Page 143 of Storm and Sea

Children?

“I might be old, but I’m sharper than this knife,” he said, handing it to Atreus with a flourish.

Atreus scaled the fish with the curved blade. Giovanni had said children, though surely he meant Marina? Only Marina. Yet the way he said it gave Atreus hope he hadn’t dared allow himself.

Stop it. I’m treading dangerous waters as it is.

He’d barely managed to keep this fragile relationship with the humans through what should have been a devastating accident. He had no right to hope for anything more.

“You don’t deserve it.”

Atreus didn’t argue. He knew it was true.

They worked in comfortable silence, Giovanni humming along with whatever opera played on the ancient record player. Occasionally, it skipped and stuttered before resuming its serenade. Atreus didn’t care for opera but couldn’t deny there was an odd comfort in its monotonous chanting—or at least, that’s what it sounded like to him.

The bell rang, and Atreus called out, not turning from his task, “Sorry, we are closed for today. Preparing for tonight.”

When no receding footsteps sounded, he turned and was confronted with the most hated face in Baia Vita. Sensing the tension, Giovanni appeared from behind the shelves and stepped forward.

“We are closed today, Signore Vincenzo. Our food stall will be open tonight at the festival.”

Alvise Vincenzo ignored him, eyes glancing around the old room, taking in all the worn and cracked surfaces. Atreus had to resist the hiss in his chest as Alvise wrinkled his nose at a particularly stained section of the floor.

“Trust me, I take no pleasure in being in this—shop,” he finished, as though barely holding back a more offensive word.

“What can we do for you?” Giovanni inquired, ever polite.

“I’m here to deliver these.”

Alvise thrust a rolled-up stack of papers at him, making another disgusted expression at the way Giovanni wiped his hands on his apron first.

Atreus glared at the intruder. This was the man hurting his home. Though he and Alvise had no personal history, the Vincenzo empire was buying all the shops, replacing them with soulless chain stores. They drove down prices to the point that local store owners couldn’t compete. And worse yet, they owned the fishing organization ruling this part of the Pacific.

They own the ships that are slowly letting us starve.

All this raced through Atreus’s mind as Giovanni read the paper. His expression remained steady as he scanned each line, but Atreus caught the subtle twitch of his mustache.

“I understand,” Giovanni said, tucking the paper in the back of his pants. “I’ll have the payments ready for you at the end of the week.”

“Excellent,” Alvise smiled. “I trust you know what actions I will take if you fail to meet those payments. I count every cent.”

Giovanni nodded. “Your notice made that quite clear.”

“What payments?” Atreus asked, frustrated he couldn’t read the document himself. “What are you talking about? You own this store.”

“But he no longer owns the land it sits on. That title belongs to me,” Alvise said with so much mirth Atreus barely resisted the urge to jump the counter and hit him.

“How much are the payments?”

“We will make it work,” Giovanni said, though there was no conviction in his words.

“I trust you will. I don’t want to make another trip to this part of town. The smell alone is enough to make me gag,” Alvise finished.

“If you don’t like it, you can get the hell out,” Atreus growled before he could stop himself.

Alvise stopped mid-turn, eyes lighting up at the resistance. “Is that what you think?”

“You don’t want to know what I think,” Atreus hissed through gritted teeth.