Gangster Moll (Gun Moll Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  “Well, before we get too engrossed in conversation, let’s go to the bedroom. I have a feeling I’m going to need to be lying down for what you have to say.”

  Melina rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  Hopping off the desk, she pulled her gown back down and prepared to exit the room. Before she could take a step, Mac scooped her up in his arms and departed the room.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Melina asked.

  “Carrying my bride across the threshold, of course.”

  “Your bride can walk just fine you know,” Melina said.

  “I’m well aware that my bride can do just about anything, so why not indulge me this once?”

  Melina pressed her lips together as Mac carried her into the bedroom and deposited her gently on the king-sized bed before flopping down beside her.

  “That was super graceful.”

  “Your husband is tired, doll. Adrenaline doesn’t last forever.”

  “I know.”

  Melina grew quiet. Lying on his back, Mac reached for one of her hands.

  “Talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

  Melina pushed a lock of hair from her face. “I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up, but I want to have a job. I need something to do all day when you’re away from home.”

  “Melina, you don’t have to work.”

  “I know, but I’m not like the wives of the men you’re constantly around. I need something to do every day, other than spend your money and be a pretty little housewife who has your supper on the table when you get home.”

  Mac cleared his throat. “If you were to get a job, it might look to some as if I couldn’t provide for you. It wouldn’t be a good thing.”

  Melina frowned. “Mac, I’m not interested in the appearances foolishness that others care so much about. I can’t just sit at home. I’m used to making my own money.”

  Mac sat up. “What about college? Isn’t there something you would like to study?”

  Melina pulled her hand away from him and folded her arms. “I’m not interested in wasting money on a bunch of useless classes for a degree that isn’t even worth the paper it’s printed on.”

  “So no to higher education. All right, throw me a line, doll. I’m drowning.”

  “I want you to give me The Playpen.”

  Mac scowled. “How do you even know about that place?”

  “I saw the pile of papers on your desk and I looked through them. I know the place is bleeding money, but I’m sure that I can make it a profitable venture for you.”

  “The Playpen is a whorehouse and not a very nice one at that. Frankly, only the lowest of the low tend to frequent it.”

  “And that explains why it’s not making a profit. But I can turn it around. I have a vision for it.”

  Mac rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s our first night as a married couple and instead of begging me to fuck you until you can’t see straight, you’re trying to convince me to let you run a whorehouse. You’re truly one a kind, doll.”

  “If you didn’t want a challenge, you would’ve married someone else,” Melina said.

  She leaned close and ran her tongue along the shell of Mac’s ear. He sat up straighter and reached for her, drawing her into his arms so that she was straddling his lap.

  “Since you’re determined to not play fair, tell me your vision.”

  “For starters, a name change. The Playpen just screams sleazy. I think the place would have a lot more potential as something with an underground feel to it. Remember the old-time Speak Easies that were popular in their era?”

  “Yeah. It was a place men would go to hang out, gamble, have a few cigars and maybe enjoy the company of a certain female,” Mac said.

  “Exactly. It was classy and sophisticated, but at the same time it appealed to a man’s basic nature, catering to all his vices. That’s the vision I have.”

  Mac was silent for a moment and Melina watched him, biting her lip and wondering what her husband would say to her proposal. After a few minutes, he finally spoke.

  “I think you might be on to something.”

  Melina smiled. “See. And here you thought I was just coming up with some crazy scheme.”

  “I never said that.”

  “But you implied it.”

  “If I did, it wasn’t my intention. But I do have one question, though. Now, suppose one of your male patrons is interested in the company of a certain woman, and she’s not interested in him, what then?”

  “No means no. Simple as that.”

  Mac nodded in agreement. “I really think you’re on to something, but I have to tell you I haven’t had a chance to check out the property or even see what’s really going on now that it’s mine.”

  “That sounds like something we need to rectify as soon as possible then.”

  “I agree, but right now I have more important things to concern myself with.”

  Melina raised a brow. “And what might that be?”

  “Fucking my beautiful wife.”

  Turning her so that he could lay her down on the bed, Mac’s lips met hers again in a hungry kiss of passion and for the moment nothing else mattered.

  Business and subterfuge could wait.

  Their desire for one another could not.

  Melina pointed at the far wall of the bottom floor and said, “I want the whole length of that wall to be the bar. Custom-made shelves behind it, floor to ceiling. Mirrored glass behind that, too. It’ll make the bottles shine and stand out on the shelves. Specialty lighting within the shelves and pot lights will help that along as well.”

  The man—someone Melina had contacted about renovating and re-designing The Playpen—nodded his head and jotted something down in the notebook attached to the clipboard he held.

  “Any specific colors?” the guy asked.

  “Black and royal purple,” Mac said before his wife could get a word in edgewise.

  It was a classic—if not regal—combination.

  Melina paused, giving Mac a thoughtful glance as she considered his one request. He’d actually managed to keep quiet as she walked through the place with the contractor, letting Melina do her thing and make her choices without much of his own input. It was intended to be her place, after all.

