like I’ll be able to swing by the bar tonight after all.”
Kristopher’s eyes light up. “That’s great! What do you like to drink? I’ll make sure I have it on hand.”
I wave him off. “Don’t worry about me, but I am bringing my fiancé. She’s a vodka drinker, preferably Belvedere.”
He nods his head. “I got some in the back.”
Lucia does not ordinarily go out in public with me, so tonight feels like a special occasion. I can’t wait to have my wife-to-be right where she belongs—by my side.