Madame Moll (Gun Moll Book 3)

by Bethany-Kris

  He could still see her face, though.

  And it kind of broke his heart.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Melina nodded. “It’s harder than I thought it would be, that’s all.”

  “What is?”

  He didn’t know what she would say.

  Melina didn’t fail to surprise him. “You say goodbye, and it’s final after this. I’ve had very few people in my life who I would rather not say goodbye to. Neeya is one of them.”

  Mac supposed his wife’s large brim hat made a lot more sense, in the grand scheme of things. Or rather, he better understood why she was wearing it. Melina was—always—strong, resilient, in control, and detached even in her highest emotions. She had learned to be those things, and today, perhaps she was struggling in those departments.

  “It’s meant to be a short ceremony, doll. We will be out of here before you know it, and back in the privacy of our home.”

  Where she could do whatever she needed without people watching her. Cry, grieve, or be sad and quiet. Whatever.

  “I wish that helped,” she murmured sadly.

  So did Mac.

  “Come on, Melina.”

  She took his arm, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked towards the crowd gathering on the steps of the church. As far as Mac knew, because rumors traveled through the grapevine of made men, Neeya’s father had taken care of the funeral arrangements. There was word the man had also visited with Luca, too, but Mac hadn’t been able to confirm that was true, or get a meeting with Massimo to ask.

  The man likely was busy.

  Mac let it drop, though he also wanted to speak with Luca, or someone who had spoken with the boss. Especially after seeing Anthony at the prison. Massimo, however, did not answer to Mac, or any other made man, for that matter. He couldn’t demand the man’s presence and expect a result that would be in his favor.

  Neither Mac, nor Melina, bothered to stop and speak with some of the familiar people on the church steps. He kept his wife close, and directed her through the parting crowd, before they entered the church. Hints of vanilla and incense clung to the air, and a sea of black clothing moved all around them.

  Mac wasn’t paying much attention to any of that, as his attention was snagged by his stiffening wife, and the way her gaze darted to the very front of the church. A shined, black casket sat high on the altar, closed up tight, with a large arrangement of lilies, roses, and gardenias covering nearly the entire top.

  The style of the flower arrangement matched the ones connecting shimmering tulle between each pew.

  Mac reached for one of the arrangements, curious why someone would want such delicate, pretty arrangements for something like a funeral.

  A voice from behind stopped him.

  “Careful with those,” a male voice said, “they’re not meant to be played with before it’s time.”

  Mac turned to find an unfamiliar face watching him and Melina. Still, he had heard enough about the man, and Melina described him well enough, for Mac to know he was staring at Neeya’s father—Massimo.

  With a deep olive complexion to speak of his Italian ancestry, standing just an inch taller than Mac, and dressed in all black, Massimo smiled.

  “It’s Mac, Mac Maccari, correct?” Massimo asked

  “Or James, depending on who’s trying to piss me off that day,” Mac replied.

  Massimo’s stony features cracked with a smile. “I was told your friends call you Mac.”

  “Which friends are those?”

  “The only ones that should matter.”

  Touché.

  Mac nodded to the bushels of flower arrangements on each pew. “I was thinking those seem more appropriate for a wedding than a funeral.”

  “Neeya’s favorite flowers,” Massimo supplied, “and it’s a time to celebrate my daughter, not grieve.”

  “Good point. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Most don’t. Society would rather us mourn our dead. We should celebrate the joy they brought into our lives, before we send them off with a smile. We’ve been taught it’s not appropriate to be happy in times like these, only sadness and solemnness will do. I won’t have that for my Neeya.”

  “How are the girls?” Melina asked, stepping into the conversation for the first time.

  Massimo’s gaze swung to her instantly. “Better, thank you for asking. We were lucky enough to get them a private sitting with their father before the funeral, so that’s why they aren’t here just yet.” He glanced down at his watch, adding, “They’ll be coming anytime, now.”

  “And how is Luca?” Mac dared to ask.

  “Like his daughters, I suppose.”

  “Better, then?”

  Massimo shrugged. “Better than he was.”

  “So you have spoken with him,” Mac stated.

  The man’s dark eyes lit up with some unknown emotion, mixed with a touch of mirth. As fast as Mac had seen it appear, it was gone. As though it had never been there to begin with.

  “It was nice to meet you, Mac.” Massimo nodded at Melina. “And you, Melina. Very nice to see you again. Please, though, leave the arrangements alone, lest we start something earlier than we intend to.”

  Mac had no idea what the man was talking about. Massimo didn’t intend to explain it, apparently. He walked away before Mac could even bother to ask.

  “He’s a bit strange, isn’t he?” Melina asked.

  Mac looked at the flowers again, curious and bothered at the same time. “Strange is one way to put it.”

  “There are a lot of flowers, though.”

  Mac agreed.

  The things were everywhere.

  In pots, on the ends of every pew, damn near covering the altar, and strung in garland along the stained glass window sills.

  Everywhere.

  Yet, all he could smell were the vanilla and incense.

