Gun Moll

by Bethany-Kris

  Melina scowled. “It better be a nice one.”

  “Anything you put on will be perfect.”

  “I didn’t think to mention it before, but you have a nice ride,” Melina said.

  Mac flashed her with a grin. “Oh?”

  Just to make a point to her statement about his Challenger, Mac revved the engine when he shifted gears. The engine roared in response and Melina laughed.

  “Yeah, it’s not bad,” she said.

  “It’s not a Mercedes or a Porsche, but it’s a damned good car.”

  Melina arched a brow. “How much money do you have under the hood? Because I would be willing to bet that regardless of what a car looks like on the outside, it’s what is inside that counts. Am I right?”

  Mac shrugged. “You might be, doll.”

  In fact, she was bang on. He had as much money under the hood of his Challenger as he did in the purchase of the entire car. It was better people weren’t aware of that fact until they needed to know.

  “So,” Melina drawled, turning her head to watch the highway fly by out of the passenger window. “Is there anything I should know about tonight? Rules, or whatever?”

  “Yeah, there’s a bit.”

  “I’m listening, Mac.”

  “Respect, doll. That’s it. That’s everything. Nothing else matters, nothing else is acceptable. Only respect.”

  Melina pursed her lips. “To who?”

  “Anyone in that mansion. They’re there for a reason. They got there either because of their last name, what they’ve done for la famiglia, or how close they are to the boss. It’s that simple. No matter how much you might dislike someone, you’re not to outwardly show it unless they disrespect you in a very obvious way. And even then …”

  “What?”

  “Even then, you let me handle it.”

  Melina scoffed. “Is it some kind of woman thing? Because I have a uterus, I can’t stick up for myself?”

  “No, it’s a Cosa Nostra thing,” Mac replied quietly. “It’s a respect thing between men and their women. That’s all, Melina.”

  “Oh.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Anything else I should know?” Melina asked.

  Mac eyed her from the side, taking in the slinky silver dress she wore. It draped over her shoulders, half on and half off, and hugged her curves perfectly. It showcased the delicate line of her throat and collarbones, decorated with a silver, low-hanging necklace.

  Melina was all woman. Every inch of Mac knew it.

  “Smile, Melina,” Mac said.

  “Smile?”

  “Beautiful things tend to stand out in a room, and as much as you might want to blend in, you never will. You deserve to be admired and envied. I’m incredibly lucky to be the man showing you off tonight.”

  Melina sucked in a quiet breath. “Thank you.”

  “Clearly, you’re not told how beautiful you are nearly enough.”

  “Not like that, Mac.”

  She’d said those words to him once before.

  “I still think that’s a shame, doll.”

  “All your charm is a dangerous thing, Mac.”

  “It can be.” Mac took an exit ramp when the GPS directed him to turn. “Another few minutes and we’ll arrive. There is something else I should mention, Melina.”

  “What is that?”

  “Earlier, when we were talking about my sister, I avoided something. I might not be able to avoid it tonight. You see, way back when I was a kid, my uncle, Marco, was a family Capo. The Maccari family had a longer leg in the mob when he was alive.”

  “Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”

  “But,” Mac added, chuckling dryly, “my uncle was killed in a street war. He was the one thing that kept the Maccari family present and noticed. He was influential enough in his position that he was capable of wiping away the mistakes of his younger brother.”

  Melina frowned. “Your father?”

  “If that’s what you want to call him, then sure. Mostly, I just refer to him as ‘James’ or I don’t refer to him at all. He’s a drunk, and he’s got a taste for street women and coke. When I was younger—maybe five or six—he wasn’t so bad. He had his shit under control while my uncle was alive, for the most part. Then, Marco died and nobody gave a shit. James went downhill fast. He only came around enough to make it look good for la famiglia.”

  “Why would that even matter?” Melina asked.

  “Because family is everything.”

  “You told me that earlier.”

