7. Salvatore

7

salvatore

“This your first time fishing?” asks Ernest.

We’re loading our equipment onto the bass boat. I load my tackle box and fishing pole, giving a slight nod of my head.

“I’m not the fishing type,” I answer.

Ernest lets out a hearty chuckle. “Fortunate for you—all of you—I have little else to do with my retirement time than to take up hobbies like fishing and golfing. I’ll show you the ropes. First things first, we optimize our fishing times based on the weather. These conditions will be perfect.”

“You sure about that, DA?” Stitches asks, rubbing his hands together. He balances his weight from one leg to the other to combat the frigid temperatures. “Can’t imagine what fish we’re about to catch in the arctic like this.”

“If you think this is cold, you need to go ice fishing in Alaska sometime. This is nothing, Stitches.”

“I’m sure both Salvatore and Stitches are used to equally challenging conditions,” says Marcel tensely. He makes no attempt at seeming civil as he shoulder checks Stitches and makes him stumble half a step. “They’re in the mafia after all, right? Isn’t organized crime all about dumping bodies in rivers and lakes?”

My eyes narrow as I set my attention on Delphine’s older brother. He’s got his back turned to me, but that makes no difference as I take in his body language. His posture’s rigid, his jaw equally as stiff. He’s on guard because he’s not only pissed. He’s bitter.

That much comes through in his tight tone.

It calls back to the past, when his father, Ernest, had been the one looking down on us. Ernest had been the one making it clear he wanted his daughter to have nothing to do with a criminal thug like me. Figures his son would feel the same.

But where Ernest has largely moved on from that phase, it seems his son refuses to let it go. He refuses to turn over a new leaf and accept that me and Phi are bonded for life. We’ve not only started our own family, we’ve continued to grow it together.

We’re in three children deep, yet he’s still stuck on the fact that his sister’s married to a mobster.

“We’ll enjoy ourselves,” Ernest declares, the frosty air puffing out in front of him. “Nothing like a trip like this for men to bond.”

Marcel climbs onto the boat that’s swaying on the icy cold waters. “Bond? We’re here to fish, Dad. That’s all.”

“Ernest is right,” I say with a casual shrug, my hands stowed in my pockets. I stroll onto the boat with ease, side stepping over the edge, making it rock under the added weight. “I’m sure we’re all about to have a great morning, Marcel. Maybe Stitches and I can tell you all about how we toss heavy things in the water.”

The dig falls on deaf ears as far as Ernest is concerned. He’s checking on his fishing rod and then observing the grayish blue waters surrounding us. Stitches chokes back a laugh while Delphine’s brother clenches his jaw and glares at me.

Long ago I learned I love pissing people off.

It first started when I was a kid, pissing Lucius off any chance I got. Stefania was no different. Then I realized it applied to teachers and other authority figures.

As a capo coming up in the Mancino family, with a hostile District Attorney like Ernest Adams breathing down my neck, I was more than happy to make steam come out of his years.

Years and years later, as I’ve turned forty and assumed I’ve matured, I realize that’s not necessarily true. The petty urge to piss people off still lives inside me.

Marcel Adams happens to be the latest person capable of bringing it out of me.

Maybe today is going to be fun after all.

Our boat floats into motion, leaving the lakeshore and drifting across the murky cold water. Ernest launches into an explanation about technique when it comes to luring fish with bait and reeling them in.

Stitches is more attentive, while I’ve got my sights on Marcel. He’s barely listening to a word his father says, instead off in his own corner of the boat. His fishing rod rests against the inside of his thigh, the tension still pulsing off him in an invisible wave.

It really poses the question why he’s bothered coming on this family holiday trip at all. If being around mafia men like Stitches and I repulses him, if he truly hates my guts so much, what would motivate him to tag along on our family vacation?

I file that thought away for later, deciding to return to it once I have more time to think.

“Alright, this is a good location,” Ernest says. “Ready, gents? Let’s see who catches the most game.”

The four of us line our fishing poles with our bait and then try our hand at luring some fish. Stitches fights with his fishing rod, jerking at the handle to reel back his line.

“This thing is stuck!” he calls, gritting his teeth.

“Is it stuck, or is the angler using poor technique?” Ernest asks smartly. He sets down his rod to go over and help Stitches.

It’s something I never thought I’d see—my righthand man laughing it up with Delphine’s father. This entire trip is something I never thought I’d see.

Though it’s been years since my feud with Ernest has ended, it still lingers in the back of my head. Years of animosity doesn’t just evaporate into nothingness. It stays with you for a long time.

Delphine’s father lived because she loved him and I didn’t want to cause her any more pain if I could help it.

But the truth is, Ernest and I have stuck to our truce. We’ve even found common ground as father-in-law and son-in-law.

Is the same possible for Delphine’s brother? Marcel has largely been away from the family; he’s spent years living abroad, thousands of miles from what’s happened between the rest of us.

Something hard and forceful knocks into me from behind. It’s enough to make me stagger a step forward, almost near the edge of the boat.

“Didn’t see you there,” Marcel mumbles. He offers no other apology for bumping into me. He doesn’t even look me in the eye, peering into his tackle box to grab more worms for his bait.

I breathe through the instant surge of my temper. The obvious fact that he intentionally bumped into me and then barely offered any mention of his mistake. It’s not the fish in the lake he’s trying to bait.

It’s me. He wants an explosive reaction out of me.

