by Bethany-Kris
And also, recount.
Because despite having the machine to do the counting for him, Sal was particular. Like all made men were. Every man Michel knew in this life liked to say the mafia was a nickel and dime business. Every single cent had to be counted, recounted, and possibly checked again.
“Again,” Sal said.
Michel put the second stack in as the Capo worked on the bills in his hand. “I started classes at the beginning of the month, so this is my last one.”
Here it was the end of September, and he barely blinked.
Sal nodded. “If you want to keep this up while you’re there—”
“I would rather not, actually.”
A chuckle left the Capo.
“Keeps you busy, huh?”
Not that busy.
Michel was simply done, at least for here in Detroit. He wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t recognize some of his problems for what they were in the grand scheme. At home, he never would have put up with some of the shit he did here simply because he was Dante Marcello’s son. A boss’s child dabbling in the family business, and nothing more. That afforded him respect he didn’t get here.
Was it petty of him?
A little.
Didn’t change the fact it was true.
“I need to focus,” Michel said, “so this is my last one.”
Which also wasn’t a lie. He tried to keep up the dealing for the month as he started back with classes for his second year of pre-med, but it was a fine line. And not one he wanted to walk.
“Sounds fine.”
The machine beeped, and a number only a few dollars off from the first half of Michel’s payment popped up on the screen. Sal made a noise under his breath—appreciative and approving because that was the only way he said anything to let his people know that he thought they had done a good job over the month to bring in money.
Michel never did this for the money, though.
That sound meant nothing to him.
“You’re good to go,” Sal said, scratching Michel’s total into the notebook beside his initials. “And remember to keep your head down, huh?”
Michel nodded. “You got it.”
Turning around, he was ready to make a beeline for the door, and head the hell out of there. He had plans that afternoon, and he wanted to get to them sooner rather than later. Especially as those plans included a sexy redhead with green eyes that he swore was the whole world staring back at him when she looked his way.
“Oh, one more thing, before I forget,” Sal called at his back.
Michel’s steps slowed to a halt as he tossed a look over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
“At the end of October, we’ve got a meeting. You were requested to be there.”
“What kind of meeting?”
“One you’re to attend.”
Except he was only one month into his second year of pre-med, and he really didn’t have time to be running around because Sal told him to. “Yeah, but—”
Sal glanced up, and his gaze narrowed in on Michel. “It’s not a request, and it wasn’t permission for you to ask questions, either.”
Well, then …
“All right,” Michel muttered.
It did leave him unsettled.
“Don’t fuck this up, Marcello.”
That was when he knew …
The lack of a nickname did it.
He and Sal weren’t friends anymore.
Michel was okay with that.
• • •
“Your father was considering taking a trip to California with me soon,” his mother said on the phone as Michel walked up the steps to the small house he rented. It was better than some of the shitty apartment setups closer to the college, and far better than dorms. It meant farther to travel when he was attending classes, but he didn’t care. “And I thought, I may be able to convince him to make a stop in Michigan, too.”
Michel smiled, the idea of his parents stopping in for a visit making him happier than he thought it would. After the summer he had running from one end of Detroit to the other, getting the shit kicked out of him, and more … well, that reprieve of his parents would be nice. Now that the end of September was here, and October was looming, he was ready to put the summer behind him as much as he could.
“I might even be able to convince Catherine to come along,” his mother said.
Michel laughed at that. “So, she could complain about the city like she does when she’s in New York City?”
“She doesn’t—”
“A little, Ma.”
“Yeah, well, that’s your sister.”
And he loved her.
Mostly.
“When were you thinking of coming?” he asked.
“The New Year likely, since you’ve said you’re not coming home for the holidays. But also for Dante. You know how your father is when I want him to take a trip with me. He needs to plan all the things. Such a fickle man. He needs to make everything far more difficult than it actually is.”
Michel could imagine his mother saying that while rolling her eyes and making air quotes just because. Sometimes, his parents seemed like two entirely different people, and one might wonder how they had come to be married and in love at all. He was not one of those people because he had a private look at his mother and father—they were far more alike than they were different in more aspects than people were privy to.
“Well, just let me know when you’re coming and I will make sure to set some time aside for it, okay?” he asked.
“Oh, you need to make time for your mother, do you?”
Michel grinned. “Never, Ma. All my time is for you.”
“Better be.”
Italian mothers and their boys.
It never changed.
“I know I don’t tell you this a lot … but that’s mostly because you’ve never asked, Michel,” she said, her tone growing soft like it only did when she was speaking to her children, “but Catherine—your mother, not your sister—would be very proud of you much like we are. I hope you know that.”
“I don’t really think about it, Ma.”
Catrina quieted before saying, “Well, if you ever do, I’m sure she is.”
