by Bethany-Kris
Mac didn’t need anyone thinking he was down and out, never mind weak. It would only lead to some fool thinking he wouldn’t be able to hold his own.
No one needed that.
Knowing he had already made Guido wait too long as it was, Mac grabbed his Beretta, which was resting in the passenger seat. He slid it into the back of his pants, but he didn’t think he would need it.
The quicker he got this over with, the faster he could be back with Melina.
That’s all he wanted.
Mac was surprised to find Guido’s club entirely empty of people. While it wasn’t business hours for the club, the Capo almost always had a few men wandering around. There hadn’t even been any enforcers outside, watching Guido’s car like normal.
It irked Mac.
Something didn’t feel right about this at all.
Mac expected Guido to be in his upstairs office, but found him sitting at the bar. The man’s large form rested on a barstool. Guido didn’t make a sound as Mac approached loud enough that he knew he was heard.
Silently, Mac slid onto the barstool next to Guido. He found a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses resting in front of the Capo. One shot glass was filled with amber-colored alcohol, while the other was overturned and unused. Down a couple of feet from Guido on the bar, Mac noticed a gray tub the servers used to transport dirty dishes from the floor to the kitchen. By the looks of it, it was filled with soapy water.
Yet, no one was around.
“Slow day around here?” Mac asked.
Guido snorted under his breath, making his large form shake. “Something like that, kid.”
Mac bristled at the term, since it didn’t sound entirely praising, but rather, mocking.
“What took you so fucking long?” Guido asked.
“Traffic,” Mac lied smoothly.
“Sure it wasn’t that woman of yours?”
“She was sleeping when I left.”
Another lie.
Mac figured it was better to keep the man in the dark, regarding details about his personal relationship with Melina, never mind her opinions of Guido. It wasn’t like they would impress the man or anything. Mac didn’t see the point in filling him in.
Guido cleared his throat. “She doesn’t know you’re here, then?”
“No. I’ll bring her home some chow and say I went out to grab breakfast. She doesn’t ask much about any of this.”
“Sure.”
He didn’t sound like he believed that.
Mac chose not to push it.
He took note of the crumpled appearance of Guido’s black suit, his wrinkled dress shirt, and the loosened tie around his neck. His eyes were bloodshot, and his usually kept hair was a mess sticking up in every direction. It wasn’t like the Capo to look so … slobby. Guido was all about appearances, and his current state spoke of liquor, stress, and a couple of sleepless nights.
Again, that uneasy feeling settled in Mac’s gut.
He tried to never ignore it. It was there for a reason, after all. His hadn’t once let him down before. It had saved his life a time or two, out on the streets.
What was it trying to tell him this time?
“You’re looking a little rough,” Guido noted.
Mac chuckled, and ghosted the pads of his fingers over the cut above his brow. He still sported a slice on his lip and a couple of bruises on his cheek, too.
The marks and pain were worth it.
He was free of his debt.
Free to be made.
“It’s nothing,” Mac assured.
Guido pursed his lips, giving Mac another one-over. Then, he grabbed the overturned shot glass and set it back upright in front of Mac. “Have a drink.”
Mac flashed what he hoped was a confident smile. “You know I don’t drink, Skip.”
“You do today.”
What?
“Skip—”
Guido cocked a brow, shutting up Mac’s second attempt at a polite refusal. “Drink, I fucking said.”
Damn.
He did not sound pleased.
Apparently, they were back to pissed off Guido, just like that.
Mac grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured a shot. Quickly, he downed the drink, barely holding back his grimace as it burned his throat all the way down.
Guido nodded at the shot glass. “Another.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk or what?”
“My father used to tell me you couldn’t trust a man who wouldn’t drink. So put some liquor in that glass, and drop it back, Mac.”
Mac steeled his features, wondering what game his Capo was playing now. He poured another shot, and drank it down. The second was a lot smoother than the first. He let the shot glass hit the counter with a clink.
“I take it your father never met mine, then,” Mac said quietly.
Guido barked out a laugh. “Probably not.”
“I’m not drinking any more of that shit,” Mac said.
“I don’t expect you to.” Guido waved a hand and added, “There’s a glass of water on the other side of you. Grab it and wash it down. I know you’re not a man with a taste for good liquor like the rest of us.”
Mac ignored how that sounded like a digging jibe meant to hurt his pride, and turned on the stool to grab the glass of water that had been placed on the bar just a foot down the way. Leaning over to grab it, Mac had just grasped the glass when he felt Guido move behind him.
He didn’t get the chance to turn back around.
A shout died in Mac’s throat as something wrapped around his neck, and he was pulled up off the stool. The glass of water he had went flying at the same time, shattering and spilling across the club’s floor. Guido heaved behind him, grunting as he threw his weight backwards, taking Mac with him.
Instinct kicked in for Mac and nothing more.
He couldn’t breathe.
And that was the only thing that mattered.
Not fighting. Not getting away.
Catching a breath.