He wants me to react like a hothead. Maybe even with violence.

His father tried the same technique many years ago, doing his damnedest to bait me into making rash decisions. Usually it would result in Delphine being disappointed in me.

I might still have a temper, but I’m sharper now. More cognizant of how it could be a weakness.

If Marcel is looking to bait me, he’ll be sorely disappointed.

Unsurprisingly, Ernest is the first person to catch a fish. He tugs on the handle of his fishing rod and reels in a large blue catfish that flops helplessly on the floor of the boat.

“Feast your eyes on this bounty, gentlemen!” he says happily. “Looks like we caught dinner for tonight.”

“That’s a fatty,” Stitches whistles.

“Exactly the kind you want. One of many I’m sure we’ll catch.”

“Hey, Mr. DA,” Stitches says, his head bowed toward his boots. “I think we’re leaking.”

“Leaking? What do you… oh no.”

I turn around to almost immediately spot what Stitches means. Water has started to seep onto the floor, gradually spreading into a puddle.

None of us noticed in the beginning. It was so subtle, it was easy to overlook.

“Damn it!” Ernest exclaims, dropping his fishing rod. “We’ve got to head back.”

“How is this boat leaking?” I ask. “How did this hole appear, and why would the rental company give it to us this way?”

Ernest has rushed over to restart the motor of the bass boat. “Who knows. But it seems it was like this all morning and we’re just now noticing.”

Stitches sighs and shakes his head. “We’ve got to haul ass. This water’s spreading quicker and quicker.”

“It seems we’ve been sabotaged,” Marcel says, then he finally looks right at me, meeting my gaze. “This would be an interesting way for my father and I to go. Fishing trip with some mobsters.”

My mind wipes clean of all the mature thoughts from earlier, where I’d managed self-restraint. I step toward Delphine’s brother with no emotion to be found but the same contempt he’s showing me.

“It would be an interesting way to go, wouldn’t it?” I ask. “Let’s see if you make it back to shore, Marcel.”

“Gents, not now!” Ernest calls, yanking at the motor. “This thing doesn’t want to start.”

“Let me.” Stitches rushes over to help.

Together they get the motor going, a deep rumble erupting. The boat jets off across the water, traversing the lake. It seems we’ve averted a crisis until the motor slowly peters out again. It gives a weak croak and then dies completely.

We’re stranded in the middle of the lake, more water pooling inside the boat.

“Fuck!” I swear. “We’re going to have to swim to shore.”

“Life jackets.” Ernest darts toward the emergency compartment, where he pries out four neon-orange life vests and passes them off. “It’s been years since I’ve swam. Marcel, you can barely doggy paddle. You’ll need one of us to help you.”

“This is a farce,” he spits angrily. “The fact that I’ve been put in this situation.”

“Marcel, just put your life jacket on and we’ll talk about it when we get to shore.”

“I’ll put my life jacket on, but these two are going nowhere near me!”

Ernest shakes his head, his hands quickly fastening his vest. “We’re in this together. No time for grudges. I’m an older man who’s not a strong swimmer. Salvatore and Stitches might need to?—”

“Fuck that!” Marcel growls. “I’ll make it to shore myself.”

“Marcel!”

But Ernest’s call falls on deaf ears.

Delphine’s older brother leaps off the boat and starts stroking his arms and legs in an attempt to make it toward the shore.

“Damn it,” Ernest grits out. “The boy’s too prideful for his own good. Let’s go. We have no more time. This boat’s going down.”

The rest of us finish strapping into our life jackets before we abandon the boat altogether.

Stitches and Ernest dive before I do. I’m last to take the plunge, leaping headfirst into the icy water.

Only a few strokes into the long swim, it’s apparent Ernest was being honest. He’s not the strongest swimmer and his age affects his stamina. Luckily, Stitches is close enough that he helps him where he can. The two have started working in tandem, quickly overtaking where Marcel has begun to struggle.

Delphine’s older brother’s cockiness has evaporated as he flounders. He smacks his arms around, barely gaining ground, more winded by the second. He has no technique, no real idea how to stroke his arms and legs.

It’s only a matter of minutes before he’ll go under.

“Get the fuck away from me!” he yells as I grip the front of his life jacket.

I’m not the best swimmer myself, but I’m capable enough to make it to the shoreline. Marcel shoves at me, water splashing around us as I grab him to pull him along.

“Stop being fucking hardheaded,” I growl. “You want to drown or you want to let the mobster help you to shore?”

The repulsion in his dark eyes is unmistakable. He wants nothing to do with me.

Yet my question’s met with silence. Reluctant deference.

He knows I’m right.

“Good,” I say. “Now shut the fuck up and let’s make it to shore.”

Over the course of the next seven minutes, we struggle toward the shoreline. Stitches and Ernest make it first, the two winded and exhausted as they stumble among the slippery rocks. Marcel and I arrive a couple minutes after.

Once we can touch the bottom of the lake, I let go of him and let him make it the rest of the way on his own.

We’re dripping wet and heaving for air. Limbs ache and muscles burn. Stumbling across the rocks to dry ground, we take a moment to collect our breath and calm down.

“What the hell was that?” Stitches asks what we’re each thinking. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say our boat was sabotaged.”

I shake wet hair out of my face and turn back to glare at our sinking boat in the middle of the lake. “I would say without question that someone wanted that boat to sink with us on it. But the real question is who?”