  But this … this he wanted.

  “Black leather and crushed velvet,” Melina said to Mac.

  “Perfetto, doll,” he replied.

  She just smiled and went back to her task. Mac didn’t mind all that much—he didn’t have very many requests where The Playpen was concerned.

  As it were, he hadn’t wanted very much to do with the place at all. But when Luca handed something over to someone—a gift or otherwise—a man couldn’t just tell the Don “no” and be done with it.

  The place had been, for all purposes, a whorehouse that couldn’t keep a steady stream of money coming in. It was seedy-looking with its ripped, stained furniture sporting suspicious marks and spots that Mac had little desire in learning how, or rather who, had put them there and which bodily fluids they might actually be. The walls had holes all over, never mind the smell that reeked from the place when the front doors were first opened.

  It seemed like no matter where Mac walked in the place, the floor was sticky. And the backrooms and upstairs section with its private rooms and bare, old, and stained mattresses?

  Fucking disgusting.

  Unfortunately, the women who had worked within The Playpen had been just as rundown and unappealing as the building itself. None had particularly seemed to be forced into the place, but all of them had been working to feed an addiction of some sort, whether it be smoking, shooting, or snorting something into their bodies.

  Just a sparse glance at their barely-clothed, unclean bodies with track marks and sunken-in faces had told Mac that story when he visited The Playpen after Luca had handed the deed to the business over.

  It seemed that the fool of a man that had been running the joint for Luca was i
n just as bad of shape—if not worse, than the girls—where addiction was concerned. And he’d certainly had a rampant supply of drugs to use while he should have been doing his job.

  Mac figured he might have understood why the place was just pissing out money, instead of turning any kind of decent profit. It was practically impossible to make money in the business of sex and drugs, if a person was too dependent on the business itself to sustain a man’s own addiction.

  And so, a random visit to The Playpen to see why one of his many businesses that should have been lucrative and profitable was ready to break, Luca decided to wash his hands of the place.

  Now, Mac’s hands were fucking filthy with it all.

  He sighed loudly, glancing at Melina across the floor.

  Well, he supposed his wife was the one dirtying her hands with it all, but Mac wasn’t quite sure how he could possibly refuse Melina—or if he even wanted to, given her interest in turning the place from a shitty little whorehouse into something that might actually be … goddamn amazing.

  Mac certainly couldn’t deny that Melina had more knowledge in the business of sex and money than he did. Even though his wife hadn’t worked as a prostitute, she still had once had her hand in the trade of escorting. She understood what would draw in the right class of men, who would be willing to spend money. She had access to a number of girls who would certainly be willing to do the job. She was capable of doing it all—so he chose to let her.

  There was little doubt in his mind that Melina had come across more than enough men that were willing to cut a check to get whatever they wanted, just like she had probably met a few women who had a price waiting for those same men.

  It could work.

  Mac passed the dank space another look. His girl could and would do whatever she put her pretty, sharp mind to. He wasn’t the least bit concerned about that at all. Melina would likely have the joint looking classy and beautiful while throwing back mentions to a time long past, if her plans were followed through to the letter.

  He knew they would be.

  No, it wasn’t Melina’s plans at all that had Mac worried.

  Well, not entirely.

  Women working in business alongside men never really sat well with Cosa Nostra—never mind made men in general. The Playpen was intended to be a place Mac was expected to pay tribute to the boss from the profits made. That meant the boss, and others, would be watching the business.

  There would be no hiding Melina’s involvement.

  Someone would have an opinion.

  They always did.

  Mac wasn’t sure how he was going to handle all of that backlash when it eventually came his and Melina’s way.

  Because it would come.

  That was a given.

  He could hear the bullshit that would be spewed already.

  No respectable made man …

  No respectable wife …

  Rules.

  Mostly unspoken ones.

  Their whole fucking lives were smothered in those fucking rules.

  Melina, however, had no time for the mafia’s rules or politics, and especially not for their expectations of wives. She hadn’t been brought up in Mac’s world, having constant demands and constraints thrown at her.

  No, his wife had been given an entirely different set of roadblocks to conquer. Ones that certainly weren’t any easier than his had been.

  So maybe he understood why she would scoff and toss a middle finger up high when told she couldn’t do something because men wouldn’t approve.

  Melina was far too independent and stubborn to let any man—regardless of his status in la famiglia—tell her what she could or couldn’t do.

  It was one of the many things he loved about his crazy wife.

  And he would not be one of the fools who told his wife no, or God forbid, said she couldn’t do something because she was a woman.

  Yet, Mac was a little concerned that this whole thing might not be as well-received as Melina wanted it to be. But what could he say?

  “It would be cheaper—and easier—option to just go with refurbishing the old bar.”

  The contractor’s statement brought Mac from his thoughts into reality once more. He found his wife staring at the contractor like the guy was the dumbest thing to have ever graced her presence.

