by Bethany-Kris
Cynthia smiled. “Thank you. Are there any traditions that your family celebrates?”
“It’s just me. My mom died when I was eight from ovarian cancer and I just recently buried my father.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Life couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“I had my dad. We made the best of things.”
“Her father was a veteran,” Mac said.
Cynthia’s eyes widened. “How long did he serve?”
“Fifteen years,” Melina answered.
“That’s a lifetime,” Cynthia murmured.
“Yeah, it was.”
The doorbell rang.
“Are you expecting someone, Ma?” Mac asked.
Cynthia shook her head. “No. Just us.”
She got up from her seat and left the table. Mac turned and faced towards the door.
“No one would follow us here, would they?” Melina asked.
“No. That would be the highest level of disrespect. My mother has always kept away from the business as much as she could. She doesn’t approve, doll.”
Still, Mac remained on edge as they waited for his mother to return.
“James, look who’s here,” his mother called.
Cynthia returned to the room, but she wasn’t alone. Her face was set in a terse smile. Behind her stood a man with dark hair. A stripe of gray touched his temples and his eyes were black and cold. Beside Melina, Mac stiffened. There was no inexpressive mask this time. His face was lit with a quiet, seething rage.
“Son,” the man greeted with a smile that looked anything but sincere. “It’s been a long time.”
Mac refused to stand from his seat as his mother stared at him with a silent plea in her gaze for him to move. He couldn’t—wouldn’t.
James Sr. watched his son with a knowing sneer curving the corners of his mouth upwards. Then, his stare flicked to the woman beside Mac.
Mac stiffened all over. His hand found Melina’s thigh under the table and he squeezed gently. Just enough to say he was there, and that was it.
“No hello for your old man, Mac?” James asked.
Mac stifled his biting retort and settled for a terse, “Ciao, James.”
Not “dad”, or even “father”.
James Maccari didn’t deserve those titles.
He was useless.
Cynthia took a breath, clapped her hands, and then waved at the table. “Sit, Senior.”
James nodded at his estranged wife, and kissed her on the cheek as he passed her by to make his way to a free seat at the table. “Where’s my favorite girl?”
“Victoria couldn’t make it,” Cynthia said. “You could have called, if you wanted to come over.”
“My house, too,” James muttered under his breath as he reached for a breadstick.
“Actually—”
Mac’s mouth snapped shut when his mother cut him with a single look. He blew out a frustrated breath and felt Melina’s hand cover his on her thigh. Above all else, Cynthia hated to see her son and her estranged husband fight. Mac knew it hurt his mother, but she understood why the two men weren’t close.
James’ entire lack of couth, care, and manhood being one.
It was a big one.
“Eat,” Mac told Melina quietly.
Melina nodded, and took to eating once more. Mac followed suit, keeping one eye on his father and another on his mother. Conversation flowed, but it was awkward and stinted. It wasn’t like he had a whole lot to say to his father.
Mac was starting to think his plan of introducing his mother to the woman he loved had been ruined by someone he didn’t give a shit about.
Sad thing, that was.
“Who’s this broad?” James asked, chewing with his mouth open as he waved at Melina.
Mac didn’t want to dismiss Melina in front of her. But his bigger issue at the moment was making sure his father didn’t have any ties to her, personal or otherwise.
“A friend,” Mac said shortly.
Melina frowned, and her teeth cut into her lip. She passed Mac a look, hurt marring her features. He wished he could explain to her that the man sitting across from her didn’t deserve to know who she was, or how important she was to Mac. James didn’t get that right—Melina was too good for him.
The man shouldn’t even be sharing her air.
James grinned, his stare traveling down over Melina’s chest. Mac shuddered with fury, but he managed to somehow hide it.
“Pretty thing,” James noted.
Melina didn’t say a word.
“She is, isn’t she?” Cynthia asked, smiling.
“A little dark, though,” his father added.
Melina’s fingers dug into the back of Mac’s hand with enough force to leave a row of scratches behind. He took the pain, and her punishment. He wondered how many comments she had heard like that throughout her lifetime.
Like the color of her skin made her the lesser.
Like her heritage made her unworthy.
Like because she wasn’t white, she wasn’t good enough.
She was fucking perfect for Mac.
And he loved the way her skin looked pressed against his.
“What’s Pivetti think of that?” James asked.
Mac glanced at his mother, taking in her puckered brow and hard eyes. Cynthia wasn’t okay with Cosa Nostra business being discussed at her table. She knew the Pivetti name and what it meant.
“What do you mean, what’s he think of it?” Mac asked.
“The girl—your girl.” James tipped his chin at Melina. “Stop trying to play me for a cafone, son. I work around shit, just like you do.”
“Language,” Cynthia said quietly.
James ignored her. “I roll the block, Mac. I walk the streets and see people you know. Seems your little broad there’s been kicking up a fuss. She’s got some eyes on her, and that means eyes on you, son. So I asked, what does Pivetti think of it? I know he married one a little darker than her, but his came from good stock and she had Italian on her father’s side. Plus, she brought the diamonds with her. You know you can’t be running around making mixed-race bambinos with—”
“That’s enough,” Mac barked.