  Mac smiled, but it felt forced. “I did. I meant it, too. My father, however, only used his family when he needed to, so that his Capo would think he was on the up and up with it all. No matter what James tried to make it look like, he was still a fucking fool on the streets. Drunk, high, and screwing up every other day. I don’t know how he’s even still alive. My mother worked her ass off doing two jobs, feeding and clothing two kids, and trying to keep her house afloat. The moment I could start helping out, I did. But the only thing I knew was where I came from—mafia.”

  “What does this have anything to do with tonight, Mac?”

  “Sons follow their fathers, Melina. That’s what is believed in this world. You are only as good and as honorable as the man you came from.”

  “And yours is shameful.”

  “Very shameful,” Mac murmured. “I often take shit for my father.”

  Melina glanced down at her hands resting in her lap. “Is that why you go by Mac? I mean, the cop called you James earlier, and the other one called you Maccari. You go by Mac.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly why.”

  “You don’t know that anyone will say anything about your father tonight. You didn’t have to tell me this, you know.”

  Mac disagreed entirely. “Maybe you’re right, but I wanted to. You want to trust me, doll. That’s what you said.”

  “It was.”

  “I’m simply helping that along by sharing. My father is just one of the reasons that being invited to this dinner has me nervous.”

  Melina laughed lightly. “You don’t seem nervous.”

  “Don’t mistake poise for boldness, Melina. They’re two entirely different things. I’ve been waiting for a night like tonight for a very long time. I’ve been kept at arm’s length from the boss and anyone even remotely close to him because of my father’s history. This is the closest I have ever been to Luca, and I would prefer not to fuck it up somehow.”

  “This is it for you, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

  “Hmm, what?”

  “The mob—Cosa Nostra. This is all you want to be.”

  Mac didn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah, it is.”

  Melina had seen plenty of wealth in her former career as an escort. Some of her clients had been multi-millionaires, while the rest toted bank accounts that certainly weren’t anything to scoff at. Fancy cars, massive homes, private jets, and more. Melina had seen it all.

  She had never seen anything like the Pivetti home.

  Actually, that was kind of a joke. It wasn’t a home. It wasn’t some large, two or three-level structure with a big garage, a large yard, and a couple of nice cars in the driveway.

  No, not at all.

  The four-level structure sported what looked like three massive wings, a garage that was big enough to be a small warehouse, stonework from the bottom of the walls to the roof, and windows that were as large as an eighteen-wheeler. Specialty lighting put the decorative walkways on display. The long, winding driveway was lined with birch trees. The doors to the garage were wide open and the lights were on. It showcased the highest luxury of cars on the market in a rainbow of colors. All-terrain vehicles had been lined up in one of several sections.

  The place rested on a private section of land that, guessing by the length of the driveway, had to be a few acres. Situated on the outskirts of the city in an expensive, private suburb, the Pivetti home was not at all what Melina had expected.

 
It dripped in money.

  She had thought that maybe it would be a large home—something worthy of a crime boss—but certainly not this.

  “Oh, my God,” Melina mumbled, staring up at the structure before her.

  Her gaze caught the dozen or so security cameras that were visible in eaves and over doors. No doubt, someone was probably watching their vehicle. She was thankful for the dark-tinted windows keeping them from view as she gaped like a fool. It was only then that she noticed the black-clothed men standing in inconspicuous locations. Guards, likely.

  Melina didn’t know what to think.

  “Close your mouth, doll.”

  Her jaw snapped shut. “This place is huge.”

  Mac put the car in park, eyeing the home. “I’ve never seen it up close before, but I’d heard stories about it. I’d seen a couple of pictures, but nothing more. My imagination didn’t do it justice, I can tell you that.”

  “It’s … what is it?”

  “Excessive.”