  Were they fake flowers?

  What did it even matter?

  “We have to find a seat,” Melina told him.

  Mac let his wife find them a pew, and put the flowers and the strange feeling he had, out of his mind.

  For the moment.

  Once they were seated, Mac carefully looked around to find faces he recognized. Their pew was only two behind the very front, where Enric sat in the inner aisle, likely waiting for his half-sisters to join him. Towards the back, Mac found several Capos, and one in particular that made his irritation swell when he found the man was looking at him, too.

  Anthony.

  The bastard.

  Mac greatly disliked the image of Anthony sitting surrounded by made men, as though he had created a wall to protect himself with. It bothered Mac more than those same made men had, for whatever reason, chosen to align themselves, even if only visibly, with Anthony.

  Especially at Neeya’s funeral.

  For now, Mac would have to let it go.

  But he wasn’t leaving it that way for long.

  “They do look better,” Melina said, drawing Mac from his thoughts.

  “Hmm, doll?”

  His wife gestured subtly towards the three girls making their way towards the front of the church. Mac hadn’t even noticed the Pivetti principessas’ entrance. They only nodded and said quiet hellos as they passed, but never stopped to actually greet anyone. Mac had to agree with his wife’s assessment, though, as the girls did look to be in better emotional states than they had the last time he saw them.

  Perhaps their grandfather’s presence brought along with it some kind of magic to make them smile through the hell this day was sure to be.

  Mac didn’t know.

  It was only the rattle of chains that made Mac look away from the girls, and back towards the entrance of the church. Shackles, actually.

  Luca Pivetti had been allowed to dress for the day, apparently, but that was about as far as they let him go. He was shackled around his ankles, his wrists, and the chains looped around his waist under his suit jacket.
Two guards escorted him down the aisle; their hands, one on Luca, one on their weapons, were steady and ready. Although Luca didn’t seem to pay anyone a bit of attention, as all eyes turned on him with each step he took.

  In fact, he didn’t look away from his wife’s casket.

  Mac couldn’t bring back a single time when he had seen his boss look as dead as he did in those moments.

  So gone.

  Lost.

  A deafening pain that left him numb.

  It was shocking.

  And Mac understood completely.

  He couldn’t empathize, of course, but he understood why.

  Mac relaxed slightly when Melina’s hand touched his shoulder, and pressed lightly. It was as though she was silently telling him he was okay, she was okay, and they were okay. Like she could read his mind.

  Luca was escorted by his guards to the front of the church, and it was only then that the man finally spoke, and his stony façade cracked. He said something to the one guard, gesturing towards the casket with opened hands, but not quite loud enough for those around him to hear what he was asking for. The two guards looked between one another, spoke quickly and quietly, then finally nodded.

  “Thank you,” Luca said, although Mac barely heard the words.

  Mac finally understood what Luca had asked for as the man stepped towards his wife’s casket, and the guards stayed behind. He swore every eye in the church was on Luca while the boss approached the black casket with outstretched hands, still chained in shackles.

  And maybe that was the point, Mac thought.

  Maybe Luca was the best possible distraction.

  Because no one except for Mac seemed to notice Massimo heading towards the entrance of the church, and pulling a small, black item from his inner jacket pocket at the same time. It was too far away for Mac to discern what exactly the item was, but he couldn’t miss the unmistakable action of Massimo pushing down on it with his thumb, as though he were pressing a button.

  Mac finally understood why there had been so many goddamn flowers, then, and exactly how strategically the bushels had been placed throughout the church. Each bushel linking between the pews exploded in color, sending out plumes of smoke and a powdery substance of neon colors.

  And the sound.

  The sound that accompanied the exploding bushels came off like a screeching war cry.

  The noise, mixed with the explosions of color, smoke, and flying petals, sent the attendees flying to the floor. Some were likely too scared to move, worried that this was another bomb incident. Others probably reacted out of instinct alone to get the fuck out of the way of whatever was happening.

  It was fucking pandemonium above their heads as Mac stared upward.

  Plumes of colored smoke, a catacomb of noise, and the shouts of frightened people.

  Distractions, he knew.

  But he couldn’t see through the goddamn smoke to know for sure what was happening.

  “Mac,” Melina said, her fingernails cutting into his arm through his jacket, “what is fucking happening?”

  He didn’t know how to answer her.

  Through the colored smoke, and the suddenly moving people, Mac was sure he saw Neeya’s casket toppled over. Its top looked to be open, and white satin had spilled out, stained by colored powder from whatever had been stuffed inside those bushels of flower arrangements.

  Except …

  There was no body.

  It was empty.

  Luca wasn’t standing there anymore, either.

  The guards—

  Mac couldn’t see the damn guards standing just a few feet away like they had been only moments before, but that was because the two men were now lying face down in the aisle, with bullet holes in the backs of their heads.

  What is happening?