His rage boiled over.
There was no stopping it.
“Keep that filth inside your head, James,” Mac added, a dark edge sharpening his tone.
No one—absolutely fucking no one—would disrespect Melina in that way. Not in front of him, and not behind his back, if he could help it. He’d cut their tongues out for even whispering something as awful and bigoted as his father had just said.
Melina’s hand had progressively tightened around Mac’s to the point his knuckles cracked. How she had stayed as quiet as she did, he didn’t know.
God, he loved this woman.
“What I do in my personal life is none of your concern,” Mac said quietly. “It’s hasn’t been your concern in, oh … about twenty years, James. You know, around the time you left Ma to take care of her house and kids alone. About the time you ran the streets, fucking whoever you wanted and drowning yourself in a bottle along the way. When you snorted coke up your nose. Remember that? Yeah, that’s when you lost the right to know or put your opinions in my business.”
James’ lips flattened into a thin line as he regarded his son.
Mac was surprised that the man was sober today.
It was a first.
It was also a weekday.
“I—” James started to say.
“James is full-blooded Italian,” Cynthia interrupted smoothly, her gaze jumping between Mac and Melina. “We can trace our family roots right back to Sicily, Senior. His children will still be half, and from his side.”
Mac was stunned to hear his mother speak out like that, especially towards Melina. She had been a little cold earlier. Colder than he expected. He knew it was just her way of trying to handle a surprising situation.
His mother had never once met a woman he was seeing. Bringing
someone home to her was a big deal.
Mac was her firstborn—her only boy. Italian mothers raised their sons a little differently than they did for their daughters. They taught their girls how to handle a house, manage a man, and raise her children right. They raised their daughters with the capability to take care of themselves, no matter what happened.
But an Italian mother—his mother—raised their boys with the ideal that she couldn’t let him go until he found a woman who would handle his house, manage him, and raise his children right. An Italian mother needed to know that the woman their son chose would be able to take care of her family, no matter what happened.
She needed to be perfect.
That’s what Cynthia would want. She expected it.
Mac knew Melina was, his mother just needed to see it, too.
His father, however, could take a flying fucking leap.
“You have a good point,” James said, still surveying Melina like she was a piece of meat.
“Mac,” Melina said quietly.
“Yeah, doll?”
He didn’t take his eyes off his fuck-up of a father.
“I’d like to go,” Melina told him.
Yeah, ruined.
Mac gave Melina a nod, and a sad smile. “Sure, babe.”
“Don’t go,” Cynthia said softly.
Mac glanced between his saddened mother and his smirking father.
“Let them go, Cynthia,” James said, reaching for more lasagna.
“Another time, Ma,” Mac promised.
Cynthia twisted her hands together on the table. “But—”
“I promise, Mamma,” he insisted.
He never broke a promise to his mother.
She raised him better than that.
Cynthia nodded, but she still seemed hurt. Mac would apologize for that later.
Mac helped Melina out of her chair. His girl politely said goodbye to Cynthia, and promised to visit again soon with a request to teach her how to cook.
He had to laugh at that.
Cynthia agreed.
Melina didn’t say a single thing to Mac’s father.
James didn’t look like he minded.
As they were heading out of the kitchen, Mac heard his father call out his name.
“What?” Mac asked, not bothering to tamper his irritation.
“Proud of you,” James said, cocking a brow high. “Got yourself noticed, Mac. Just like I knew you would. Don’t let it be ruined, all right? Think smart, not stupid. No woman is worth the button—she ain’t going to get you in after she’s got you seen, son. Keep that in mind.”
Melina was worth far more than his button for the Pivetti crime family, but his father didn’t need to know that was how Mac felt.
Forever the opportunist, Mac thought.
He finally understood why his father had shown up today.
James had probably heard that his estranged son was gaining the attention and traction in Cosa Nostra that he had never been able to achieve because of his lifestyle and bad choices. Perhaps Mac could be James’ ticket into the family.
It wouldn’t happen.
Not on Mac’s watch.
“Let’s go,” Mac said, tugging Melina into his side.
Melina smiled, but he could see right through it.
Mac didn’t start the car. He held onto the steering wheel with one hand, and placed his other on the middle leather section with his palm facing upwards. Not a second later, he felt the warmth of Melina’s hand slide into his.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That never should have happened.”
“It’s not the first time,” she whispered.
His heart hurt just hearing that.
“I love you, Melina.”
Mac tilted his head just enough to catch her frown out of the corner of his eye.
“I know you do,” she said.
“You’re beautiful.”
She laughed quietly. “So you keep saying.”
But it was more than that.
“You’re worthy, doll.”
Melina blinked, silent.
“You’re so crazy; you’re smart, quick, and sharp. You make me want to scream, love you, and fuck you all at the same time. You challenge me. You are perfect. You are everything I need and want, and the color of your skin has nothing to do with how important you are to me. It has never mattered.”
