Dirty Pool

by Bethany-Kris

  Michel wanted it heard, no excuses.

  It better be understood now.

  He’d let the Detroit faction of the Marcello family control him a little too much since making friends with Sal, and some of the others in the man’s crew. It was made worse when he agreed to work for the man, but that was over now. Sal didn’t even have that way to control Michel, anymore, and good thing. Because he’d have told him to shove it right up his ass after today.

  “I hope that’s fucking clear,” Michel said, his tone as sharp as a blade’s edge. “Because I don’t ever want to have to say it again. You have never—and will never—get a say about me, or my choices because I didn’t take your oath. Remember that.”

  Sal chuckled, dark and edgy. “Oh, I can’t forget it. Honor, respect, and loyalty, Michel. Three things the code of Cosa Nostra asks from us men. All things you don’t seem to have the slightest grasp on in any way.”

  That was offensive.

  Michel refused to show it.

  He knew honor, respect, and loyalty better than anyone. Especially in this life, and in his own personal dealings. His father made sure he understood that even if he wasn’t a made man, his word and being an honorable man who understood his standing against other men would be the only thing that allowed him any kind of respect or trust in their world. Because his last name wouldn’t matter if they couldn’t trust him. The people who raised him wouldn’t make a single difference if a made man felt like Michel was a complication or a traitor to the family.

  Like right now, his mind pointed out.

  That’s exactly what Sal was seeing him as right now. A man, who, despite not being made had still been given a place at the table although his voice had never been very loud in the grand scheme of things. Not that it mattered.

  He’d still been given that privilege.

  And he shit on it.

  To Sal, anyway.

  It was then that Michel realized exactly how much trouble he was in. It wasn’t something Sal said that scared him, or made him think Detroit was no longer safe for him. Rather, his own mind reminding him that he wasn’t playing in familiar streets anymore, but in a way, the rules still applied.

  Fuck.

  The only safe way to get himself out of this situation would be to leave Detroit. And while it would set Michel back a year, likely, for his pre-med … well, it would be worth it. Because it literally meant Michel would at least be able to continue to go to school. If he stayed in this city, there was no guarantee that he would continue to see the morning light.

  He was in danger here.

  And so was she.

  It was that fleeting thought that quickly ripped away any idea that Michel might leave Detroit right now. There was no possible way he was going to head out of the city while Gabbie was still here, alone. No doubt, with a street war raging on around her that would only make her collateral damage to them in the end.

  The Italians didn’t care.

  Not about her.

  She could die—so what?

  That would be their first and only opinion about it. Michel wasn’t quite the fucking same, clearly. He also didn’t know what in the hell he could do to either stop this shit from spiraling out of control, or to fix everything. Weren’t they already beyond that point now? Because it sure as hell felt like it.

  Sal glanced over at Michel, his nostrils flaring in his anger. “You’re to stay away from the Irishwoman. It’s not negotiable.”

  Right, right.

  That was expected.

  And impossible.

  Michel loved Gabbie.

  His heart was in that woman’s hands, and his soul was now inexplicably tied with hers. There was no way these idiots were going to keep him from being near that woman if it was what he wanted to do. It might take him a while to see her safely, especially if Sal was going to be a prick about it, but that was the thing.

  Michel was a patient fucker.

  A silent sort of vicious.

  This was not going to work the way Sal wanted it to, but Michel figured now wasn’t the time to point it out to the man. He probably didn’t care to hear it, anyway. Besides, for the time being, Michel had other things to focus on.

  Like getting out of here.

  Or stopping it all.

  Something.

  Gabbie drifted into his mind again—her worried face at the pub in the background of a meeting where she never should have been in the first place. Sal hadn’t mentioned she was going to be there, and she’d not told him, either. That led Michel to believe it was probably a last minute decision on her father’s part.

  Which said something else, too.

  Was Charles Casey trying to make a show with his daughter? Was bringing Gabbie today his personal way of showing faith to the Italians? Did he just extend his respect to them only to have it shit on by Sal?

  Likely.

  That had Michel wondering if the Irish boss was really as hard up for this war as Sal was trying to make him out to be. Why would he even attempt to make peace or show faith to the Italians at all if all he intended to do was cause a goddamn problem in the end?

  It didn’t make sense.

  Michel couldn’t think on it for too long because Sal decided he wasn’t quite done bitching yet. It was hard to focus on one thing when a droning voice continued to mutter in your goddamn ear like a person was supposed to care.

  He was beyond caring now.

  “Do you know what those Irish bastards did while we were in that meeting today?” Sal asked.

  Michel’s tone was dry as he replied, “No, but I’m sure you plan to tell me.”

  Sal’s gaze cut to him.

  He stared right back, unfazed.

  “They attempted attacks on several of our locations in the city,” Sal said, not a hint of deception playing on his features. “Molotov cocktails thrown through a couple of windows, and a drive-by shooting at my father’s barbershop. They never intended to make peace. This—today—was a ruse to get some of us away from areas they wanted to target. Nothing more, and nothing less.”

