by Bethany-Kris
And yet, it didn’t even exist.
The place was that great.
“What is it?” Mac asked.
Melina stepped off the end of the cul-de-sac and finally joined him in the field. “It’s perfect.”
Mac let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, the relief was sweet. “I had hoped you would say that, doll.”
“Did you honestly expect something different? You know me too well, Mac.”
Once Melina was in front of Mac, he dropped the items he was still holding so he could grab his wife and bring her closer. “Sometimes you keep me on my toes and make me wonder, Melina. That’s all.”
Melina winked and then kissed him quickly. “Here is perfect, Mac.”
“Yeah?”
“I want our home to dominate the place. It needs to be the first thing someone sees coming up the road.”
“Then it will be,” Mac promised.
He’d make damn sure of it.
Whatever Melina wanted, she would get.
“Let’s break some ground, Mac.”
He was already picking up the shovel before she had even finished her sentence.
“Where are we going, James?” Cynthia asked from the passenger seat.
Mac offered a smile in response, the same thing he’d been doing every time his mother asked that question. It earned him yet another one of her sighs and an eye roll. She had never been one for surprises. She liked to plan things and be prepared ahead of time.
Mac supposed he got that from his mother.
But today, well, today, she would have to deal with it.
“I hope this is going to be worth making me miss cooking supper,” Cynthia mumbled to herself.
Mac chuckled.
Only his mother.
“Stop fretting, Ma,” Mac said. “You’ll still get to cook, if you’re feeling up to it. Or we could order something—”
“You shut your mouth. That is blasphemy. I don’t order in.”
She’d said the words as if they were dirt she was spitting out.
“Sometimes I do,” Mac replied.
Cynthia clicked her tongue. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you.”
“I look at it like you went completely right with me, actually,” Mac said, never taking his eyes off the quiet, upscale suburban street. “I can cook for myself, or not if I choose.”
“Your wife knows how to cook.”
“We’re busy a lot, Ma. It’s not fair of me to put all of that on her, on top of what she already has, when I am more than capable of feeding myself.”
Mac caught his mother’s slight smile out of the corner of his eye before Cynthia reached over to pat his cheek lightly. He swore he could feel all of his mother’s love and pride in the tender action. Cynthia had never been very vocal about her affections—something Mac had always attributed to her strict upbringing and then her failed marriage—but she never made Mac or his sister feel unloved.
In fact, it was the exact opposite.
Mac knew what love felt like because of his mother.
He was damn grateful to have Cynthia.
Cynthia patted his cheek again. “My good son.”
Mac laughed, giving his mother a sidelong look. “Good to you, Ma.”
“To your family,” she replied just as fast, “and that’s what matters most.”
Well, Mac wasn’t about to argue with his mother on that point.
Finally, Mac’s destination came into view and he pulled the car into a freshly paved driveway of a two-level home with an attached garage. It also sported a large backyard, and a three-foot high, newly painted white-picket fence all around the front of the property to protect the beautifully maintained grass and blooming flower beds.
Flower beds that were filled with newly-planted flowers that were just waiting for a tender pair of hands to care for them.
Hands like his mother’s, he knew.
Mac took the home in again as his mother stared curiously at the house, too. It was three times the size of her current home, with a second level on top of that. The pale yellow siding and rich brown shutters gave the place a welcoming feel. There was no leaking roof, no holes in the walls, and no mortgage owing. The cherry hardwood floors it had throughout the halls and rooms were a style his mother had always silently admired in other people’s homes.
It was a new home for Cynthia.
It was everything she deserved and more, but Mac was well aware his mother would never ask him for it.
Cynthia had raised her children in a home that was just fine for them. But over the years, his mother had always put her children and their needs first before anything else. And so when her home had begun to fall apart, she never complained, but rather, made due with what she had.
It made her happy.
Now, it was Mac’s turn to give back something to his mother and make her happy with more than simply being her good son.
“What is all this?” Cynthia asked. “Who lives here? You should have told me if we were going to be visiting someone, James.”
Mac chuckled.
His mother would never change.
Not that he wanted her to.
“Why don’t we go see,” Mac suggested.
He didn’t give his mother a chance to argue. He pushed out of the car and walked the rest of the driveway, right up the steps, and stood in front of the door. A flower pot rested beside a clean, brand-new welcome mat.
Eventually, Cynthia made her way up to join Mac, her purse under her arm. She admired the things she passed, and once she was at his side, looked to him expectantly.
“Are you going to stand there all day, or knock?” she asked.
Mac shrugged. “Go for it, Ma.”
Cynthia gave him a displeased look, but reached out to press the decorative doorbell. Mac listened as chimes rang a familiar tune from within the home. He waited a few more moments, knowing damn well the whole time that no one would answer.
His mother didn’t know that, however. She pressed the doorbell again, and Mac didn’t stop her. When no one answered yet again, Mac looked to his mother.
“No one is home,” she said.
“Oh, I guess I forgot to mention that, huh?”
