by Bethany-Kris
There were cameras all around. He had zero doubt that the phones provided to talk into would also record their conversation. No one expected privacy in lockup.
It was yet another reason why Mac felt this meeting was a little strange for Luca. The man was more than capable of putting out information through his new lawyer to pass along to his men, if needed. He didn’t need face to face meetings that would be recorded for the officials’ benefit.
Nonetheless, Mac took a seat and waited for the boss to show up on the other side of the glass. It wasn’t long before Luca came into view, shadowed closely by a guard with keys in his hand that he used to unlock the boss’s cuffs before he was allowed to sit on his chair, facing Mac. The drab, gray uniform and five o’clock shadow Luca sported was an unusual sight for the normally well-dressed, clean-cut Cosa Nostra Don.
The man looked tired, his eyes dimmed, and the lines on his aging face far more prominent than they had ever been before. He moved a bit slower than he normally would, too, another sign that something was off with Luca Pivetti.
This was not the boss Mac was accustomed to.
He wondered if it was jail that was taking its toll on Luca, or something else. Something like … perhaps the man’s wife appearing to rid her life of him and all the things they shared together, right down to putting their large mansion on the market, ready to sell.
That would certainly take a toll on Mac.
Luca nodded at the phone attached to the wall on Mac’s side as he picked up his own. Mac put the phone to his ear, waiting for Luca to speak first.
“Congratulations are in order, or so I hear,” the boss said, a slight smile warming his usually cold features.
“For what?”
“You have a boy, don’t you?”
Mac smiled. “I do—just a few days old.”
“Congratulations. His name?”
“Marquise Daniel.”
Luca chuckled, the sound cracking through the speakers. “Certainly … a different name than I was expecting.”
“Melina wanted something special.”
“Still Italian.”
Mac nodded. “It is.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t celebrate it with you properly—all made men should have the birth of their children celebrated by their boss.” Luca’s gaze dropped to the small ledge in front of the window that separated them as he added, “I remember my father celebrating my first daughter’s birth; he made sure to tell me to make sure I planted the seed of a boy the next go-round.”
“That didn’t work out, huh?”
Luca had three girls with his wife, and his only son had come from a relationship with a woman that had come shortly before his marriage to Neeya.
Luca shrugged. “Thank God he died before my second daughter came along, so then I didn’t have to hear him complain more. Do you have a picture?”
“Of what?”
“Your boy—what else? Show me.”
Surprised that this was what his boss had called him to the jail for, Mac decided it wasn’t his place to question it. He pulled out his cellphone from his pocket, bringing up the gallery and choosing from one of the many pictures he’d taken of Marquise since the baby boy’s birth to show Luca.
Holding the phone up for Luca to see, the boss smiled again.
“Took after you, Mac,” Luca noted.
Mac chuckled. “Everybody keeps pointing it out.”
“You’re awfully smug about it.”
“Weren’t you?”
Luca smirked. “It’s a man thing. Healthy?”
“Big and loud,” Mac assured.
“That’s all that matters. It’s the most important part, you know.”
He did know, but he also had the feeling this whole conversation, this light banter and chatting about the newborn son Mac now toted, was just a prologue for the boss into a more … difficult topic. The shift in atmosphere became apparent the very second Luca turned quiet on the other end of the phone.
It took Mac less than a second to know exactly what was wrong with his boss. Here they were, discussing his newly growing family, while Luca was locked away from his own wife and daughters, not to mention Neeya’s recent behavior.
“Sorry, boss,” Mac said.
Luca glanced up, his gaze meeting Mac’s unflinchingly. “For what? This was good—first time I’ve smiled in days, actually.”
Still …
“Have your kids been around to see you?” Mac asked, carefully choosing his words.
“Enric has been here a few times.”
“And the girls? Neeya?”
Luca frowned. “She came once with the girls.”
The boss offered nothing else, and Mac chose not to push. Should Luca wish to discuss something particular about his wife, or the rumors floating amongst the Pivetti men that Neeya was selling everything she owned, he would bring it up.
“Have you taken Enric over to see his sisters yet?” Luca asked.
Mac shook his head. “Things got rushed with moving into the new house and then Marquise making his way a little earlier than expected.”
Luca waved it all off. “No worries; take him when you can.”
“He’s not …”
The boss met Mac’s gaze when he trailed off, seemingly picking up on the hesitance in his tone. “He’s not, what?”
“Keeping his appointments for his therapy. He works; he never complains about what I ask him to do. He’s self-sufficient, even in his state. I can’t make a fuss about that, you know?”
“But he’s not putting in the effort elsewhere,” Luca filled in.
“He could walk again if he just put in the effort, Luca.”
“Enric is more like me than I realized—he’s stubborn.”
Mac nodded, agreeing. “Yeah, I know.”
“Let him do these things on his own time, at his own pace.”