  Melina wholeheartedly agreed. “It’s a little ostentatious for a crime boss, isn’t it? Isn’t the whole point of your business to stay under the radar? Nobody is saying he has to live in the slums, but this is …”

  “Excessive,” Mac repeated with a chuckle. “Luca Pivetti comes from old money. Keep that in mind. His grandfather’s father had a large share in one of the biggest banks in the USA. He also has a huge ownership in the casino market in Vegas, and a few overseas real-estate endeavors in Europe. So yeah, the man might be a crime boss, but he’s also a major business man with some very legal ventures.”

  “I can smell the money from here.”

  “Oh?”

  Melina crinkled her nose for show. “Smells like entitlement and arrogance.”

  Mac laughed hard. “Keep those thoughts to yourself when we’re inside, doll.”

  Jesus Christ.

  She hadn’t even thought about the inside of the home.

  “Please tell me the floors aren’t paved in gold and the wallpaper isn’t made of diamonds or some nonsense,” she said.

  Mac shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Great.”

  “But let’s go find out.”

  Even better …

  Melina’s coat and clutch were taken from her by the waiting staff the moment she stepped into the home. The quiet woman who bent down to wipe the soles of Melina’s heels wore a gray uniform, trimmed with white and comfortable looking black shoes. Confused, Melina allowed the woman to clean her heels as she watched a man do the same to Mac.

  “Thank you, Miss,” the woman said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mr. Pivetti welcomes you to his home to celebrate his youngest daughter’s eighteenth birthday with a dinner and party. Enjoy the evening, and please find one of the help if you need anything. We’re happy to serve you, ma’am. Follow the hallway to the entrance where the staircase is located. Another staff member will be waiting to direct you up the right staircase to the second level where the rest of the guests are in the ballroom.”

  Ballroom?

  There was a ballroom in the fucking place?

  The man who had cleaned Mac’s shoes stood and recited the very same thing to him. Melina raised an eyebrow in Mac’s direction as the woman scurried away into a connected room with the man right on her heels.

  “What was that?”

  Mac looked as confused as she did. “What wealth can buy?”

  Melina didn’t think so. Those people didn’t feel like normal house staff. Usually, maids and so forth were not as robotic and stiff. Sometimes, they even smiled. Those people had done neither.

  It felt all wrong.

  Glancing down at her dress, Melina asked, “Am I underdressed for a ballroom?”

  “No,” Mac answered. “According to Guido, it’s where Luca entertains for dinners and parties. It’s big enough and it keeps everyone in one place instead of wandering his house. I guess the boss gets pissed as hell when people snoop.”

  Taking in the large foyer that had expensive art and tapestries on the wall, and the marble floor beneath their feet, she wasn’t surprised that Luca didn’t allow people to wander. In the middle of the room, a silver statue of horses rearing back that was nearly as tall as the ceiling rested below a glittering chandelier full of crystals.

  Probably one-hundred percent real crystals.

  Overwhelmed, Melina took it all in in silence.

  “Come on, doll,” Mac said.

  Melina allowed him to guide her down the hallway. Painted photographs lined the dark-wood walls. Gold plaques under each named the individual or individuals in the paintings. At the very end of the hall, Mac stopped and nodded at the final two paintings.

  One was a man who Melina recognized, sitting alone in what looked to be a library. Short, dark hair combed neatly to the left and the large ring on his right finger caught Melina’s eye first. With brandy glass in one hand, a cigar in his other, and steel gray eyes staring out at them, the man in the painting seemed cold and distant. His posture was straight and stiff in the large leather chair he rested on. His wealth surrounding him made him seem almost unobtainable—untouchable.

  Luca Pivetti.

  Melina knew his face from the photographs the detectives had shoved at her.

  “Whoever painted that has a knack for putting reality into art,” Mac muttered.

  “I thought you never met the man?”

  “I haven’t, but I’ve heard enough.” Mac nodded at the second painting. “His daughters.”

  Melina took in the second painting, noting the three women standing around their father with an ornate, massive fireplace behind them. All of the girls were beautiful and young. The oldest probably couldn’t be much older than twenty-five, at the most. What stunned her most about the girls were the color of their skin.