  But was it?

  Michel didn’t trust something someone told him just because they said it. Anyone could lie, and it all started by making their lips move to say the words. Sal wasn’t any different or special just because he was a made man.

  “But by all means, Michel,” Sal continued, dragging him from his thoughts, “if you feel such a strong urge to dabble with the Irish, you should go ahead and do that. Just know what that means for you in this city.”

  Still, Michel remained silent.

  Sal seemed to like that. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other now. Stay the fuck away from them. All of them, including the woman.”

  Right.

  Sure.

  But probably not.

  “I’ll have my driver drop you off at your home,” Sal said, turning to deliver the order to the man in the driver’s seat.

  Michel was fast to speak up, then. “I’d rather relax for the night. If he could drop me off at the bar near my place, that’d be great.”

  The one where he played pool.

  Where Gabbie was meeting him …

  Sal shook his head as though he didn’t know what to do with Michel anymore. “Fine, the fucking bar—maybe a drink will make you less stupid.”

  Michel brushed off that insult, too.

  Barely.

  • • •

  Michel knew the exact moment Gabbie walked into the bar. It was like every single one of his nerve endings sensed she was close and forced him to look up from the pool cue he was using to leaning against as he surveyed the table in front of him. Well, to anyone else it probably looked like that’s what he was doing. Really, his mind was going over every single detail of each incident or meeting that he knew about between the Italian and Irish families here in Detroit.

  Considering …

  Wondering …

  Plotting.

  And then his body felt Gabbie’s presence near, a
nd he looked up to find her. At first, his attention went to the front entrance of the bar. He should have known better because nothing about his girl screamed stupid. She knew better than to walk into the place where anyone might see her.

  Instead, Michel found Gabbie approaching him from the back of the bar. The hallway she’d come out of led to back rooms, bathrooms, and exit doors. There was usually someone in the back doing one thing or another, and would let someone in from the outside if they knocked on the door, and said they’d been out having a smoke or anything.

  It wasn’t mob-owned.

  They weren’t suspicious.

  Michel said and did nothing until Gabbie was right in front of him. Close enough for him to really check her over and make sure she was okay, even if he had just left her not very long ago. And she was just close enough for him to reach out and grab her.

  He did just that.

  Once Gabbie was tucked in to his chest, and his arms were locked around her back, he felt slightly better. Like his world had finally tilted back on its proper axis, and everything was all right again. Strange how that worked.

  She hid her face in his chest, and her hands fisted into his shirt. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them stayed like that—a minute, but maybe two. Long enough that the sounds of the bar drifted into the background, and it felt like it was just the two of them doing their usual thing together once more.

  Nothing was wrong.

  Everything was fine.

  For now.

  He knew it was just a beautiful lie.

  “Were you playing pool alone?” she asked, her voice muffled into his shirt.

  Michel chuckled, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I was—seems everyone who frequents the place knows they can’t win against me, I guess.”

  “Don’t be cocky.”

  He grinned as she leaned back just enough to look up at him. Her pretty lips had curved into a sly grin—one that told him she was joking. Always keeping him on his toes, this woman. How in the hell was he supposed to stay away from her?

  If it keeps her safe, Michel …

  He ignored his inner voice.

  It wasn’t wrong, though.

  They all had to make hard choices sometimes for the people they loved. That was yet another lesson this life had taught him. Sacrifice was ever-present, and more important than most men understood when it came to the mafia. To keep someone safe, a man needed to be willing to make the decisions that wouldn’t be acceptable or appreciated to the person they loved.

  They didn’t have to like it.

  They only had to understand.

  Michel didn’t want this to be one of those times, but he couldn’t make that promise, either. There were a lot of variables around him and Gabbie, at the moment. A lot of unknowns, and he hated working on those.

  That was a problem.

  “Does your father know you’re here with—”

  “Absolutely not,” she interjected sharply.

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “He wouldn’t have let me come. I was coming … I didn’t want to fight.”

  Sure.

  That, and she loved her father. Michel wasn’t going to call her out on that little tidbit of information, but it factored into the decisions Gabbie made. Especially when those decisions revolved around the only other man in her life that played a big part in the things she would or would not do.

  Her love for her father was the one thing that allowed her to overlook Charles’ heavy control and influence in her daily life. He only needed to hear her talk about her dad to know that was the case, but he didn’t think now was the right time to explain that to her, all things considered.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Gabbie asked.

  Just like that, their moment was gone. They could no longer pretend this was simply another day to them where they were meeting up as usual, and things would go back to normal like it always did. He didn’t blame her for asking because it was still on the back of his mind, too. Hell, it wouldn’t leave him alone.

  “I don’t know, but it’s going to be fine,” he assured.