Mac filed that advice away for a later date, hoping it would come in handy where Enric was concerned. It was one thing for Mac to tell Luca that his oldest and only son was too fucking stubborn to deal with the pain and emotion and dedication it would take to get on his feet again, but it was another thing to explain to the man that Enric’s attitude and outlook was … bleak.
Depression was a bitch.
He didn’t know how to help Enric claw his way out of it.
“Tell me about the streets, my people,” Luca said.
Mac’s stare flicked up to the security cameras trained on them, unease settling in the pit of his stomach. “It’s a mess. Work is impossible. Issues are endless.”
He figured that was the best, and cleanest, way of explaining the problems facing the Pivetti Organization and the men within its ranks, without outing all the dirty details for the officials to look over at the same time.
Mac had to be careful—so did Luca.
Luca scowled. “I bet.”
“You can’t expect them all to get along and work together when there is no hierarchy to keep them in line, boss.”
“There is a hierarchy; they’ve simply forgotten we’re just indisposed for a moment. That doesn’t mean we’re useless.”
That was true enough.
“If even one of you was out—”
“Enzo might get a release when his bail hearing is refiled,” Luca interrupted.
Mac’s head snapped up at that with his concern growing. He already had enough problems with the men of the family as it was with Luca in lockup, and the other Capos causing issues with him at every little turn. Enzo certainly wouldn’t help that situation if he was released, if only because he held a grudge for Mac, as he had been the one to kill his son and made no secret about doing so.
“I can see what you won’t say written all over your face,” Luca murmured into the phone. “Worry not—Enzo has much more to worry about, to deal with, than little old you, Mac.”
“With you behind bars, he could do away with me before you even knew something had happened.”
Luca smiled thin
ly. “Family before vendettas, Mac.”
“To you, sure. For me, absolutely. We’re not every man. We’re only our own men, Luca.”
The boss sighed heavily, and Mac took that as a sign of the man’s agreement to what he had said.
“If he does get out—it’s a long shot—do what you need to, be careful,” Luca said. “As for the troublemakers still making it impossible to get anything done, remind them that their boss is watching. He knows what they are doing, and their mistakes will still be corrected when I am able.”
Mac tipped his chin up. “You’re asking me to deliver messages to the Capos?”
“Who better to do it?”
“Won’t that …”
“Hmm?”
“It makes me a go-between for you and them.”
Luca’s brow raised. “It puts you in a better position than them, yes. As I said, who better to do it?”
Well …
Luca said it.
Not Mac.
“Are you sure everything is okay, doll?” Mac asked as he pulled his car into a smooth parallel park on the side street.
Melina sighed. “He’s just fussy, don’t panic.”
Well, he wasn’t panicking, not really. But he could hear little Marquise wailing in the background, and Mac wished he was there to help his wife, and soothe his son at the same time. He’d been gone for most of the damn day, and it wasn’t looking like he would be getting home anytime soon.
He’d gotten a call from another Capo—Carlos—that Anthony Corelli was holding a meeting at one of his regular haunts for the rest of the men, and Mac should be there. He had only just left the prison, with getting home to his wife and son on his mind, when he’d gotten the call.
Anthony didn’t—and shouldn’t—be calling meetings. He didn’t have the pull to call men off the streets and bid them to show up wherever the fuck he wanted them to.
It just pushed all of Mac’s buttons without even trying.
The wrong buttons.
Marquise wailed again, louder and fiercer, bringing Mac back to the call at hand.
“I’ll be home as quick as I can,” Mac assured. “Why don’t you call Ma?”
“Because,” Melina muttered, “I can handle a crying baby on my own.”
Sure, she could.
Mac didn’t doubt that for a second.
But she was also alone for a large portion of her time, and she rarely asked for help. Mac fully believed sometimes, his wife just needed a few minutes to decompress, as all mothers did.
Good mothers.
“Call Ma,” Mac said one final time, firmly, making sure not to give his wife more room to argue. “I know you can handle it, doll, but sometimes a break is just good for the soul. She’ll have him happy, cooing, and sleeping in no time.”
Melina sighed. “Fine.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not cooking tonight, either,” she added.
Mac chuckled. “I will bring something home.”
“Works for me.”
With a quick I love you, his wife hung up the call, and Mac shoved the phone into his jacket pocket before pulling the keys from the car’s ignition. He eyed the small business across the street where he needed to go, taking in the spinning barber pole on the side of the front window.
Paul’s Barber Shop, the window decals read.
Anthony owned a large stake in the place, while his old uncle was the man wielding the scissors and clippers. All over again, Mac found himself annoyed that Anthony felt he had any right to call a meeting of the Capos, as though he could shout for them to jump, and their only appropriate response was to clamor back by immediately asking how high.
It felt … wrong.
Mac believed because the highest men in the Pivetti Organization were currently locked away, Anthony was making a move. The snake likely figured his age and time in the family gave him the pull to do whatever in the hell he wanted.
For now, Mac would play along.
If only to keep the peace.
But he wasn’t guaranteeing how long that would last.