Guido was pulling whatever was around his throat even tighter. Mac’s back hit the bar top as his legs kicked out and he clawed at his throat. Pain bloomed in his ribs, taking with it most of his fight and strength. His body was already weak from the fights a few days before. He wasn’t up for this shit. Unable to even shout, as he had already lost all of his breath, Mac tried to weave his fingers in under the long length of material around his neck.
His vision tunneled suddenly, blackening at the edges.
Jesus Christ.
Using one hand, he made a fist and struck out at Guido. The man barely dodged it. Mac tried again, but quickly decided trying to get whatever was around his neck off was more important. He couldn’t fight back if he couldn’t fucking breathe. Then, Guido started dragging Mac along the bar. He felt his gun fall from his pants, but he didn’t hear it hit the floor. Mac tossed his weight back and forth, but his weakened strength had nothing on Guido’s extra hundred or so pounds forcing him along.
He still couldn’t even catch a breath.
“What’d I fucking tell you, huh?” he heard Guido ask.
Mac’s mouth opened, and he found his Capo watching him from up above. The cold blackness in the man’s eyes was new. Who was this man?
“Fucking me over, that’s what you were doing,” Guido continued, ranting away.
Mac felt his head hit something firm, and Guido finally stopped dragging him along the bar. His body felt weaker than ever with no oxygen running through his blood. His lungs fucking burned like hell, and each time he tried to fight to get his body off the damn bar, his ribs ached.
“Working with Anthony behind my goddamn back; cozying up to Luca like I wouldn’t see it,” Guido snarled. “I see that shit, Mac. And I made you, kid. You’re not going anywhere that I don’t let you go. Do you fucking understand me?”
God.
Mac swallowed convulsively, nodding. If it would help to let him catch a breath, he would do it.
Gu
ido barked a laugh. “Liar. You’re just like your old man, Mac. A dirty liar. And a sneak. You’re not going anywhere in this famiglia, unless I put you there. I fucking made you—you are my soldato, not Anthony’s, and you’re certainly not Luca’s little bitch boy to do with what he fucking pleases. I thought the first little message of mine would be enough for you to get the hint. I thought scaring you and your girl would be enough for you to realize you needed to lie low, and get the fuck out of the spotlight. But no, you had to put yourself right back in it.”
“I—”
It was the only word Mac managed to get out—raspy and aching.
Guido grabbed the tub of soapy water and tipped it up. Mac instantly arched off the bar as steaming hot, soapy water poured over his eyes, down his face, and flooded his open mouth. Being choked like he was, he couldn’t even force the water out of his throat. Instinct caused him to cough, which made him swallow and choke on even more soapy, hot water.
Over and over, Guido repeated the process.
Mac was still trying to get the damn tie off from around his neck. Yeah, he figured out what Guido was choking him with, when he realized the fat fucker wasn’t wearing his loosened tie anymore.
Kicking against the bar did him no good. Fighting against Guido’s hold got him nowhere. Instead, the Capo just slammed Mac into the hard bar top, causing his head to snap against the surface.
More water poured over his face, but Mac had finally closed his mouth and it didn’t choke him this time.
Not that it mattered.
He was running out of time to figure something out.
Muddy in his mind, out of air, and blurred in his vision.
“I fucking made you,” Guido repeated darkly. “And this is how you repay me?”
But I didn’t, Mac thought.
He hadn’t done any of that to Guido.
What difference did it make now?
His vision blinked in and out. He no longer had the strength to fight at all as his legs began to go slack against the bar top. No matter what, he refused to give up.
Mac kept trying to pull the tie away from his throat, knowing it was pointless. Guido was holding it firm, determined to see his plan through.
But he wouldn’t give up.
It wasn’t Mac’s style.
He’d die trying—honorable men always did.
A rushing sound filled his ears. His blood, likely.
Just as his eyes began to close, the tie loosened and Guido flew backwards with a roar. It took Mac several gasps of air before he realized he could breathe. Each breath hurt him a little bit more than the last to take.
“Move.” He heard the word screamed.
Mac shook his head.
“Fucking bitch!”
He clenched his fingers, moved his legs, and tried to see straight.
“Mac, please!”
A loud pop cut through the club, but it was still dulled to Mac’s senses. It was almost like he was underwater listening to it all.
Turning his head to the side, Mac blinked and focused.
It was just a second.
One split second for him to see her.
Melina.
Gun drawn and pointed, tears streaking down her face, and she was shouting at him again. Mac’s mind just wouldn’t work like it needed to. He took another deep breath, willing the air and oxygen to do what it needed to do.
Suddenly, Melina dropped to the floor, and Mac heard another round of pops fire off. It wasn’t from her gun that time.
“I’ll kill you, cunt,” he heard Guido growl.
Finally, Mac moved. And he moved a hell of a lot faster than he thought he could, as his knees met the bar top and he scrambled fast towards where he had started out before Guido dragged him along.
The item he wanted was just inches from his fingers.
His gun.
Melina rose to stand again, but her gun was down at her side.
Mac turned at the same time with a gun in his own hand as he flicked the safety off and cocked back the hammer.
