The Salvatores Collection: A Steel Saviors MC Romance Read online

  Never Forgotten

  The Salvatores Collection: Steel Saviors MC Romance

  Ethan Egorov

  Contents

  1. Trent

  2. Kristina

  3. Trent

  4. Kristina

  5. Trent

  6. Kristina

  7. Trent

  8. Kristine

  9. Trent

  10. Kristina

  11. Trent

  12. Kristina

  13. Trent

  14. Kristina

  15. Trent

  16. Kristina

  17. Trent

  18. Kristina

  Next Book

  Trent

  The waiter carried a large silver tray out to the table and set it directly in the middle. Pulling off the lid, he revealed a steaming plate of spaghetti and meatballs, the house specialty, to a large group of well-dressed, stoic-faced businessmen. The men observed the food placed at the table with nary a change in their facial features, having hit a lull in their conversation.

  At the head of the table, an elderly man, Pop Salvatore, sat dressed in a black suit with a crisp collared white shirt and black tie. His face was marked with the passage of time, wrinkles, and a near-permanent scowl for an expression, and it looked as if it were going to shatter into a million pieces. Around him, other members of the family looked to him for some sort of sign to begin eating. Nothing happened without Pop’s approval.

  Then, suddenly, Pop did something unexpected— he smiled.

  “Well, now!” Pop said. “Look at that! That’s what I’m talking about, boys! You don’t get this kind of hand-crafted quality in other parts of the country. Pennini’s does it best, and it’s not even close!”

  The gathering of Salvatores let out some laughs and a couple of cheers. The waiter kept a cool, professional countenance as he began serving salads and heaping pasta onto the plates. He then refilled all the wine glasses at the table before going to the kitchen and returning with a basket of garlic breadsticks. The restaurant was no stranger to their family celebrations. Everyone at the table knew holidays and special occasions would be celebrated here, with plates full of the best Italian food in the city.

  And on this particular day, they were there to celebrate the birthday of Trent Salvatore, a day the young man appreciated having family around but one he wasn’t the biggest fan of for the very same reason, albeit from a different perspective.

  “I have to say, we have much to celebrate,” Pop said, glancing at the rest of the table. “It’s not been easy, but we have come together as a family once again to stop all of our enemies, and our legacy is thriving. We have now completely overtaken the East Side. There’s not one business there that doesn’t pay our, ahem, tax. You boys have been very successful this year. Let us enjoy this moment!”

  Trent, the man of the hour, raised his glass and nodded. Though Trent was also beginning to show signs of age, his were more of the intense kinds rather than the biological kinds. His eyebrows were usually furrowed in focus, and his eyes could pierce through even the toughest of gazes. Ironically, while everyone else had sharpened gazes because of their time in the family business, Trent’s eyes reflected a narrowed focus from some hard struggles in life.

  The very reason he was even in this room with all the other Salvatores was a story in itself. As an adult, though handsome, lady luck had largely eluded him— both metaphorically and literally with women. He’d had a couple of decent relationships, but most of them were marked by the immaturity of youth, the fire of young romance, and the inability to say no to a beautiful woman.

  The result was that at times, in quiet moments when Trent wasn’t with family, or when he was, and he just pulled a moment aside to himself, he thought about the past. He thought about the first woman he had seriously dated, a young girl by the name of Kristina. Kristina was so close to the Salvatores that she was sometimes called ‘sis’ by Trent’s brother and ‘daughter’ by his father, but Trent knew full well she was most certainly not biological. Though it wasn’t exactly a logical thought— she was too beautiful to be a Salvatore.

  But life got in the way. Even though Trent wasn’t as involved in the family business as others, it inevitably made it difficult for the two of them to stay involved. Kristina, too, had her connection to the mafia lifestyle, though Trent could never quite pin down what it was about her and what she did with her free time. Still, the result was that while their relationship had ended before, and not necessarily on the best of terms, it wasn’t like Trent could just speak of her in anything other than wistful remembrance.

  The second woman he dated, though . . . Rachelle was a wild thing. A real wild thing. She could make love like no other woman could, and with a complete abandon and lack of concern for the world around her. She was a delight upon a delight upon a delight.

  Strangely enough, though, while his relationship with Kristina had ended with tears, attempts to reunite, and hope for the future, he and Rachelle had just sort of . . . ended. It wasn’t like there was a dramatic fight. No conversation extended until sunrise. They just slowly drifted apart. In some ways, Trent realized they may have never officially broken up.

  So, yes, in many ways, Trent had earned the serious gaze on his face, the furrowed brow, and the pensive look.

  But here, tonight, he was just a grandson celebrating his birthday and family success.

  Well, in one sense of the word. He wasn’t as much a grandson as the rest of them.

  “Thanks, Pop,” Trent said sheepishly, extending his glass toward Pop. “It’s been a long year but a good one.”