She met his stare, smiling slightly. “Yeah, I know.”
“But I’m going to keep telling you that.”
“Will you?”
Mac nodded. “Every time someone tells you differently. I absolutely fucking will.”
He shouldn’t have to, but he would.
Because people like his father were everywhere.
They couldn’t be escaped.
“Ti amo,” Mac repeated.
Melina wove their fingers. “Always, Mac.”
“Tanto. Sempre, Melina.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she said.
“So much. Forever.”
Melina stared out the windshield. She still felt a million miles away to Mac.
“Talk to me,” he demanded.
“I thought, at first, that you didn’t think I was good enough to tell your father who I was to you,” she confessed, her tone barely above a breath.
“Never.”
“I figured out really quickly that he just wasn’t important enough for you to tell him.”
“Exactly,” Mac said.
“Your mom, though …”
Mac chuckled. “Doll, she’s going to adore you. She just needs to know her son is in good hands. She’s always going to be like that with me. With Victoria, she’ll send her off with a smile. When it comes to me, she’s insane.”
“Can we just … go?” Melina asked.
Sighing, Mac ignored the heaviness settling over his heart. “Yeah, sure.”
He started the car, but a familiar form leaning on the front steps of his mother’s home stopped him from pulling away. James stood there in the shadows, watching and smoking a cigarette.
Mac had all he could do not to get out of the car and beat the man’s head into the pavement.
He started the car instead.
Mac didn’t say a thing when Melina lifted her middle finger to his father, either. The bastard deserved it.
“Maccari.”
Mac straightened at the familiar voice, a drop of tension sliding down his spine. He spun on his heel to face the man who had called his name in the quiet warehouse.
“Anthony,” Mac greeted the Capo.
Anthony strolled across the cracked cement floor with an easy, confident stride. He fiddled with his lapel on his suit jacket, ignoring the other soldatos in Guido’s crew moving around the place. His focus was solely on Mac.
This didn’t bode well.
Mac still owed the man for the truck fuck up.
“Guido said I would find you here,” Anthony said.
Mac shrugged. “Work, you know.”
“I hear you’re good for that.” Anthony smiled as he came to a stop just a couple of feet away from Mac. “Guido isn’t the one who says it, however.”
Mac’s brow furrowed.
That wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned how his Capo didn’t openly give Mac credit when it was due.
“I don’t think he realizes what he’s got in you,” Anthony said, looking around the warehouse. He watched the men work quietly and efficiently. The crew had heisted a truck full of electronics and was trying to get it sorted and ready for quick sales. “Here you are, making sure these young men walk the right line and get their business handled. Guido wouldn’t have half the crew he currently has if it weren’t for you. Isn’t that right, Maccari?”
Mac knew better than to drum up his own deeds. Pride was a good thing to have, but too much of it got a man in trouble.
“I’m just doing what I’m told,” Mac said.
“You’re being a good soldato,” Anthony replied. �
��I could use a man like you on my crew. You would have had your button by now, had you been my man.”
Jesus.
Mac shoved his hands in his pockets, still wary and confused about Anthony’s presence and the conversation they were having. “Would I?”
Anthony shrugged. “Sure. It’s always a little dangerous when you’ve got a good solider getting attention from the higher ups in the family, you know. Because when attention is on someone else in la famiglia, that means it’s not on you.”
And every man wanted the boss’s approval. Every man wanted to be noticed and for all the right reasons. It was a well-played game in Cosa Nostra.
Mac got it.
Unfortunately, he still didn’t trust Anthony a great deal. He was a rival Capo, after all. The man was fighting for the boss’s attention and approval against Mac’s boss.
Considering there were only a handful of people who could want Mac dead, and he knew one of them wasn’t the Pivetti boss, Anthony had taken a spot on the list. The truck accident had been a stupid mistake, sure, and one that Mac apologized for.
But stupid mistakes killed men.
Grudges killed men.
Fuck ups were how men like Mac died all the time in Cosa Nostra.
“Your boy in the far right corner has been watching us for the last five minutes instead of working,” Anthony noted.
Mac didn’t even need to look to know which man Anthony was talking about. “Stephano, quit standing around with your fingers in your ass or I’ll make that a permanent look for you.”
“Sorry, Mac,” came the quiet reply from behind him.
“They like you,” Anthony said. “Respect you.”
“Aren’t they supposed to?” Mac asked.
It’s what made the crew manageable, for the most part.
Anthony didn’t reply, instead saying, “As much as I hate Guido, the asshole that he is, I do like you, Maccari.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve decided how you can make the money, and get back in my good graces for the truck incident.”
Wonderful.
Mac kept his face a blank mask. “And how is that?”
“I heard you have a thing for fighting in a cage. You’re pretty quick on your feet. Practically unbeatable. Rumor is, you’re known to step over into another family’s stomping grounds to catch the best matches.”