  Gabbie didn’t look like she believed that. “How? You were at the same meeting I was today, Michel! This is a complete feckin’ mess.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  That wasn’t really Michel’s problem currently. The level her voice raised to, however, was a problem. He tightened his arm around her back, drawing Gabbie closer to his chest as he quickly scanned the bar.

  A couple of people shot looks their way, but it wasn’t anything that concerned him. The bartender behind the bar chatted on a phone with his back turned to them, but that wasn’t anything unusual, either. And the man was laughing on his call, too, so Michel figured it wasn’t as though the man was calling out to let someone know they were there.

  It was always a possibility.

  Michel couldn’t help the paranoia right now.

  “Calm down,” he muttered into Gabbie’s hair.

  She stiffened. “You know that’s the worst possible thing to tell a woman, right?”

  Was it?

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Michel replied. “But seriously, we will get this shit figured out. Everything is going to be fine, Gabbie. You and me? We don’t even have anything to do with this, we’re just the bystanders.”

  She swallowed hard, her green eyes wide with fear when she met his gaze again. “Bystanders die all the time, Michel.”

  Again—his girl wasn’t wrong.

  “I know,” he said thickly. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “What?”

  He didn’t have that answer yet. Things weren’t clear enough for him to really make a choice about what might be their next move. The unknowns were still too many for him to be comfortable, really.

  “The Italians want a war,” Gabbie muttered.

  Michel didn’t doubt that.

  But were they the only ones?

  “Then, why was it the Irish attacking us today during the meeting?” he asked.

  Gabbie stiffened in his hold. “We didn’t … my da made sure everyone was accounted for, and safe for the meeting today.”

  “Someone could have stepped out on their own to do it, Gabbie.”

  “They don’t do that. No one steps out of line against my father.”

  “Are you sure—”

  “How does that work with your dad, Michel? Do people often go against what he tells them to do, or does the first mistake by a man teach the rest how to stay in line?”

  Her question was rhetorical, so Michel didn’t answer because he already knew what it would be. No, people no longer deliberately went against his father’s orders. It was a death wish, frankly. That was how the boss remained in control.

  Sure, the Irish were a little different with their rules and ways. No doubt about that. It didn’t change the fact that a criminal organization was still the same when it came to the person at the top.

  They wanted to stay at the top.

  “Something’s not right,” Michel said.

  Gabbie frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “With the Vannozzos. Something isn’t right there.”

  He knew it.

  But what was it?

  FOURTEEN

  All at once, Michel stiffened, his arms locking even tighter around Gabbie. So much so, that she swore her ribs protested from it.

  “Shit,” he hissed.

  Gabbie didn’t even have time to ask what made Michel upset because he quickly pushed her down with his back still turned to the rest of the bar. She didn’t even question what he was doing, simply kneeled on the floor by his feet. There, the pool table kept her hidden where it was set up close to a wall.

  Glancing up, she watched Michel turn to nod at something—or someone—she couldn’t see on the other side of the pool table.

  “David,” he greeted.

  David, who?

  Gabbie had no idea.

  “I didn’t know y
ou to frequent this place,” Michel said.

  A man chuckled, and she heard palms slap to the edge of the pool table. “I don’t, man, but after today … well, we all have to look out for one another, don’t we?”

  “And how are you looking out for me, huh? Because I’m doing fine on my own.”

  “Right, right.”

  Gabbie tugged on Michel’s pant leg—it was her silent way of letting him know she was okay down there, if he was fine doing what he was doing up there. She understood exactly what was happening now. Michel saw someone come into the bar that would recognize who she was with him, and did the only thing he thought would keep her hidden for a time.

  She could deal with that.

  For now.

  Michel didn’t even acknowledge she had pulled on his pant leg. He simply continued his conversation with the man like nothing was wrong. “Did Sal send you over?”

  “Maybe he wanted me to check in, but also to deliver a message.”

  “For what?”

  David chuckled. “Seems they’re going in on some Irish places tonight. Things that’ll really mess up their business—always gotta fuck with the money if you want to hit them where it hurts, right?”

  “Put them on their knees, you mean.”

  “Exactly. They’ve got some construction rackets going on seeing as how the Casey’s own a few different companies doing work in the city. They’re planning to go in a few sites, and fuck some shit up to take away profit there first. They’ll work outward from that. It wouldn’t be wise for you to be out and about tonight. The Irish will be in an uproar, and likely willing to hit any Italian they see as punishment for what’s about to happen. That’s all. Sal thought you might like to know.”

  “Sal’s moving fast, isn’t he?” Michel asked.

  “He has to—it’s us or them, Michel. What do you expect him to do, wait around until the Irish decide to hit us again?”

  Michel stayed quiet.

  Gabbie thought about her father.

  His men.

  And Michel, too.

  It was strange to her how all of her worries could swirl between the lines to merge it all together. It should have been clear—simple, even. Her loyalty should have only been with her family, and yet she loved someone outside of it, too. She couldn’t only worry about one when there were more factors at play here.