  “Indeed,” Pop said. “I think you should say grace before Pennini’s spaghetti gets cold. I’d hate for him to think we’re insulting him.”

  “Yeah, no one wants to tangle with old man Pennini,” Trent said with a chuckle, referring to Saul, the restaurant’s owner. “I think he could best anyone of us in a hand-to-hand fight.”

  Trent ran his hands through his dark brown hair and bowed his head. He closed his eyes and recited a prayer for grace, something he’d been accustomed to doing since childhood. The prayer wasn’t awkward for him, but being the center of attention in this room was. After all, he wasn’t as much a Salvatore as the rest of them.

  After the prayer, dinner officially began. Bread was passed, wine was sipped, and conversations were had. And, just as quickly, the focus of the room shifted from one person to many people, as brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and very close family friends turned their eyes to the person on their left and right, not on Trent. That allowed Trent to focus on his food.

  Well, for a few moments, anyway.

  “So, son,” Pops said, to which Trent just took a deep breath and tried not to look concerned. “You’re another year older. What do you think you’ll do this year?”

  Trent took a deep breath. For all he had done this past year, he really just wanted a year where he didn’t have to think about the answer to that question. A year where he could just go with each day as it came would be a remarkable improvement. It wasn’t like he was deeply entangled in the family business, but he couldn’t really catch a break of any sort. If something happened with the family or, God forbid, a rival, then Trent could never escape it. It was practically his duty as a Salvatore.

  “I don’t know, Pop,” Trent said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll just focus on helping run the businesses. I really don’t have many other plans. I guess it would be nice to go see a Red Sox game at some point? You know I don’t get out to the ball field much anymore.”

  “Hmm,” Pop said, giving Trent a few moments of silence, which just mea
nt that Pop was thinking, not that he was letting him off the hook. “You know what I think?”

  Such a question was the kind of thing Trent couldn’t ignore, but it was also the kind of thing that produced quick breaths, nervous feelings, and anxious eyes. Pop, as the current patriarch of the Salvatores, could not be ignored no matter how overbearing and heavy the question was.

  And Trent knew full well where this was going.

  “Oh geez, not again, Pop.”

  “I’m concerned that you’re not getting out enough.”

  This bit again, huh?

  “Pop, I get out plenty,” Trent said, trying not to sound exasperated. “Just because you want some great-grandkids to spoil doesn’t mean I’m just going to settle for anything, you know. I’ve got standards. Tommy and the others could also be looking for love, you know.”

  “Standards lead to loneliness sometimes, son,” Pop said, seemingly ignoring Trent’s attempts to deflect attention toward his brother. “You best remember that.”

  It took more effort than Trent was willing to admit not to roll his eyes. He didn’t dare disrespect Pop Salvatore, but he had to admit his grandfather was like many other grandfathers. Not only did he not understand the current generation, but he also didn’t try to. It was like Pop didn’t realize a lot of men his age, not to mention women, preferred to wait on marriage a bit, the better to gain some maturity.

  “No grandson of mine is going to be labeled a social pariah because he spends too much time counting his money alone at home,” Pop said. “It’s not going to kill you to go out and have a few drinks with some ladies every now and then, Trenton.”

  Trent gulped. No one called him Trenton. The only time he heard that name was when he was at some sort of formal, official event, the kind of place where people who went by Rick would get called Richard or people who were named Bill would get called William.

  “Trenton,” Trent said, trying the name on his mouth. He didn’t like it. “So formal. You haven’t called me that since I was a kid, Pop.”

  “Well, this is serious business, Trent. You’re not getting any younger, now are you?”

  Trent could not genuinely believe he was having this conversation right now. He knew more than one person had hinted at the need for him to find love, but for his grandfather to do it? At a meeting like this? Was Pop hellbent on making it clear he didn’t understand nor want to understand the current generation?

  And you’re not even my real grandfather, anyway. And Antonio isn’t my real father. But . . .

  “Yeah, but can we just have a single meal in peace? Jesus.”

  “Fine, fine, have it your way,” Pop said, finally getting the hint, or just tabling the discussion until later. “But I’m going to be on the lookout so that you can find a nice girl.”

  “Just send them my way, Pop,” Trent said, though he was mostly just tossing a softball to his grandfather so he could change the conversation. “We’ll see which ones I don’t run off.”

  Trent hung his head and finished his meal in relative silence. As he contemplated his father’s persistent pressure, he felt much older than his actual age— and it wasn’t just because his grandfather seemed intent on playing matchmaker.

  It was true that since being under the pressures he felt as a mob boss’s son, he really hadn’t made much of an effort to have a personal life, and that had become doubly true after his last two relationships. He didn’t feel he had met anyone who would not only understand his lifestyle but also someone he could trust wouldn’t be with him just for his money. Granted, I met two people like that. Or at least, I felt that way at the time.

