Gun Moll

by Bethany-Kris

  Mac kept his face a mask of calm. “Yes.”

  “Honorable men pay their debts. I’m pleased to see that you are one of them.”

  Always thank a boss when he gives you a compliment.

  “Grazie, Don.”

  Luca picked up a glass on the side of his desk and took a drink of the dark liquor. “Be careful with Anthony. He’s the kind of man who isn’t as upfront with his motives as I would like him to be.”

  Mac nodded. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “A good boss looks out for his famiglia—his men.”

  His men.

  Mac remembered Luca’s words to his underboss and consigliere from earlier.

  He wanted the best men.

  Did the boss think that was Mac?

  Mac dropped to one knee and helped Melina slide her feet into sky-high stiletto heels. He fixed the straps around her ankles, and let his hands skim the soft skin of her bare legs as he rose up again.

  “Keep that up and we’ll be late,” Melina said, smirking.

  He dragged his hands a little higher under her bodycon dress, exposing her thighs and black lace panties. She looked damn good with her legs a mile long and her curves begging to be touched. “We can’t be late for something when I don’t even know where it’s happening or how we’re getting there, doll.”

  Melina wagged a finger at him. “We were told to be ready by seven.”

  Mac shot the clock a look. It was ten to seven already. Anthony had texted him those simple directions earlier that day. Nothing more.

  “Ask me,” Mac drawled, winking, “and I can make it quick.”

  She opened her pretty mouth to respond, but a knock on Mac’s apartment door interrupted them both. Instantly, Mac was on guard. The building wasn’t entirely safe—wait long enough and someone would come out and let someone in—or ring a bunch of buzzers and make it quicker.

  Still, he wasn’t expecting anyone.

  Mac nodded towards the bathroom, not saying a thing. Melina followed his unspoken request, disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Another knock echoed on the apartment door.

  “Just a second,” Mac called.

  He grabbed his gun off the couch as he strolled towards the door. Resting the weapon down at his side, he looked through the peephole to find an unfamiliar man, wearing a tailored suit, behind it. In his arms, the man held a long box that was at least four feet in length.

  “Who is it?” Mac asked, knowing he would be heard through the door.

  “Anthony Corelli’s second driver, sir,” the man responded. “I was told to be outside at seven, and to make sure this gift was delivered to a Melina Morgan before leaving.”

  “You couldn’t give it to us outside?”

  “Those weren’t my instructions.”

  Goddammit.

  Mac’s paranoia and wariness were way too high for this fucking nonsense. Why couldn’t Anthony have just said he was sending a man to the building?

  “I will leave the gift at your door, sir, and be waiting outside,” the man said.

  Through the peephole, Mac watched as the man did exactly what he said he would do. Five long minutes later, Mac pulled open the door and listened. The only sounds he could hear were the normal noises of the old building. He pulled the door open the rest of the way, found the hallway empty of the man, and grabbed the box.

  Once the apartment door was closed, Mac called out, “All is safe, doll.”

  Melina came out of the bathroom looking less than impressed. “What was all that about?”

  “Anthony’s theatrics.”

  “Hmm.”

  Melina’s gaze fell on the box in Mac’s hands.

  He shook it. “He sent something for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s rude to refuse the gifts of made men. I assume whatever it is, he must want you to have it for the fighting event tonight. Come open it up.”

  Mac was less than impressed that another man was buying his girl gifts. Melina wasn’t a quiet, easily-pleased woman. If she wanted something, she would let Mac know, and he would get it for her.

  Other men didn’t need to be buying her fuck-all.

  She wasn’t theirs to spoil.

  She was his.

  “Stop the scowling,” Melina said as she walked up and took the box from his hands. “You’re practically turning green, Mac. You know I think Anthony is a pig.”

  He did.

  It still didn’t help.

  Mac followed Melina into the living room, still silent and scowling, despite her demand for him to stop. She put the box on the couch, and pulled at the red ribbon keeping it closed. Once she had that tugged away, she lifted the lid and tossed it aside.