Michel stopped on the stoop just a foot away from the front door. Glancing to the side, he couldn’t quite shrug off the heaviness that had come to rest on his shoulders in that moment. There were a lot of things about his biological mother that he didn’t know but that wasn’t because Catrina held back. It was because he never thought to ask.
“Do you think she loved me, Ma? I know you said I was born because of bad circumstances, and not because she chose the situation, but—”
“She died loving you. She loved you so much she died for you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Now, back to you.”
Michel rolled his eyes as he stepped up to the front door of his home, pulling out a set of keys to unlock the front door. “There’s nothing interesting about me, Ma.”
“You’re staying out of trouble?”
“Sure.”
Mostly.
He knew better than to tell his Ma otherwise. Sure, his parents never said much about his choice to dabble in the family business throughout his high school years, but he didn’t know if it would be the same when he was in a whole other state than them, and his father couldn’t control the men around him.
So …
He kept quiet.
Catrina was saying something else, but Michel wasn’t listening. He was more confused by the fact someone opened his door before he could even turn the key in the lock. He laughed at the grinning woman on the other side of the threshold, forgetting all about the fact his mother was still on the phone with him.
“You weren’t supposed to get here until later, Gabbie,” Michel said.
His girl winked. “Are we going to complain, though?”
“Gabbie?”
Michel heard his mother’s voice on the phone. It brough
t him back down to reality fast. He put one finger up to ask Gabbie for a second after he stepped inside the house, and closed the door behind him. “Sorry, Ma, I just … have a friend here at my place. I will call you back, okay?”
“A friend?”
He sucked air through his teeth, eyeing Gabbie from the side as she waved her fingers over her shoulder before disappearing down the entry hall. Did he mention she wasn’t wearing anything but one of his T-shirts? Because yeah, fuck. She even answered the door like that, goddammit. A peek of her ass flashed him before she turned the corner to head toward his bedroom.
She didn’t have panties on, either.
Yeah, good God.
Because God was so good to him.
Okay, he could see how this was going to end.
Well.
It was going to end very well.
“Michel, a friend?” his mother asked.
Nothing like his ma to remind him why he couldn’t have an erection right at this moment, or a reason to be ashamed of the one that was growing in his jeans. “Yeah, Ma, a friend. One I think you would love. So, I’m going to get back to her, and—”
“Call me later,” Catrina said, a sly smile in her tone. “Because you will call me back about this.”
“I’ll try.”
“Michel—”
“Love you, Ma.”
He hung up the phone quicker than ever before, and dropped all his shit right there in the hallway. He discarded his clothes as he walked through the house, too, and was mostly naked by the time he got to the bedroom to find Gabbie sitting on her knees in the middle of the bed. Her fingers curled into the hem and neckline of his shirt, twisting and pulling the fabric to flash her bare stomach and a sliver of her pussy at him.
“Goddamn. You’re killing me here,” he said.
Gabbie laughed. “But that’s the fun part.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Flashing a foil packet at him, Gabbie flashed her teeth in a wicked smile before she tossed it to the end of the bed. Michel couldn’t shed the rest of his clothes or get that condom rolled down his length fast enough. His fingers felt like they were fumbling way too much. She was already on her back, red curls splaying out over the pillows as he climbed between her thighs, his hands curving around her thighs to widen them even more.
“God, yeah,” she mumbled.
He reveled in the sting of her fingernails dragging down his back as he buried himself as deep as he could get inside the heaven that was Gabbie’s pussy. There was something about the way she took him every time, stretching open for him and coating him with her arousal, that drove him crazy.
Her legs wrapped around his waist when he let them go. He only did that, so he could get his hands wrapped into her hair. Or one of them, anyway. His other found her throat as he started to really pound into her. He felt the thrum of her heartbeat pulsing hard against his touch, and every noise she made vibrated to his palm.
“Harder,” he heard her whisper.
His hand slipped up higher on her throat, pushing her head back as he cupped the spot just beneath her jaw. Those green eyes of hers blew wide to watch him hover above her as their bodies moved together in a rhythm he now found familiar. The way her lips trembled, the way she withered under him the closer she came to her orgasm, and how her nails dug in deeper when he was getting her just right.
Fuck, yeah.
“Come on, come on,” he urged. “Give it to me.”
She did.
And it was amazing.
Crying his name, a pink flush rushing down her throat and breasts, and so fucking perfect. He tipped his head down to capture her nipple between his teeth as his back tensed with his own oncoming orgasm. It took nothing at all for him to fall over the edge, too, emptying into latex while pinning her to the bed at the same time.
“Mmm.”
Gabbie’s happy little sound made him laugh against her breast. She went from wild to sweet in an instant, and he loved that.