  Just as the smoke began to clear, the sounds started to die down, and the colored powder seemed to be falling and settling, more bushels popped off on the opposite sides of the pews, sending people scattering in a different direction. Mac turned his head just in time to see several flower arrangements by the entrance explode as well, swallowing running guests in color and clouds of smoke they likely couldn’t see their way to get through.

  Holy shit.

  “This way,” Mac heard a familiar voice say. “Hurry up, now. Move.”

  “What in the hell did you do?” Mac asked, barely able to see a foot in front of his face. The church was ruined, likely.

  Massimo laughed in the smoke. “Only giving them a proper send off, as I should.”

  Melina coughed, and then tucked her face into Mac’s jacket as they tried to stay as close to Massimo as was possible. The man moved through the mess like he knew exactly where he was going, as though he had walked it a hundred times before this day in preparation for this moment.

  And perhaps he had done just that.

  Mac wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Here we are,” Massimo said, “deep breaths once you’re in the fresh air. Don’t question the driver in the car, and try to be nice. It’s a bit of a drive.”

  “What?” Mac asked.

  Massimo answered nothing, simply shoved Mac, which sent Melina with him, out a side exit door of the church.

  A black car was waiting.

  A man stood there with a door opened for them.

  Melina sucked in a huge gulp of air, and Mac did the same, needing to cleanse his throat and lungs of that awful powder.

  “Get in,” the driver said, offering nothing else.

  Melina looked to Mac, and he shrugged.

  What else could he do?

  Friends, Massimo had said. Mac’s friends called him one thing only. It was only a friend who could have told that to the man, and made sure it was important enough for him to repeat.

  Don’t question the driver.

  “Get in, doll,” Mac said.

  Mac climbed in behind his wife without a single look back.

  “My dress is ruined,” Melina muttered.

  She tried again—a futile effort—to wipe the bright colored powder from her black dress, and sighed when it did nothing to help. His suit was ruined, too, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit at the moment. He had more important things to consider.

  “That’s the first thing you’re considering right now?” Mac asked, chuckling.

  His wife shrugged. “I have to think about something, don’t I?”

  “The three black cars we’re suddenly driving with aren’t one of them?”

  Melina glanced out the windows, taking note of the vehicles Mac mentioned. “What is happening?”

  Mac kept asking himself that, as well.

  “I have no idea, doll.”

  “Also, I lost my hat.”

  Mac pressed his lips together in an effort to hide his amusement at Melina’s pout. “I will get you a new one.”

  “I liked that one, though.”

  “And you’ll like the new one, too.”

  Melina stared out the window again. “How long have we been driving?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “Did you see the guards on the ground?” she asked quietly.

  Mac passed a look at the driver, who had not once even looked back at them during the drive. “I did. And how Luca was gone.”

  “So, that whole show …”

  “Was clearly planned,” he supplied.

  “I’m not sure Neeya would appreciate her funeral being used as an escape plan for her—”

  “I’m not sure that was a funeral at all,” Mac interrupted, remembering something else he had seen through the smoke and distractions. “But what do I know?”

  “Pardon?” Melina turned to him with confusion written heavily across her beautiful face. Mac didn’t want to explain what he had seen—or rather, what was missing—inside a toppled over casket. He didn’t want to tell her something, give her that hope, and then take it away. “What does that mean, Mac?”

  He pulled his wife closer in the back seat, pre
ssed a kiss to the top of her head, and watched the black cars move slightly closer to theirs all the way around. “Let’s just wait and see, doll. I think something big just happened, and someone clearly intends to let us in on the secret, considering what’s going on now.”

  “Except we don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Shit, it can’t be any worse than everything else we’ve already dealt with.”

  Melina laughed, pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and settled back against the seat. “Massimo said it would be a bit of a drive, didn’t he?”

  “Apparently.”

  “You should call your mom for Marquise. Let her know we might be late.”

  Mac was already pulling out his cell phone before his wife could finish her sentence.

  The helicopter sat waiting and ready, in the middle of what appeared to be a private airstrip that had little life, and likely hadn’t been used in a long while. The chopper’s blades circled fast, and Mac could see a pilot waiting inside as their car came to a stop a good fifty feet away.

  It wasn’t the strange place that took Mac’s attention. Nor the helicopter, or the other vehicles stopping alongside theirs.

  No, it was the woman standing just outside the chopper. The flowy skirt of her red dress blew wildly in the wind of the chopper’s blades; her straightened, jet black hair billowed out behind her.

  Yet, she stood still.

  Like a statue.

  Waiting.

  Entirely unmoved.

  Mac blinked a few times, just to make sure what he was seeing was actually real. Each time, the woman still stood there, frozen as stone, and surveying the cars. Her hands folded together over her middle, as calm as ever in her posture, yet her gaze was where Mac found the truth.

  Wild and worried.

  Melina sucked in a quiet breath; her hand on Mac’s thigh tightened to an almost painful point as she too realized who she was looking at. “Neeya.”

  Very much alive.

  Very real.

  “You will have a few moments,” the driver said, his first words to them since the church, “and then I will return you to your own vehicle where you left it.”