  “Oh, wow,” Melina said, pulling the tissue away from the top of the long box.

  Even Mac was a bit surprised at the item resting beneath the tissue paper.

  “Is that …?”

  “Touch it and see,” Mac said. “It’ll feel like air on your fingers.”

  Melina reached into the box and ran her hand over the gray-and-white-colored fur coat. It was long enough that it would fall to her knees, with an overly large hood and wide arms. It was a beautiful piece of clothing, to be sure, but Mac didn’t even know if Melina was into furs. It was common for the women of made men to sport all different kinds of furs, despite how society liked to shame people who collected the rare coats, hats, and so forth.

  The coat had to be in the thousands of dollars, at least.

  Mac’s gut burned a little hotter with his anger.

  A gift of this magnitude, of this sort of flash, was not acceptable. It was almost like a blatant offer from Anthony to Melina.

  “So soft you can’t even feel it,” Melina said, running her hand down the coat again. “I’m not … a fur kind of girl, Mac.”

  “Is there a note?” Mac asked.

  Melina moved the coat around, and found a folded up piece of parchment paper beneath it. Opening it up, she read, “Melina, I hope you’ll enjoy this gift and put it to good use tonight as you stand in the crowd. Chinchilla is the softest of the furs, and I thought it would look beautiful with your skin. Until tonight … Anthony Corelli.”

  She tossed the note away like it had burned her hand.

  Mac’s jaw clenched. “He’s a bastard.”

  “Am I the only one who feels like that was a proposition of some sort?”

  “Without outright asking? Yeah, sort of.”

  Melina frowned as she turned on her heel to face him. “Don’t do that, Mac.”

  “I’m not worried … or whatever. But I don’t trust Anthony a great deal right now.”

  “You don’t trust anyone right now,” she corrected.

  “I wonder why, doll.” Mac sighed heavily. “You’re going to have to wear the coat, at least to keep his attitude at a bearable level for the evening.”

  “Is he going to expect something for it in return?” she asked.

  “No. That would come after you had already accepted his proposition. This is basically him telling you to look at the kinds of beautiful things he could give you.”

  And it made Mac fucking sick.

  And angry.

  Fuck, he was mad.

  “Don’t do that,” Melina repeated, quieter the second time.

  His girl knew him too well.

  Mac was damn good at hiding his emotions when he wanted to, but not where Melina was concerned. He was going to have to learn how to curb his instinct to react whenever she was involved, or he was going to find himself in a grave before it was his time.

  “It’s not you, doll,” he said.

  Melina nodded, her hand coming up to stroke his tight jaw. “Put that anger to use, yeah?”

  Mac smiled, unable to stop himself. “Pardon?”

  “Tonight, when you’re fighting. Focus what you’re feeling right now into something good. I do not want to spend my night in an ER after pulling you out of a cage,
Mac.”

  There was a shining worry glimmering in Melina’s eye. Mac couldn’t miss it even if he tried.

  “I’ll be fine,” he assured.

  Melina didn’t respond.

  Mac hoped he was telling the truth, but he really didn’t know.

  “Three fights, total,” Anthony said. “Spread out, so you’ll have a bit of a break. I just confirmed your register.”

  Mac didn’t show the nervousness that slipped through his bloodstream at Anthony’s statement. One fight was nothing. Two was pushing it, but was doable. Mac would be exhausted and overworked after the second, and not up for a third round, but obviously, he wasn’t being given a choice in the matter.

  It didn’t help that he had been far too busy lately to keep up with his usual workout regime. He hadn’t even been able to have a good round of sparring to prep for this. He wasn’t out of shape, as far as that went, but he might be a little rusty and out of practice.

  It could still be bad.

  Melina’s hand tightened around Mac’s arm like she knew what he was thinking. He patted her hand, wanting to reassure her. If he couldn’t reassure himself, the least he could do was calm his girl.

  “Your gear?” Anthony asked.