Cynthia’s brow furrowed. “Why come to visit if you knew no one would be home?”
Mac pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, and handed them to his mother, even as she tried to refuse them. “Because, Ma, I was coming to visit you.”
It took Cynthia a good minute or two of staring between Mac’s grin and the keys in her hand before an understanding began to dawn on her features. Her eyes watered.
“Welcome home, Ma.”
“Oh, Mac.”
Mac smiled widely. He was always James to his mother no matter what, so to hear her use his nickname with such affection was more than enough thanks for him.
“Unlock the door,” he said. “Let’s have a look inside.”
Cynthia unlocked the front door with trembling hands as she shook her head at the same time. “You shouldn’t have done this. It’s too much and—”
“Nothing is too much for you, Ma.”
Soon, she had the door wide open and they stepped inside, standing in a large foyer painted the welcoming, warm beige his mother favored. Cynthia didn’t stay still for long, dropping her purse and the keys to a side table and waiting glass bowl. She was off with a smile, exploring and chattering, even as Mac kept a few feet of distance behind her to let her enjoy her new home.
Her favorite spot?
The kitchen, of course.
And that’s where Mac found himself, watching his beaming mother dig through the cupboards for mugs as a kettle whistled on the stainless steel, flattop stove.
“Well?” Mac asked. “Do you like it?”
“You don’t really have to ask, do you?”
“I figured I should, Ma.”
“I love it,” his mother said softly, still happy and smiling. “It’s a bit to take i
n, though.”
“We knew it would be, and that’s why I brought you alone. We’ll have a dinner or something to celebrate, when you’re not as high-strung and can find everything in the cupboards.”
Cynthia laughed lightly. “We?”
“Me, Vic, and Melina. They helped a bit.”
His mother seemed overwhelmed, but Mac figured that was to be expected.
She sighed, glancing around her kitchen as she stirred Mac’s coffee. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Ma.”
“I know, but I should.”
Mac didn’t argue. “No one else knew but us.”
Cynthia didn’t look at him a she pushed his cup across the island. “No one?”
“No.”
“Huh. Well, that’s good, I suppose.”
Mac didn’t like the lilt coloring his mother’s tone. “Would it matter if someone had known?”
Cynthia waved his question off like it didn’t matter. “No, no. I was just thinking out loud, James.”
“Sure. But why?”
His mother wouldn’t meet his gaze, and it was at that point Mac knew that she was trying to keep something from him. Cynthia Maccari was not a liar. She couldn’t tell a lie to save her life, and made it a habit to correct her children when they were caught in lies.
Cynthia was about to lie to him.
Mac knew it.
“Ma,” he said quieter.
“It’s nothing,” she replied carefully. “But having a new home will certainly save me some headaches.”
Now, Mac really didn’t like the sound of that. “Keep going, Ma.”
Cynthia sighed and rubbed at her temple—a sure sign of her distress. “Your father has been coming around more often, and when he does come around, he asks about things.”
Rage simmered through Mac’s blood, but he managed to keep calm. Somehow. “This is beginning to feel like pulling teeth.”
“The house—the deed. His name is on it, too. It always was. He just never cared.”
Mac chose his next words carefully. “Did you tell him to leave?”
“Asked,” his mother corrected. “And he did.”
“But?”
“He came back. It’s not as though I can kick the man out of his own house.”
Right.
A house James Maccari Sr. had never paid for, taken care of, or anything else for that matter. Cynthia had done all of that, including raising her children without a husband and father to help them through life because he was too busy fucking himself up on drugs and street women.
Mac counted backwards from ten in his head to chill the hell out. He couldn’t be angry at his mother, even if she should have told him that James was giving her problems. Besides, this was intended to be a happy day. One for his mother to enjoy. He wouldn’t ruin that with nonsense.
“Give him the house—we’ll get your name off the mortgage and deed as soon as we can,” Mac finally said once he was calm enough to talk without anger heating his words. “It’ll be one less problem for us all.”
Cynthia frowned. “I have a feeling that if your father wants to cause problems, I will be the last person he goes through to cause them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Ma?”
Again, Cynthia’s gaze shifted away. “Nothing.”
“Ma.”
“He might have mentioned the last time he came around that he happened to bump into Melina. It sounded a lot like he meant to do it, and that it was not accidental.”
Mac’s rage blew out of control again.
He was off the island stool before his mother could say a thing to stop him.
Fucking hell.
His mother was one thing. Cynthia was a good old Catholic woman who didn’t believe in divorce and would put up with her estranged husband’s stupidity to the bitter end simply because she thought she had to for the Church and God.
But Mac’s wife?
James Sr. knew better than that.
And better yet, why hadn’t Melina told him?
“Get the fuck up.”
Mac’s order was punctuated with a slap to the back of Enric Pivetti’s head. The crack of his palm landing to the younger man’s skull echoed through the quiet, empty warehouse. As Enric cursed a blue streak and blinked crazily in the chair he’d been sleeping in, Mac continued walking back to where the office was. He had shit to get before he could go pay a visit to his old man.