Mac slipped out of his car and quickly crossed the quiet street, entering the barber shop without so much as a look over his shoulder to see if someone was watching him. He doubted Anthony was stupid enough to call a meeting at a place that was watched by the Feds, but it was becoming all too common for them to have … eyes watching.
“Good of you to finally show up,” Anthony said, passing Mac a dismissive glance.
Mac took in the scene in front of him, unsure of what exactly it was that he was currently seeing.
Nothing was right here, he thought.
It was all wrong.
Anthony sat in the barber’s chair, a black cloak around his shoulders and white foam on his face as his head was tipped back, and an exceptionally sharp razor blade was brought down to his skin, starting at his jawline.
But that … that wasn’t the problem.
The Capos stood around the room, a good half a dozen of them, with their hands at their fronts, clasped and waiting for the meeting to begin. Waiting, it seemed, on the man in the chair to finish his business.
Anthony looked to be a king sitting there, having his face shaved while his people waited on him to conclude before they inserted their presences.
No man in the mafia waited on any man like these ones were currently doing for Anthony. That sort of behavior was reserved solely for the boss, and his closest men, and not for anyone else.
What in the hell did Anthony think he was pulling here?
“Busy day,” Mac explained.
Anthony looked over to him again, careful not to move lest his uncle’s blade slit his throat. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing in Mac’s perspective. “Is that so?”
He owed Anthony fuck all.
Certainly not an explanation.
But for the sake of the other men in the room, Mac would talk, if only to get Luca’s message out in the open while at the same time, reminding them all that they actually did have a fucking boss to answer to.
And it wasn’t the king-in-pretending sitting in the chair.
“Luca called me in,” Mac said simply, “and we had a good chat.”
Silence filled the room, but Mac felt the gazes of all the Capos, including Antony, turn on him.
Mac continued speaking before Anthony could join in. “The boss isn’t impressed with the nonsense that’s been going on in the streets between the crews and Capos. He hears everything, even when we think he doesn’t. The more problems that get made while he’s away, the messier it’s going to be when he gets out and decides to clean house.”
Anthony pushed up from the chair, sitting straight, his face only half shaven. “Oh?”
“I didn’t stutter, Anthony.”
“Seems Luca thinks those RICO charges are just going to … fly away.”
Mac refused to discuss Luca’s legal problems—it wasn’t his place. The man would have to deal with his charges and what he planned to do about them on his own time; the rest remained the same.
“He’s still the boss either way—a Don is a Don is a Don, Anthony,” Mac said quietly.
Anthony nodded once, and then rested back in the chair, letting his uncle get back to work on his face. “This is true, maybe the only thing that is true, actually.”
Mac wasn’t willing to argue that point, either. “Why are we here? You wanted something, what was it?”
“We can wait for my shave to finish, can’t we?”
Like fuck.
“I have shit to do,” Mac replied, “places to be, and it isn’t here. I wait on one man and one woman, and you don’t fit either of their descriptions.”
There, Mac said it.
For himself.
For the other Capos.
Let Anthony make of that what he wanted.
A tic worked in Anthony’s jaw. His only show of irritation.
Good.
Mac was pleased his point hit its intended target
.
“Almost finished,” the man wielding the razor said.
“Hurry it up,” Mac urged with a smirk.
Anthony sighed harshly, trying to gain back some of his composure while his uncle finished the right side of his jaw, and Mac took his place against the wall. It kept his back protected, while he watched the rest of the men.
At least, the Capos finally seemed a bit more relaxed.
Mac mentally patted himself on the back for that.
Once Anthony had finally finished, his face was wiped clean of any shaving foam, and he was standing again, the older Capo straightened his suit jacket and nodded at a man waiting in the doorway that led to the private rooms in the back of the barber shop.
“Seems we’re still having problems with men in crews being … how shall I say it … enticed by officials,” Anthony said.
Mac’s brow furrowed, but he chose to stay silent. It wasn’t news that a lot of Capos were having problems with their young soldiers and the officials that were always on their asses. It was something they all had to keep an eye on just to make sure no one weeded their way into a crew for information.
They already had one rat to find and dispose of.
They didn’t need more.
What was happening?
The man in the doorway turned and disappeared, coming back less than thirty seconds later with a bound, gagged, and blindfolded man that was dressed in only a T-shirt and boxers. Even his feet were bare, and looked to be raw, probably from being dragged around. Mac didn’t recognize the young man at first, but once the blindfold was removed he realized it was a young soldier from Anthony’s crew.
A rather disposable soldier, as most were, but still …
“I’m making an example for the rest of you,” Anthony said, his tone ringing like a warning as he pulled a gun from his jacket pocket, and then a long silencer from his outer pocket. “Start cleaning up your crews. This is getting ridiculous.”
The young boy’s eyes flew wide, finding no sympathy in Anthony as the Capo screwed the silencer into the gun and stepped forward. He tried to say something behind his gag, but it was impossible to understand.