  Mac held up a small black bag. “They checked it at the door.”

  There wasn’t much in the bag but some long shorts, clean clothes, and protective tape for his fists. Anthony had already let him know the place didn’t allow the usual protective gear, which meant Mac would essentially be fighting bare-knuckle with no way to protect his head or mouth, other than his own quickness.

  “Thank you for checking in at the door as a fighter,” Anthony said. “That made things a lot easier for me.”

  Mac shrugged. “I don’t think they would have let me in otherwise.”

  Anthony held out a rack card, and Mac took it. Looking it over, he found the times of his fights, and his opponents. Thankfully, the stats of the men were right beside their names, just like his. His opponents were close to his own height and weight, which mostly made for a fair fight.

  It didn’t, however, tell Mac their specialties in the cage.

  That could be dangerous.

  Anthony glanced down at his watch. “You have an hour before your first fight.”

  So he did.

  Melina grabbed Mac’s arm a little tighter.

  “Care to point out who I’m fighting so I can see their faces?” Mac asked.

  Anthony nodded once, and waved for Mac to follow as he spun on his heel. Mac took the chance to look over the large warehouse style venue that was being used for the makeshift fight club. From the outside, the building had almost looked decrepit. On the inside, it was a great deal nicer with velvet-lined walls, several bars, tables and leather chairs set up, and red carpeting covering the floor.

  At the back of the place, Mac noticed a winding, metal staircase that led up to what looked to be a large space with mirrors for walls. Mirrored walls only meant one thing—one-way windows. He suspected it was probably an office of sorts. The money coming in and out of the place was likely kept there, highly protected and watched all night. Whoever ran the operation had a good view of the floor, people, and the fights where the office was positioned.

  Large, brass chandeliers hung down from the high ceilings, lighting the place. Servers wearing black and gray ensembles moved in and around the throng of people without ever interrupting conversations or making themselves known unless asked. Melina was not the only woman in the joint wearing a fur coat, never mind the diamonds glittering on women’s hands, wrists, and around their necks.

  In the middle of the large venue, an octagon cage proudly rested.

  Looming, almost.

  Mac didn’t wonder if he had made the right choice by agreeing to this night. He knew he had without a doubt. He owed Anthony a great deal of money—too much to pay back in a quick, normal manner.

  At any point in time, Anthony could demand payment from Mac for the debt. And if Mac couldn’t produce what he owed, then he would be officially fucked and marked for dead.

  That’s how it worked.

  Before long, Mac had walked the entire building with Anthony before the man was able to point out each of Mac’s three opponents for the night. He distinctly remembered Anthony telling him that he knew of a place. The Capo hadn’t given the impression he frequented fights, but given his familiarity with the faces of fighters, this wasn’t Anthony’s first go round.

  As far as his opponents went, Mac took note of each of them as they were pointed out. All three were with someone else, kind of like Mac was. It was probably their sponsor, or boss of sorts. Each, also like him, wore a tailored suit that didn’t give off the impression that they were a fighter readying for a match.

  Not one made Mac feel nervous.

  They weren’t all that intimidating.

  Anthony directed Mac and Melina back towards the cage with a wave of one hand. At a row of black tables surrounded by leather chairs, he stopped.

  “Let’s have a seat for a moment,” Anthony suggested.

  Mac wasn’t interested in sitting. His body didn’t need to relax. It had been in that state for too long as it was.

  Still, he pulled out a seat for Melina. She sat down, and Mac rested his hands to her shoulders over the fur coat she wore. He ignored the gazes of people as they strolled past, clearly taking him and Melina in, and probably wondering exactly who they were.

  He suspected that new faces were a rare thing at these events.

  Unless one was a fighter.

  Considering the people barely passed Anthony a second look, Mac’s assumptions about the Capo were only further confirmed.

  Melina patted Mac’s hand gently, and his attention was back on her in an instant.

  “Well, what do you think?” Anthony asked as he took a seat across from Melina.