Mac certainly hoped James got the goddamn point after tonight.
One of the benefits of being a made man, and a Capo, was that Mac could lay whatever lesson he wanted down on another man, so long as they weren’t made. It was a little tricky when it happened on someone else’s territory, but Mac figured he was justified enough in this without making a call to the Pivetti Don.
“Cazzo! What the fuck, man?” Enric snapped, his army-style boots hitting the floor hard as he stood straight from the chair.
Mac barely gave him a glance before he disappeared into the office. For the most part, Enric was a good kid—young in his early twenties, though—and did what Mac told him to do when he was told to do it. For being as young as he was, Enric knew how to follow orders and didn’t rile shit up.
That was a point in his favor.
But Enric had a mouth on him. And he liked to use it.
“I was having a damn nap. Merda.”
“Stop your whining,” Mac muttered as he pulled open a drawer on his desk. Enric came to stand in the doorway with a scowl that could rival the devil’s as he rubbed the back of his head. Mac rifled through the drawer, pulling out a small pocket knife he liked and an extra round of bullets for his gun. “We have shit to do.”
“You slapped me awake, asshole.”
“You talk too much—like your father,” Mac said.
Enric quieted at that statement.
It was a strange quirk, but Mac had quickly learned that if there was anything Enric hated more than most everything else, it was being compared to his father. He respected Luca Pivetti, he liked him even, and talked well of his father. That didn’t mean Enric wanted everyone to see him as just his father’s son.
Mac respected that a great deal.
“What kind of business?” Enric asked.
A chuckle escaped Mac, dark and sadistic. “My father, actually. Seems the bastard needs an update on my feelings, because all the other ones must have fucking expired.”
Enric made a sound that came off as both concerned and interested at the same time. Everybody who was anybody in the Pivetti Cosa Nostra, made or just affiliated, knew who James Maccari Sr. was, and exactly what he was worth as a man.
Fuck. All.
“What happened?” Enric asked.
Mac shrugged, his anger bubbling to the surface all over again. “I don’t know. Why don’t you call my wife and ask? She didn’t even tell me.”
It wasn’t like Mac to blurt out information about his wife, even if it was in anger.
It was a good show of how irritated he currently was.
Sadly, some of that was directed at his wife.
A larger portion was directed at his father.
James would get the brunt of it.
“Fucker has earned it,” Mac said under his breath.
“Huh?” Enric looked to Mac, waiting for an explanation.
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
It took a few calls, but Mac eventually got a lead on where he could find his asshole of a father. Unsurprisingly, James was apparently enjoying his time at a shoddy stripper joint that was also used as a billiards bar. Mac learned that his father also paid rent for a bachelor apartment above the business.
Mac supposed his father didn’t have to go very far to feed his addictions.
Enric kept a couple of paces back from Mac as they passed by the bouncer at the door, who looked like he was already three sheets to the wind and would fall over if someone flicked his fucking ear. The guy barely passed him or Enric a glance, never mind s
paring any attention to the baseball bat Enric was swinging to and fro at his side with every step.
“Are we going to kill him?” Enric asked.
“Not today,” Mac replied.
But that could still happen.
Mac wasn’t ruling it out.
If not today, then someday.
Mac ignored the scratched tables, ripped booths, the dancing women, and the bar filled with shady-looking characters. He side-stepped a stripper as she approached, making it clear he wasn’t there for whatever she wanted to offer.
All too soon, he found his father in a corner booth, a girl that looked no older than eighteen, but blitzed out of her mind, was grinding her ass against James’ groin.
It just pissed Mac off even more.
His mother had never entertained another man.
Never stepped out on his fuck up of a father.
James could never say quite the same thing.
Mac’s father didn’t notice his approach until he was right on top of them, grabbing the stripper by her forearm, and yanking her backwards. The girl screeched, stumbling in heels that were far too high and looked a little wobbly. She cursed at Mac, but he was already focusing in on his drunken father.
Mac barely noticed the two bouncers coming up behind him, likely reacting to one of the girls being handled in a way that wasn’t allowed in the club.
Who gave a shit?
Mac sure as hell didn’t.
Besides, that’s what Enric was there for.
“Take another fucking step and I’ll blow your goddamn kneecaps out,” Enric warned the men. “Test me—I’ve got a hell of an aim.”
Mac held back his smile. He would never tell Enric, because it would only deter the kid, but when he got in one of his moods and talked like he did, he sounded just like his father. Luca would be all kinds of proud, surely.
“James,” Mac greeted quietly, staring his father down.
James Sr. blinked up at Mac like he was just seeing him for the first time. “Son?”
Mac almost laughed—almost. “Since when have I ever been that?”
“You’ve always been my boy.”
This was not the time for Mac to be getting into this old argument with James.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Mac asked calmly. “I thought I’d made it perfectly fucking clear that I didn’t want or need you around. Your mess is better left hidden away in whatever hole you’ve dug for yourself. You keep me the fuck out of it—and by me, I mean every single part of me, James.”