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“Who’s gonna turn them down is the real question? They one-hundred percent use violence in their favor. They get information on everybody and threaten their families or say they’ll burn down their businesses. When you have power like that, you can get whatever you want.”
“How do you know about this?” Autumn asks Noah.
“My dad,” he says with a shrug. “He was fascinated by the Kinmore family coming into power so quickly. He talked about it all the time.”
“What all do you know?” I question.
“Khalid and Vicente’s fathers were childhood friends, and they grew up here. You see, they were in a small, local gang in Luzington. ThinkPeaky Blinders, but a little more modern. They ran shit here for decades, but they weren’t too concerned about expanding past the town. They were content with the power and respect they had amongst the locals. As their sons grew, so did the town. When Khalid and Vicente were older, they started making plans.”
“Like what?” Autumn asks, both of us so wrapped up in Noah’s story that we’ve stopped eating.
“They grew up in the life, you know? Their dads used violence when needed. They extorted people when they felt like it was necessary. Several people even went missing. The violence and fear tactics weren’t foreign to them, and they knew they’d have to take over once their fathers started getting older, otherwise the Kinmore family would die out.”
“Kinmore?” Autumn asks.
“That’s the name they decided on. It’s a mixture of King and Moreno. They always felt like they had equal footing when they started the family.”
I clear my throat. “You’re sayingfamily, but they were just friends?”
He rests his arms on the table, leaning forward. “Mafia families don’t have to be related. Sure you’ll get some cousins or an uncle and nephew sometimes, but it’s not like the entire gang has to be related, but what’s new about this particular one is that everyone comes from different racial backgrounds.”
“Huh,” Autumn muses. “So, not just like all Italians or Russians or whatever.”
“Right. Khalid is Black, Vicente is Hispanic, and I think the rest of their guys are a mix of Caucasian, Latino, Asian, etc.”
“So, they took over the Kinmore family and grew it past this town?” I ask.
“Majorly and fast,” he replies. “It only took ten years or so. Suppose a lot of violence went into their expansion. They own Ace’s High, another one a few hours away in Jersey, and who knows what else. These are legit businesses, but I’m sure they got a bunch of other shit going on that nobody knows about.”
Autumn spins and looks at me. “You were talking to a mob boss.”
“Technically, I think he’s the underboss,” Noah adds.
“Oh shush,” Autumn says, swiping her hand at him. “I didn’t even know about this, and I work at the same damn casino.”
“Well, I likely won’t see them very often,” I say, standing up to throw away my trash. “I’m not going to think about it too much. I gotta shower and go to sleep. I have class early and then a shift at the restaurant.”
“Okay. I’ll still be at the casino when you’re there. We have an event tomorrow night, so maybe we can come home together,” Autumn says.
“Sounds good. Night, y’all.”
I walk through the living room, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as I make my way to my bedroom. I have the smallest room, but I made that decision since I know Noah and Autumn pay a smidge more in rent than me.
After gathering my clothes and going into the bathroom, I can’t help but think about Vicente and how insane it is to have been talking to him today considering who he is. It’s all I think about as I wash myself, dry off, get into my pajamas, and climb into bed. So it’s no surprise that his face haunts my dreams as I sleep.
ChapterFour
The first part of my day goes quickly. I spent six hours at culinary school, and now that I’ve been doing this for several months, everything comes a bit easier. But it never fails that when I start getting the hang of one thing, we start learning something else entirely. I love food, though. I’ve always been in the kitchen making meals out of what little food we had.
After our first year and a half in college, the three of us decided to live in a super tiny apartment close to campus, and I was always the cook. We didn’t have a lot of food, but I was always able to make something edible for us to eat.
I’m kind of upset that it took me so long to realize just how much I loved it. I spent the first two and a half years of college aiming for a finance degree. It wasn’t until Noah said, “You should be a chef,” after scarfing down one of my meals that I thought…why couldn’t I be?
I looked into everything I needed for culinary school and applied as soon as I could. I was accepted into one in Clover City, and though moving to Luzington made our commutes longer, none of us wanted to actually live in the city because the cost is outrageous.
As soon as I depart the train, I rush into the nearest coffee shop for some much needed caffeine before I start my shift tonight.
While I’m in line, I get that feeling again. Someone’s watching me. My eyes slowly take in the area around me, studying the people nearby. Most everyone is going about their own business, but there’s a guy just outside the door who stands out. He’s got a phone to his ear and the bill of his hat pulled low. His eyes shift in my direction, his gaze lingering a little too long. Is that the same guy who was outside Sweetpea? I can’t really tell.