  “Three is … pushing it,” Mac admitted.

  Melina made a noise under her breath. “It’s suicide, Mac.”

  Anthony chuckled. “I’m sure he can pull it off.”

  Mac wet his lips, his fingers tightening around Melina’s shoulders. “I won’t guarantee anything about the third, so I would suggest that be your lowest bet for the night.”

  The Capo rested back in his chair, tapping a finger to his mouth. “I’ll take it into consideration. But frankly, I expect you to win.”

  Wonderful.

  Then, Anthony’s gaze cut back to Melina. He looked her new coat over, his smile growing into a more predatory look. “I hadn’t asked earlier, but how did you like my gift, sweetheart?”

  Mac could almost see Melina’s fake smile when she said, “It was a surprise.”

  “Furs are the dresses of queens.”

  He couldn’t stop himself. “Furs aren’t my girl’s thing, Anthony.”

  The Capo’s gaze jumped to Mac instantly. “She’s wearing one just fine right now, Mac.”

  “You know why that is,” he replied coolly.

  Anthony laughed, seemingly unbothered by Mac’s tone. “You know, my first offer still stands.”

  Mac stiffened.

  So did Melina under his hands.

  “I can pull the plug on this whole night,” Anthony said, waving a hand at the cage, “… for a single night with your woman, Mac.”

  Mac clenched his teeth so hard that his molars throbbed. He had to force himself not to grab Melina’s shoulders so tightly that he might hurt her.

  It wasn’t her.

  It was Anthony that pissed him off.

  Somehow, Mac found his voice. “I’ll let Melina speak for herself where that offer is concerned, Anthony.”

  Melina glanced up at Mac, one eyebrow lifted in silent question. Mac nodded to her, knowing she would handle the situation just fine. She turned back to Anthony, and rapped her manicured fingernails to the table.

  “See,” she said slowly, almost patronizing, “the neighbors already know Mac’s name. I would hate to disappoint them by not being ab
le to give them the same kind of performance, Anthony.”

  Mac squeezed her once, and hid his smirk by looking away.

  That was quite a way to tell a man no and insult him at the same time.

  Damn, he was proud.

  Anthony didn’t look all that impressed with Melina’s response, but he shrugged it off and looked to Mac. “I guess you’re fighting then, Mac.”

  Mac didn’t even blink. “I guess so.”

  Bruised.

  Battered.

  But somehow, Mac was still standing.

  It spoke to his will and the deep inner strength that kept him going in times of adversity. Melina’s throat was as dry as cotton as she watched Mac enter the cage for his last bout. He’d won his first match with no real issues, easily outpacing his opponent with his quickness and strong blows. Afterwards, he’d turned and looked out into the crowd, looking for her. When their eyes had locked, he winked at her. She hadn’t been able to keep herself from smiling.

  That was Mac.

  Confident, no matter what he faced.

  His second opponent had been a little more difficult, partially due to the fact that Mac had only received a one-hour break before his next match had started. He had to be tired. The other man had managed to land a few direct hits on Mac’s face.

  It was the first time that she’d ever witnessed that.

  And it scared the hell out of her.

  The cut above Mac’s eye and the bruises on his cheek spoke to the battle he’d gone through. So did the dark purple bruise on his abdomen. She hated to see him hurt … in any way. The whole time she’d watched from the VIP section as his matches had gone on, she’d wanted to be there to shield him.

  To deliver a few well-placed hits of her own.

  There were easier ways to bring a man down than this fighting nonsense.

  A kick to the balls would do nicely.

  Speaking of a kick in the balls, she wanted to do that and more to Anthony.

  The arrogant bastard.

  She hadn’t missed the smug looks and the wayward glances he’d thrown her way. Though he’d acted as if her refusal of his offer hadn’t bothered him, Melina knew differently. Men—all men—no matter their position or how much power they wielded, hated to be refused by a woman. And not only had she refused him, but she’d praised Mac as the superior man … in all things.