  Pop didn’t say another word, and Trent found himself wondering if he had somehow accidentally insulted the patriarch of the family. It wasn’t like he did it that often, but since he wasn’t a true Salvatore, it was the kind of thing he did with more frequency than his brother and his cousins. They treated Pop as a sort of deity while Trent treated him as a man worthy of deep respect. The difference was notable in their conversations.

  Trent looked down at his wine glass, which he’d inadvertently emptied again. While the waiter refilled his glass, he found himself suddenly wanting to smoke, if only to get away from more awkward conversations. He pushed his seat back at the same time he began to speak.

  “Can you fellas excuse me?” Trent said more or less to no one. “I’m going to go outside and have a smoke while we wait on dessert.”

  “Sure, sure. You go on, son,” Pop said. “We’ll be here holding the table down. Hey, while you’re out there, see if you can drum up some business for old man Pennini. It’s dead in here for a Friday night. That can’t be good for his books.”

  Trent had to give this to Pop. He always kept the best interests of his friends and family at heart, even if he went about it in some extraordinarily overbearing ways at times.

  “I’m sure if he’s in trouble, he’ll tell us, Pop. After all, everyone knows if you’re in any kind of trouble, you come to us and we can get you out of any jam.”

  “Well, I’m going to make it a point to ask him before we leave. This place . . . it’s got some sentiment to me, so we’ll save it if need be.”

  “I know you will, Pop. You always find a way somehow.”

  Trent walked outside and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He stood in front of the restaurant’s double doors, underneath the soft glow of the neon lights from the sign. Although they could wear on him at times, his clan had a strong concept of family, and their bloodline was strong. Minus whenever they’re pushing me about a woman in my life, that is.

  As he lit up a smoke, a young woman walked by him, took stock of him, and gave him a wistful smile. Although he got grief frequently for not having a woman, he was in good shape and considered by many to be an attractive man, more attractive than the rest of his brood. Still, that didn’t make much difference. Not when none of the other women were her.

  Kristina . . .

  I guess it makes sense you’re not here tonight. Given that it is my birthday and not Pop’s or my father’s. But still, you always seem to show up to family events. No one’s seen you in quite some time.

  I wonder what you’re up to. I wonder if you’ve seen any of my family since we last crossed paths.

  I wonder if you’re doing okay.

  I’m sure you are.

  As he finished his cigarette, he looked out across the city skyline and smiled. What he needed— although that was a strong word— was a woman who understood what it meant to be in the family he was in. All of the other things— Boston sports, his love of music, his fitness— mattered, but if one could not understand the family business, then one could never fully understand Trent.

  And, in his mind, perhaps his desperate, a little too attached mind, Kristina might just be the one person who got that.

  But she’s gone. You need to let go. Why do you think Rachelle started to drift away?

  He walked back into Pennini’s to see that the waiter had brought their dessert. The old man had even found it in his heart to send out a special red velvet cupcake with a candle in it for his birthday. This brought a smile to Trent’s face as he sat back down. In stressful moments like these, when things seemed to be too overbearing to handle, Trent just reminded himself to relax and enjoy himself.

  There was a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” led by his father, and they all clapped and shouted in unison. They then passed the cheesecakes around, and all seemed normal for this evening. For once, the family business involved just eating, laughing, and sharing good times.

  And then, just as they were beginning their dessert, the waiter interrupted them, handing an envelope to Trent’s father.

  The room suddenly grew quiet as his father’s face turned sullen when he frowned.

  “Where did you get this?” he said, his tone of voice dark. “Who’s this from?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” the waiter said. “The host just brought it to me to have delivered to yo
ur table. I don’t know what it is.”

  Trent immediately had his guard up. While other families weren’t so dirty as to use cheap tactics like a letter. Letters were usually meant to be a warning, not an actual attack. Sometimes, it seemed like the Salvatores were the only family with any damn dignity. They had their feuds, but they kept things calm.

  The other families in town seemed like the kind to willingly sacrifice innocent townspeople if it meant taking out members of the Salvatores at the same time.

  “Shit,” Trent’s father grumbled. “Hey, do me a favor. Go tell old man Pennini to come out here for a minute. I want to personally thank him for tonight.”

  Trent was surprised at the unusual request from his father before he realized the purpose of sending the waiter away wasn’t to see old man Pennini.

  It was to get everyone not in the family out of the room for a moment. And at that moment . . .

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The waiter left, and as soon as he had, Trent’s father cleared his throat and all eyes fell on him without him having to so much as command it. His father opened the letter very carefully, ready to discard it at a moment’s notice if something inside exploded or scratched at him. Nothing did.

  His father, Antonio, read the letter slowly. Trent didn’t dare lean over to try and read what was inside. Doing so was akin to intruding on a family member’s privacy, and the only person who had that authority was Pop. But not even Pop took advantage of that authority very often, only when he felt the family needed someone to step up.

  “Well, boys, it seems our competitors have taken advantage of this special occasion to taunt us once again,” his father said. “Let’s just say they feel the time has come to send a message right back to us.”