Page 9 of Stormy Knight

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.

5

Jackson didn’t like being kept out of the loop. Especially not after the issues they’d had with the other bosses in the past. The pressure was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, from every direction. There were whispers and rumors—everyone wanted the Salvadors to fail. Those who had tried to undermine them before were bound to be sorely disappointed. The Salvadors had weathered storms that would’ve sunk lesser families.

He was tired, though. Tired of having to prove himself, tired of playing the political game, and tired of the endless back-and-forth. But that was part of the price he paid for being the boss of bosses. He didn’t have the luxury of stepping back or resting easy.

The weight of it all sat heavily on him. Every decision, every conversation, could shift the balance. And as much as he wanted to trust Reeves, this new move—whatever it was—felt like a potential risk. Jackson’s instincts had always served him well, and right now, they were screaming at him that something wasn’t right.

Still, he held his ground. He’d done it before, and he’d do it again. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. “First, what’s the issue with the Serranos?” he asked, his voice low, but steady.

Reeves picked up a large knife, the blade gleaming in the dim light as he sliced through the ripe Romano tomatoes with practiced precision. The sharp, clean cuts punctuated the otherwise tense silence. He wasn’t in a rush. He took his time, eyes flicking up only when he realized Monroe had slipped into the other room without a word.

The sight made Reeves’ lip curl in a mild smirk.Chicken shit, he thought. Always the coward when things got heated between them. Now, Reeves was stuck with Jackson alone to deal with the real issues.

He slid the diced tomatoes into the pot. When he spoke, it was with a cool, almost casual air, but there was a weight to his words. “They’re still wanting us to open up our territory for them to run their product through it.” He glanced up briefly, his eyes narrowing as he watched Jackson’s reaction.

The Serranos. They were a thorn in their sides, constantly trying to profit off other families’ regions. They didn’t have the connections nor the muscle to protect their asses if caught.

Reeves knew how Jackson and Monroe felt about other families trying to get a foothold in their area. “They think we’ll roll over,” he continued, voice dripping with disdain, “but we’re not about to hand them the keys to our kingdom.”

“And how are you going to discuss this matter?” The silence hung heavy for a moment as Jackson waited for Reeves to answer him.

Reeves put the knife down, letting out a sigh, he wiped his hands on the edge of his apron. Picking up the cutting board, he carried it over to the pot and brushed the diced tomatoes into the sauce. Setting the board down, he looked at Jackson, who was staring back at him.

The kitchen, always full of the smells of simmering food, now felt heavier, the air thick with an unspoken tension. Jackson’s gaze didn’t shift—he was still watching Reeves closely, as if waiting for something. “In the normal way.”

Jackson didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked briefly to the knife still lying on the counter, then back to Reeves. “You mean your way.”

“You have your ways, and I have mine.” Reeves looked at Jackson, bored. “I won’t make anyone bleed this time, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Not that long ago he had wanted Mario Serrano to bleed. Instead, Jackson had worked that issue out. Still, the Serranos were back at it again.

Every day it was a struggle to keep Reeves from being a cowboy like their old man was. Their father WAS a cowboy. Jennings Salvador had no problem shooting a man in the street like some Bandolero in a Mexican standoff. Unsurprisingly, he’d lost his life to a bullet. Even if it had been by his own brother’s hand.

Jackson feared his younger brother would suffer the same fate. Not by a bullet from him or Monroe, but from someone else. Reeves was hot-tempered. He had no problem beating a person for information. He had no problem pulling the trigger. Reeves, as consigliere, wasn’t supposed to be handling payment collections. Jackson wondered if Reeves even felt anything over how he dealt out punishments in the name of business.

For over the past two years, he’d been thinking of them going one hundred percent legit. They’d watched a lot of the older families being shut down, killed, or jailed. They could easily step away from their illegal dealings. In the past, when he thought about doing it, he realized they had too many people in their pockets to do it. But now, it could be possible.

Jackson leaned back against the kitchen counter, watching Reeves move through the space, the faint sound of musicblending with the clink of dishes and the rhythmic tap of feet. His younger brother was focused on something—setting out bowls, his thoughts his own.

There was a version of Reeves that Jackson could still see when the light hit just right. The kid who had left for college with too many plans and not enough reality. The one who used to laugh loudest, with a carefreeness that seemed to come without effort. Jackson barely recognized signs of that kid anymore. It felt like a lifetime ago, and in a way, it was. Before their father’s death, before the shift that had come like a heavy cloud, swallowing up everything in its path.

There had been a time when they didn’t even notice the pressure building. Time spent on the porch after dark, getting into trouble with friends, when life seemed endless and free. But somewhere in the aftermath of their father’s passing, everything had changed. They had to change.

Jackson couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened—when they had traded in the spontaneous joy of being brothers for something heavier, something quieter. But watching Reeves now, Jackson wondered if his brother thought about it too. About whom they used to be, and who they were now.

“Reeves?” Jackson kept his voice casual, but there was something in the air, a tension neither of them could shake, even after all this time.

Reeves didn’t answer immediately, his eyes focused on the pot he was stirring, the movements of his hands automatic as he stared into the rich sauce. Not that Jackson needed answers, but sometimes, he just needed to know that they were still on the same page. That he understood Jackson’s position and respected it. Which Reeves did.

The kid Jackson so often looked for in him was long gone. Now, in his place was a man. A man with a cynical heart. Every move Reeves made was calculated and precise.He’d made peace with his choice. It was Jackson who still clung to his disappointment. Disappointed that he’d allowed his younger brother to become such an intricate part of the family’s businesses. The life they had chosen was harsh and relentless. Like the rain beating against the dry Texas earth. Some nights, he wished he could catch a glimpse of them and hang on to it for more than a few seconds.Melancholy bullshit.

“Tell him no. That I said no, and if he has an issue with that…” Jackson looked at Reeves drawing a line in the sand, “if he doesn’t like my decision, the next person visiting him will be me.” Family was everything to Jackson. He’d proved that time and time again. If he had to kill to keep his brothers safe, he would. If it took him getting his hands bloody to remind the other families who he was, so be it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t pulled the trigger before. “I’ll also be going to Houston with you.”

“I’ll make sure they know you’re coming,” Reeves said, dishing up a taste of the sauce, handing it over to Jackson, he added a slice of homemade bread. “If Serrano doesn’t agree, I’ll be heading to Dallas again. I still need to settle the issue from my last meet with him.”

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