She shouldn’t have stood up, he realized.
Guido was already aiming and his finger was twitching on the trigger.
Mac didn’t think.
Not about the consequences, Cosa Nostra, or anything else.
He just pulled the trigger.
Guido didn’t even notice Mac had moved, that he was alive, and he certainly didn’t see the bullet coming until it entered the side of his head. Blood and brain matter sprayed from the exit wound on the other side of the Capo’s head a second before his large body dropped to the floor with a loud thud. His gun clanked out of his slack hand.
Mac swayed for a second, still not right in the head or all that steady on his feet. He heard Melina scream for him as the gun fell from his hand and he dropped sideways, tumbling off the bar with a groan as pain shot through his throat and chest at the same time.
He barely even felt the floor when he hit it.
At least Melina had finally let him shoot the fucking gun for once.
“Mac!” Melina was at his side in a flash, her soft hands roaming over his face and neck. She was still crying, and while Mac wanted to reassure her that he was fine, his throat was raw and dry. The words didn’t come. Or maybe they didn’t want to. “Oh, my God.”
Mac swallowed, grabbed her wrists, and stopped her movements. Melina caught his gaze, quieting. “I told you … to stay home.”
Melina gave him a look. “You knew I wasn’t going to do that.”
“You could have been hurt, doll.”
“I figured it might not be me they were coming for,” she whispered.
Yeah, shit.
Mac rested his head to the floor of the club. From his position, he could see that the bar was a fucking mess.
Melina was already moving onto another topic. “We have to get rid of it.”
“Get rid of what?”
“The body, Mac.”
Mac wished his throat didn’t feel like scorched flesh. “It’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure,” Melina muttered above him.
It would be.
Luca gave his word—Mac had to trust that.
Mac perched on the edge of the bar, waiting for their guests. Melina slid in between his legs without saying a word. He knew she was scared, but the woman was too headstrong to admit it. She was also fretting over him, and pissed off because he told her to chill out for a while.
Sliding an arm around Melina’s waist, Mac pulled her closer and rested his cheek to the top of her head.
“Almost over,” he said quietly.
Melina nodded, but stayed silent.
Mac expected her shock to wear off at least by the time they were home.
He heard the front door of the club open, and Melina stiffened in his arms. “Don’t worry, doll.”
“Easier said than done,” she replied.
Mac knew she was right.
Before long, Luca Pivetti and his two closest men were standing in the middle of the club. Not one said as word, but all scanned the place, taking in the mess at the bar, the body of Guido still unmoving on the floor, and the puddle of blood that had finally stopped spreading.
Finally, Enzo spoke up.
“Your suspicions were right,” he said to Luca.
Luca gave a single nod. The boss flicked Mac with a look, saying a million and one things without even opening his mouth.
Mac saw what was most important.
Gratitude.
“Get rid of it,” Luca said to his underboss, waving at Guido’s corpse. Then, he jerked a thumb at his other man. “Matthew, clear the security footage in his office. Call someone if you need help.”
Luca spun on his heel, leaving.
Mac cleared his throat, wincing at the ache it left behind. “And me?”
Slowly, Luca turned back around with a smile. Usually, when the man smiled it came off as cold. This didn’t feel like that at all.
“Go home,” Luca said. “I wil
l call you when, or if, I need you.”
Mac’s arm tightened around Melina again. “Okay, Boss.”
“Well done, Mac.”
Mac sipped hot coffee and stared out the window. He’d made a place on the corner chair, and decided he really didn’t want to move for a while.
That happened to a man when he was almost killed.
Melina asked him several times to go to the hospital and get checked out. She wanted to make sure his windpipe wasn’t injured in some way. Thankfully, she didn’t put up too much of a fight when he refused.
But she did go into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
It was like radio silence.
Mac wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to go to her and make whatever was wrong go away, but he also needed to process everything that had happened.
Melina would understand.
She always did.
Mac finally shed his clothes and crawled into bed, well after midnight. He found Melina on his side of the bed, hiding under sheets and blankets, so he settled into her side with his back to the bed and an arm behind his head acting as a pillow.
In the darkness of the bedroom, he watched the outline of Melina’s bare shoulder rise and fall with her breaths. It was almost soothing. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, watching her sleep, but eventually he moved closer and closer to his girl until they were both under the sheets and she was firmly tucked into his body.
Mac only realized it once he had Melina as close to him as he could have her, but he finally felt like he could really breathe and think again.
He’d needed that so badly.
“You finally came to bed, huh?”
Mac wasn’t surprised that he had woke Melina. “Sorry. I was just …”
“It’s fine, Mac.”
“It’s not, but I am now.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, feeling her back push into his chest.
“I still think you should go to the hospital. You sound terrible. It hurts just hearing your voice.”
Mac sounded raspy, mostly, but the ache had left. It still hurt when he swallowed most of the time. “I will. First thing tomorrow. I promise.”
Melina turned in the bed, tucking her head under his chin, and wrapping her arms around his sides. Mac held her tighter, too, because damn … closer was better.
