Madame Moll (Gun Moll Book 3)

by Bethany-Kris

  “How can you be sure of this?” one man toward the back asked.

  Mac carefully pulled out two rings from the inner pocket of his jacket, and slid them down his fingers. One, Melina recognized had been Luca’s. Another, Anthony’s.

  Then, he set a small recorder down on the table, reached over, and pressed play. Erika’s defiant voice and Mac’s cool, calm tenor echoed over a device. A final conversation, she realized. It ended shortly after a gunshot and footsteps.

  Mac waited for the recorder to click before he looked over the men again.

  “I’m sure some of you recognize that woman’s voice, and who we thought she was. Anthony Correlli was a rabid dog, who finally got put down. This is the last time we will ever speak of him. Right now, we have better things to talk about. When I last spoke with Luca, it was clear that he wanted his line of succession to fall to me.” Mac waved at Enric and said, “You have his oldest, and only, son here to question on that front. I have his ring, given willingly to help speed this process along. But should any of you choose to make it hard on me that I fully intend to carry out his wishes, I will make it very hard on you to live.”

  No one spoke up.

  Mac smiled. “We’ve had a lot of issues lately in this business, haven’t we? Too much police attention, too many arrests, and other bullshit we don’t need. That’ll all come to a stop. With the right boss, the proper rules, and careful attention to detail and business, it will stop. I promise. Take care of me, and I will take care of you.”

  A few confirmative murmurs passed through the men.

  Approval, maybe.

  “As my first order of business, I have a few key appointments to make.”

  Melina watched as Mac paused, studying the room. She didn’t trust some of the men assembled. After all, she was sure that some of them had been supporters of Anthony, and there was no doubt that they still harbored some bitterness about Mac’s rapid rise. She waited for someone to speak. To say something untoward, but no words came. Maybe a stable future was within her husband’s grasp.

  “A man cannot hope to be a successful boss without having people in his corner that he can trust. People that have proven themselves loyal time and time again. For my underboss, I choose Enric Pivetti.”

  Melina’s gaze shifted to Enric. He sat unmoved, a signal to her that he had known about Mac’s intentions.

  “Only a made man can be underboss,” a dark haired man sitting near the wall said.

  “He was made … by me. Besides that fact, there is not a man among you braver or more dedicated than Enric.”

  “He’s a cripple,” someone else spoke up. “That’s not concerning to you that he might be seen as an easy target or—”

  A loud pop echoed, followed by shattering glass. The man who had been insulting Enric while he sat in the same room with the young man now held shattered remains of whatever glass object he had been holding. Blood from where the shards cut him started trickling down his arm.

  On the other side of the room. Enric sat still as stone with a gun pointed at the man. “Call me a cripple one more time, Carl.”

  “Well, I just … meant that—”

  “One more fucking time.”

  Mac chuckled. “Do you need a moment to clean up your arm, Carl?”

  Carl swallowed hard, and shook his head. “No, no. I’m quite fine.”

  “I’m aware that Enric has his challenges. So do the rest of us. No man in this room is perfect. His job as an underboss is to protect me, and manage the rest of you. To be my go-between. Nothing more, nothing less. He already does that. He has friends in every single one of your crews. He’s what you might call a smart boy.”

  Enric snorted, but stayed quiet.

  Mac waved a hand, saying, “And that brings me to my next appointment. As consigliera, I choose my wife Melina.”

  Melina had to fight to keep her mask of indifference in place. Consigliere or consigliera was something she’d never expected. How could she? From everything she knew Cosa Nostra had never been open to women and now her husband had just turned everything on its head.

  “A woman as consigliere? It’s unheard of,” one man said.

  “First, tack the a onto the end of that and give her the respect of the feminine form. After all, there is a reason there is a feminine form of the word, no? Gentlemen, I think some of you forget the real purpose of that job. It is an advisor to the boss. A person that he can absolutely trust to give him the best advice and see to his own interests. But above all a consigliere—or consigliera—is absolutely loyal to the boss, and no one has proven that more than my wife. She has endured jail time, assassination attempts, and things no woman should have, and for that I honor her. Any man that dares to even think to disrespect her will meet with my rage.”

  “Now, are we all in agreement?” Mac asked with a flick of his wrist in the men’s direction.

  Melina had the feeling none of the men really had a choice, but at this point, a boss like Mac was probably the best option.

  Eventually, one by one, confirmations rang out.

  With his peace having been said, Mac rose and offered his hand to Melina. She took it, allowing him to help her from her seat. The room remained quiet as Mac opened the door leaving the men and the clandestine meeting behind them.

  “You might have warned me,” Melina said.

  “And miss out on the shocked expression on your face? Never.”

  “Will they accept me, Mac? I don’t want to be the cause of more problems for you.”

  Mac stopped and grabbed her hand. “You won’t. They will accept you because I have ordered it, but in time they will come to see what a valuable asset you are. They will respect you.”

  “Your confidence is inspiring.”

  “You are inspiring, doll. I know that whatever the future holds, it will be better for all of us with you at my side in all things. I need you, Melina. Together we can change this famiglia for the better. Will you take the position? Did I mention there are some very nice perks that come with it?”