Out of breath, but feeling better than he had in days, Michel asked, “Did you hear about a meeting around the end of October?”
“A month from now?”
“Yeah, babe.”
He didn’t know if the one Sal mentioned was going to involve the Irish, but he figured he should at least ask Gabbie. Her father had kept her at his place for a week after the shooting, but then she threw a fit that apparently convinced him it was time to send her home. That was two weeks ago—so it was a toss-up if she knew anything or not about a possible meeting.
Plus, Sal hadn’t given details.
It might not even be the Irish.
Except … who else would it be?
Gabbie’s head popped up a little more, so she could see him as she spoke. “No, I haven’t heard anything. But if there is one, I’ll find out.”
Michel grinned, and rolled them both over so that she was sitting on top of him. He pressed a fast, hard kiss to her lips, taking both of their breaths away again in the process. He’d just got finished fucking her, but already, with her shifting on top of his still semi-hard cock, he was ready again.
“That’s what I fucking love about you,” he said against her lips.
She got shit done.
Gabbie stilled. “Do you?”
Michel blinked, pulling away slightly. “What?”
“Love me?”
He didn’t even have to think about it.
Not really.
Nobody ever said love had to make sense.
Or even … be sane.
“Entirely too much,” he admitted.
Gabbie’s bottom lip caught under her teeth as she whispered, “Good to know, Michel.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s only fair that if I love you, then you should love me, too.”
Ah.
She was right.
That was good to know.
Gabbie smiled up at him, her grin turning a little shy at the same time. “I know you’re busy with school and so am I but—”
“I’m going to make time for you. I will figure it out.”
That much was a promise.
Maybe it would only be once a week, or even an hour every couple of weeks. That didn’t matter to Michel as long as he got that time with her.
“You better,” she said.
He just kissed her again.
• • •
Thanks to Gabbie, Michel learned the meeting was, in fact, something between the Italian Vannozzo Cosa Nostra and the Irish Casey family a couple of weeks before it even happened. It was just enough time for him to think he was prepared for what might happen when it finally took place, but apparently, he was wrong.
They also ended up switching dates at the last minute, too, so instead of the meeting happening at the end of October, they set it up for the first Saturday of November. He was feeling the cold chill in the air because of it, too, but he didn’t think it was just from the wind.
Michel still stiffened at the Irish flag hanging proudly over a pub’s door as he stepped out of the back of a car. Sal was already waiting at the curb, his arms crossed over his chest as he gave Michel a once-over.
“You managed to throw on a blazer today,” Sal said.
“I dress fine on regular days, too.”
“Sure, sure. Cat’s out of the bag, then?” Sal gestured at the flag in question, smirking a bit. “You know now what you’re here for.”
“Is the Vannozzo boss showing up today for this meeting, too?”
Sal made a noise under his breath. “No, I was told, the New York fuck is your issue who caused a problem, so you deal with it.”
“Interesting.”
Michel wasn’t sure if he believed that, or not. Any boss he knew dealing in Cosa Nostra would be quick to make sure he was at a meeting that would handle another family. Especially if said family was in the same city as him.
He didn’t call Sal out on his lie, though.
Now was not the time.
Sal
reached out, and clasped a hand tightly to Michel’s shoulder as other Italians stepped out of their vehicles, too. “The Irish boss called this in, and I was nice enough to oblige on account of you. We don’t need you causing any more issues, right?”
Why was it just him?
It hadn’t been just him.
Weren’t the Italians the ones who decided to go ahead and make asses out of themselves after Michel had already settled the issue with the Irish boss? He’d made a deal, and it was Sal and his men who decided to go against that without caring about what Michel thought.
He might have stirred the pot.
He did not make it boil over.
“So,” Sal continued, moving forward toward the pub’s entrance door with Michel close at his side, “we’re going to have this meeting, you’re going to sit beside me and keep quiet, and then we’ll see where we go from there.”
“And you’re willing to talk peace?” Michel asked.
Sal chuckled. “There is no such thing as peace with the Irish.”
Right.
Then what were they even doing here?
Michel was still trying to figure that out.
And Sal, too.
What was his fucking endgame?
TWELVE
“You can stop looking sour anytime, lass,” Charles said, taking the glass of black stuff the pub’s bartender offered with a nod. “Just because I ask you to sit back and be quiet doesn’t mean I plan to do anything rash today.”
He kept saying that.
Gabbie found it hard to believe.
Still, there she sat on a stool at the pub where her father decided they were going to hold this meeting with the Italians. She came because her father said that Gabbie being there was a show of his faith. He would not cause violence around his daughter when his entire life had been dedicated to keeping her safe.
Okay, that was fair.
And not a lie.
She still worried.
“It’s time to put an end to this,” her father said.