  And shit, maybe he was.

  Not many people made an effort to argue with Melina Morgan—Maccari, now—once they got to know her.

  “If I wanted cheap or easy,” Melina drawled with a sardonic smile, “I’d have made a run to Ikea. You can either do the job the way I want it done, or I can find another contractor who won’t work my nerves at every goddamn turn. Which would you like to go with, huh?”

  Wives of made men were expected to be a list of many things.

  Quiet mannered.

  Polite.

  Able to turn cheek when needed.

  Respectable at every turn.

  Compliant to men …

  Melina didn’t give an honest shit if she was any of those things.

  The contractor passed Mac a look that silently pleaded for any sort of help. Mac simply shrugged and offered nothing in response.

  He’d tell this fool the same thing he would tell any made man that had a problem with Melina’s plans.

  She’s not like every other woman.

  She’s a hellion, through and through.

  A good ol’ gangster’s moll.

  And she didn’t have to be what they wanted her to be.

  She just had to be his.

  “Three months, four at the most, and we’ll have the place opened for business,” Melina told Mac as they exited the old building.

  Wrapping an arm around his wife’s side, he drew her in close to his side and kissed her temple. Melina smiled up at him with a softness in her gaze she rarely showed to anyone else, and almost always reserved solely for him.

  “I have all the faith you will get The Playpen up and running again in no time at all,” Mac said.

  Melina made a sound under her breath, the disgust ringing out as clear as day.

  “What?” Mac dared to ask.

  “That name,” she muttered, her nose scrunching up. “It’s the first damn thing to go.”

  “I don’t think the name was meant to really hide the kind of business that was going on inside, sweetheart.”

  Melina smirked. “Well, it certainly succeeded in not doing that. It screams ‘whorehouse.’ Just saying.”

  Directing his wife toward her car that was parked just one spot ahead of his Challenger, Mac scanned the neighborhood. It wasn’t exactly a shoddy part of town, but it wasn’t the high-class kind of place, either. But it was a good location for the kind of club-slash-entertainment that Melina wanted to bring forth.

  A discreet location.

  Little noise.

  No outside markings on the building.

  People kept quiet about the goings-on.

  The cops weren’t necessarily frequent in the area.

  Not that Melina particularly cared for the police, or Mac, for that matter. They had both had more than their fair share of attention from the pigs.

  A sudden, gentle tug on Mac’s sleeve brought his attention back to his wife. Melina frowned at his raised brow.

  “Where did you go?” she asked. “Am I boring you that much?”

  Mac only laughed before kissing Melina’s pouting lips with enough force to make her grin grow and a sigh echo.

  “You could never ever bore me, doll,” he told her, winking. “You are far too entertaining for that.”

  Melina didn’t look like she believed him. “Well, I must be. You just dazed off while you were staring across the street.”

  “Melina, you always have all of my attention, even if it seems like you don’t. You already know this, donna.”

  Melina pursed her lips. “I do, but—”

  Mac caught his wife under her chin with his forefinger and thumb, quieting her rebuttal instantly as he
tipped her head up to make her look him in the eyes. “Always, hmm?”

  “What were you thinking about that could have possibly been related to me, then?”

  He waved a hand high, gesturing around them. “I was thinking you couldn’t get this place in a better location than it is for what you want to do.”

  Melina’s smile bloomed instantly. “You think, Mac?”

  Mac held his wife a little tighter. For all Melina’s strengths and stubbornness, there was still a small part of her that was like any other human being, craving approval, even if she only wanted it from him.

  He was more than happy to give it to her.

  “I know, doll,” he murmured.

  She stared back to the building, her happiness quickly replaced by a look of consideration. “About that name, though …”

  “I am all ears.”

  Mac was sure Melina already had something in mind for the place, and if she had thought about it, she probably had already decided.

  “What about The Dollhouse?”

  Melina turned to look at Mac, likely gaging his expression for any signs of disapproval on her pick, though he was sure his face betrayed nothing about how he was feeling.

  On purpose.

  His wife began to fidget the longer he stayed quiet.

  “I know it’s sort of similar to the original name,” Melina started to say, “but it’s different enough. And it’s got a bit more class to go along with the old world feel we’re trying to go for.”

  When she finally stopped rambling, Mac pulled his wife in close, letting her wrap her arms around his middle as he stared down at her.

  “And is that the only reason?” he asked.

  Melina flashed her white teeth in a sinful smile. “Not the only one.”

  “Do tell, wife.”

  “Maybe it’s a little for me and you, too.”

  Mac cupped Melina’s jaw in his palms and tilted her head back. “A little, doll?”

  “A lot,” she whispered.

  Yeah.

  That was what he thought.

  Uncaring of the cars passing them by or the few strangers watching, Mac kissed his wife hard and deep, his tongue snaking into the sweet heat of her mouth the very second she parted her soft lips to war with hers. They stayed like that, connected together, for a good while … until Melina finally pulled away with a shake of her head.