  Melina laughed as she wrapped her arms around her husband. “What kind of perks?”

  “Whatever you want. I’m open to negotiations.”

  “Well then, I’d say that you’ve got yourself a new consigliera.”

  Their lips met in a kiss of fire and passion. For once there was nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear. The world was theirs, and the future brighter than it had ever been.

  Mac sat behind his desk with his elbows resting to the top. What he should have been doing was going over some illegal cigarette and liquor shipments he was supposed to be sending into Canada next month. But no. His work for la famiglia had to be pushed aside because his children were testing every single one of his limits today.

  Every single damn one.

  Leaning forward, he stared hard at his two sons, and his youngest child, their only girl. Their thirteen-year-old girl, Isabella.

  “Now, once more,” Mac said, trying to keep a calm demeanor. “Marquise, Luca, try that again, but with the truth this time.”

  Seventeen-year-old Marquise glared at the wall.

  Luca, at fifteen, kept his arms crossed over his chest.

  Isabella snapped a wad of gum in her mouth.

  Teenagers were God’s way of punishing a man for all his misdeeds. Mac was sure of it. He no longer believed that Hell was a punishment for sins, but rather, these monsters people gave cute names to, raised and loved them, only to have them turn when puberty hit.

  He wished he was being dramatic.

  “Okay, then the Italy trip is off,” Mac said, leaning back in his chair with a shrug.

  “No,” Isabella shrieked. “Daddy, no, please don’t cancel the Italy trip. Please.”

  “Weak,” Marquise said out of the corner of his mouth.

  The closest thing Isabella could find—a pillow, and a book Melina had left on the side table—went flying. The pillow hit the wall, and the book hit Marquise right in the side of the he
ad. Marquise was already reaching for something else to throw.

  Good God, forgive me for whatever I have done to deserve this, please.

  Mac’s prayers usually went unanswered.

  “Don’t you call me weak, you fucker!”

  “You are weak,” Marquise shouted back. “Dad would never cancel that trip because he’s going to see—”

  “Shut your mouth right now,” Mac warned, “we don’t say those names in this house, Marquise. Rules for their safety, you know that.”

  “She’s still weak, though.”

  “I’ll show you weak!”

  “Bella!”

  Mac’s daughter stilled on the couch, and her gaze darted to him. “Well, he insulted me.”

  “You did hit him in the head with a book.”

  “Daddy!”

  Between the oldest and youngest Maccari sibling sat a quiet Luca. It never failed to amuse Mac how his middle child never presented anything close to the middle-child syndrome.

  “A guy was bothering Bella,” Luca said, “and she let us know, so we beat the shit out of him.”

  Mac’s brow raised at that omission. “That’s why you beat him up?”

  Marquise grumbled something under his breath, and his fist shot out to punch his brother in the thigh. Luca barely reacted.

  No, Luca was smart.

  He would wait for later to get his brother back.

  He always did.

  “Yep,” Luca said, “and I would do it again.”

  Marquise shrugged. “We only got suspended because he tattled like a baby.”

  Mac rubbed at his temples, willing his oncoming migraine to go away before it got too bad, and he had to take a pill for the damn thing. “Okay, boys, I get it. Couldn’t you wait until after school when he was off school property?”

  “Not really,” Luca said.

  “Next time, do that.”

  Now that all Mac’s children were in the same high school, he thought life would be less complicated. That was not the case. His children had a wonderful way of making days difficult just because they could.

  Most times, he didn’t mind.

  He also didn’t want two out of three in his home for the next seven days before March break came up because they couldn’t behave.

  “Isabella, thank you for going to your brothers and not gutting the boy the first time,” Mac said.

  Isabella preened at her father.

  She was shockingly like her mother. Melina’s pretty eyes, delicate features, his olive skin tone, and dark, wavy hair. But beyond the physical appearance, their daughter was Melina all over. Attitude, swagger, and style. She took no shit.

  Melina was proud.

  Isabella mostly gave Mac mini heart attacks.

  “You may go,” he told his daughter.

  She stood from the couch. “Is the Italy trip—”

  “Don’t you push it right now, bambina.”

  Out his daughter went.

  Once the door was closed, Mac turned his gaze on his two sons. Neither of them seemed to want to look him in the eye at the moment.

  He was not even surprised.

  “Marquise, Luca, eyes on me right now.”

  Both boys looked to him.

  “Marquise, kiss your trip to Chicago with Enric to meet the Outfit boss goodbye.”

  “What, but—”

  “Luca, same goes for you.”

  “Dad, that’s not—”

  Mac held up a single hand. “Also, weekends are gone for the next two weeks. Get ready to stay at home and make your mother feel like a queen. Marquise, you can cook supper tonight. Luca, you can help your brother tonight, and your mother and sister cook tomorrow. The garage is a mess, work on cleaning that out and organizing it during your suspension. What else?”

  He considered anything else he could pile onto the punishments.

  “Head into the library and pick three books each—make sure they’re at least an inch thick or more. I want them all read, and a verbal report on the contents. Don’t ty to fuck me around with some Wikipedia shit, I will know.”