  Dark caramel, like hers.

  “I didn’t know his wife was …”

  “African, yes,” Mac said.

  “African only?”

  “South African with an Italian-African father, actually. Diamonds are a huge trade, you know. Luca’s father got mixed up in that mess and in the process, met a man that might have been a little more dangerous than even he was.”

  “Luca’s wife’s father?”

  Mac smirked. “Good guess. Her father had dual citizenship between Africa and Italy. He spent the majority of his adult life in Africa running diamonds.”

  Melina’s gaze narrowed. “Blood diamonds?”

  “I think so. Anyway, when a deal went south between Luca’s father and the diamond king, a deal was struck, a marriage happened, and it’s been quiet going ever since.”

  “An arranged marriage?”

  Mac eyed her before saying, “It’s actually not uncommon in this lifestyle.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. She came over here to the States and they married. They had three girls. Cosa Nostra overlooked the fact she was only half-Italian, seeing as how the Italian came from her father’s side.”

  “No sons?” Melina asked.

  “Rumors say there’s a son or two in la famiglia that belong to Luca. Mistresses for mothers, or so the story goes.”

  “You seem to know a lot of the story.”

  Mac’s hand slipped into Melina’s before he pulled her alongside him to walk again. “I wanted to know the man I was meeting. So let’s do that, doll.”

  The second Mac and Melina were directed into the ballroom, Melina found the person who the talking, laughing, and dancing people probably considered the most important man in the area. In the middle of the very spacious room, a marble fountain of naked women had water spouting from the ladies’ outstretched hands. Sitting on the edge of the fountain with his ankle crossed over his knee and a glass of red wine in hand was a laughing Luca Pivetti.

  The man was surrounded by men and women alike. They looked on at his laughter with their own as drinks were poured and servers moved from person to person with plates of finger foods in hand. The moment Luca
stopped laughing, the people around him quickly followed suit. With a wave of his hand, the people scattered away from him. Luca stood as a young girl dressed in a pink chiffon dress came up beside him. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek and Luca patted hers in return. Melina recognized the girl instantly as one of Luca’s daughters in the painting.

  He was clearly commanding. He owned the space. He was important.

  Melina learned all of that in just a few quick seconds.

  “I thought this was supposed to be a birthday party-slash-dinner?” Melina asked Mac.

  “It is,” he murmured in her ear. “But with these people, it is just as much about the boss celebrating his youngest child’s eighteenth birthday, as it is about the girl herself.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s of age, I guess.”

  “To what, Mac?”

  “Marry,” he said simply.

  Melina sighed. “She’s a girl.”

  Mac’s face was stone-cold and impassive as he replied, “Yes, but she’s also a Don’s daughter. It is what it is, doll.”

  “Mac, my boy.”

  Melina inwardly flinched at the voice of Guido, Mac’s Capo. Mac’s arm tightened around Melina’s waist as they turned to face the older man. He was classed up in a tailored suit, a sharp tie, and a sly smile. Gone were the undone buttons on his shirt showing chest hair and the gold chain around his neck. Guido appeared to be a cultured, well-dressed man ready for a classy party.

  Appearances were deceiving.

  Melina knew that fact better than most.

  “And, Melina, it’s wonderful to see you again, too,” Guido said.

  “Skip,” Mac greeted with what sounded like forced politeness.

  Guido looked straight past Mac to Melina. The leer on his chubby face was enough to make Melina cringe.

  “You’re looking mighty fine tonight, sweetheart,” Guido said.

  Mac’s fingers pressed roughly into Melina’s hip before he pushed her closer into his warm side. His lips pressed to her temple with a brief kiss. A heat spread in her stomach at Mac’s touch and kiss, shooting straight down between her thighs. She would recognize a sign of possession anywhere, and that one was written as clear as day.