Page 7 of Stormy Knight

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 Caballéfiltered 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 justbe, Monroe,” he admitted, his voice lower now. When you lived like he did—you didn’t get the luxury of havingjusta 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 toliveagain, 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 rememberthere’s more to this life than just doing the job. I care about you, Reeves. You deserve to have somethingfor 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.”

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