  Quietly, Marquise asked, “Is that all?”

  “For now,” Mac replied, “but I reserve the right to add things to it. Let’s put this this way, boys. Your mother and sister really want to go on that Italy trip, so make sure they get there by following through on your punishment for this. You know the rules—school comes first always. You keep family and business out of those hallways. Marquise, you have a few months left to be in that damn school, make it easy on yourself. Luca … you know what, just stop altogether. Stop.”

  “What about Bella?” Marquise asked. “Is she getting punished?”

  “Her fists didn’t break some boy’s face into the ground, Marquise. Jesus Christ.”

  Luca muttered under his breath.

  “What was that?”

  “I said that’s only because she came to us,” Luca said louder. “Had she taken care of the guy, he probably wouldn’t be able to make babies.”

  “Right, because she’s a smart cookie. Unlike you two. See, she got you two to do her dirty work for her. She escaped punishment. You both think I don’t know the tricks your sister pulls, but this is not my first rodeo. So which two between the four of us are not the sharpest tools in the shed? Your sister, who has her tricks; me, who knows them, or you two, who keep falling for them?”

  Neither of his boys spoke up.

  Again, not surprised.

  “Nonetheless, she still didn’t do anything wrong. The only reason you’re both not spending the next week picking up garbage off the side of the highways is because it was your sister. I respect that—would have liked it a lot more had it been off school property, and not on school time.”

  With a wave of his hand, Mac dismissed his boys. The two went without a look back.

  Frankly, he was never going to take away their Italy trip. He looked forward to it more than anyone. They still needed a good scare every once in a while.

  Kept them all in line.

  Mac stood in the kitchen entryway, and watched his teenage boys share punches on the floor. Marquise currently had the upper hand, but that was only because he had five inches and twenty-five pounds on Luca. It wouldn’t be long before Luca equaled his older brother in strength and size.

  “What are they doing?” Melina hissed as she came up behind him.

  “Fighting.”

  “Obviously, Mac. Why?”

  “Because they were cooking together.”

  Melina let out a hard breath, and glared at the ceiling. “Why would you even bother trying to get them to cook together?”

  “I didn’t think it through, really.”

  “Clearly. Why the cooking?”

  “They beat up some kid because their sister manipulated them into doing her dirty work again.”

  Melina smirked at that admission. “She’s so sneaky.”

  “Thinks she is, anyway. I’m on to her.”

  His wife seemed to decide quickly that she had enough of her sons fighting on the kitchen floor. Walking a couple of feet into the room, she clapped her hands three times loudly in quick succession. It almost sounded like firecrackers going off.

  “Okay, that’s enough, you two. Enough, I said!”

  Melina grabbed Luca by the collar of his shirt, and Mac stepped in to help with Marquise. The two of them pulled the battling teenagers apart. Marquise spit curses at his younger brother while Luca hurled promises of violence.

  Mac had no idea when, if ever, these two would be able to get along for more than a few minutes at a time. Clearly it was possible, considering the two had beat the hell out of a guy and worked it out without killing one another. Why couldn’t they figure out the same kind of thing when they were at home, or elsewhere?

  Shit.

  They would even fight in church.

  “That is enough!”

  Melina’s shout echoed in the kitchen. Both boys quieted and stopped fighting instantly. She glared betwe
en the two boys. Mac hid his smile and bubbling laughter by looking away.

  It never failed.

  Him, the boys would push and test.

  As much as they could, anyway.

  Their mother?

  Nope.

  Melina let go of Luca, pulled two kitchen chairs from the table, and set them in the middle of the room so that they faced once another.

  Pointing at the chairs, she said, “Sit, right now.”

  “But, Ma—”

  “Luca, I said sit.”

  Marquise and Luca each took a seat. The two glowered and scowled at one another. Melina simply shook her head.

  “I will finish cooking. You two can sit there and stare at each other. To make time go faster, give each other compliments.”

  Marquise scoffed. “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

  “Use that word to me one more time, Marquise. Do it.”

  He looked away.

  Melina checked her watch. “Start now.”

  God, Mac loved his wife.

  Queen of his house.

  The fiercest mother.

  Really, his kids were lucky. Melina actually gave a shit.

  At the stove, Melina called over her shoulder, “I don’t hear any compliments.”

  Luca bitched under his breath before saying, “You don’t punch like a girl.”

  Marquise replied, “And you don’t look like one.”

  God save him.

  These kids would kill him someday.

  “Keep going,” Melina urged without ever looking back.

  “You’re … basically not a piece of shit,” Luca said.

  Marquise shrugged and said, “I guess neither are you.”

  Progress, Mac told himself. Accept the progress.

  Even if it was barely there progress.

  “Nice place to be, isn’t it?”

  Mac looked to his left, and nodded at the man resting in the lounger beside his. “Where is that?”

  “The top,” Luca Pivetti said.

  The man proceeded to sip from a glass of wine as he watched the teenagers make a mess of the Four Seasons’ pool. Italy was a wonderful place to visit no matter the time of year. It was an even better place to visit when a person could meet up with old friends.

  “The top is a very nice place to be,” Mac agreed.