Gun Moll (26 page)

“Are you going to
tell me where we’re going?” Melina asked.

“No.”

“I don’t like
surprises.”

“Too bad. You’re
going to have to deal with this one, doll.”

Melina pouted. It
had been absolute hell staying at her place this morning as she’d waited for
Mac to come back. She’d spent half the morning cleaning, and the rest of the
afternoon surfing the Internet. Saying she was bored out of her mind was a true
understatement. She’d decided to punish Mac for her suffering.

Too bad her brand
of punishment had turned out to be a reward for both of them. Her knees still
ached.

She touched his
thigh. “Can’t you at least give me a hint?”

“We’re almost
there.”

Melina rolled her
eyes. “Some hint.”

Folding her arms,
she sat in silence as Mac drove. Even her attempts at seduction hadn’t made him
reveal where he was taking her. All she’d managed to wheedle out of him was
that they were going somewhere special.

Some place that
mattered a great deal to him.

Some place he’d
never taken a woman.

Melina still had
no fucking idea where they were going. She watched the scenery around them
searching for a clue as to where Mac was taking her. Finally, she saw a sign.

“Amityville?”

“Yep,” he said.

They drove into
town and after more twists and turns than Melina could keep track of, they
entered a small neighborhood where Mac stopped the car at the end of the street.
A small one-level house stood, looking welcoming and cozy from the outside. He
put the car into park and killed the ignition.

“We’re here,” he
said quietly.

He turned to her
and softly grabbed her chin, before pressing a kiss to her temple. Melina
unbuckled her seatbelt as Mac exited the car and came around to open the door
for her. She allowed him to help her out before he closed and locked the door
behind her. Melina tugged at the hem of her dress, a slow dread creeping into
her heart.

“If we are where I
think we are, you could’ve given me a warning to dress more appropriately.”

“There’s nothing
wrong with what you have on. You look beautiful, like always.”

Taking her hand in
his, Mac led them to the front door of the small gray house and rang the
doorbell. They waited for less than a minute before the front door opened.

“James.”

James?

It took Melina far
too long to realize that James was Mac.

She felt stupid.

“Hey, Ma,” Mac
said.

Standing in the
doorway was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair lightly streaked with gray.
Her eyes were the same as Mac’s and right at that moment, those eyes were
firmly focused on Melina.

“Good to see you,
son. Who is this you’ve brought with you?”

The woman’s gaze
never wavered from Melina.

“Ma, this is my
girlfriend, my Melina.”

“
Your
Melina?”
Mac’s mother said as she raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Mine.”

“I see.”

Melina couldn’t
remember the last time that a person had made her feel so unnerved beneath
their gaze, but Mac’s mother was doing just that. She smiled as the woman
appraised her from head to toe before extending her hand.

“Melina, welcome
to my home. I’m Cynthia.”

“It’s an honor to
meet you, ma’am,” Melina said.

The two women
shook hands, but there was no mistaking the tenseness that hung in the air
between them. Though Cynthia Maccari wore an apron like she was Susie
Homemaker, Melina wasn’t fooled in the least. Mac’s mom was an alpha female and
she was sizing up the woman her son had brought home, looking for weaknesses.

“Thank you,
Melina. Why don’t you come in? Dinner’s almost ready.”

Cynthia motioned
for them to follow her inside. Melina shot Mac a look as she entered the house
behind his mother. She took in her surroundings. The home was small but nicely
furnished in shades of black and gray. It was something Melina would’ve chosen
herself. Well, at least she and Mac’s mother had one thing in common. Cynthia
took a seat on a black high-backed chair. Melina allowed Mac to lead her to the
matching love seat.

“You know, James
has never brought a girl home before,” Cynthia said.

“Mac, Ma,” Mac
said.

“Not to me,” his
mother replied firmly. “As I said, never once.”

“He mentioned
that,” Melina admitted.

“Did he? My son is
usually a man of few words.”

“Not all the time,
Ma,” Mac said.

“So it seems. Well,
there’s a first time for everything. If you two will excuse me a minute. I have
a few things to finish up in the kitchen,” Cynthia said.

“Do you need any
help?” Melina asked.

“Do you cook?”

“Not particularly
well, but I try.”

Cynthia gave her a
terse smile. “That’s all right, then.”

As the woman
disappeared from the room, Melina buried her face against Mac’s neck.

“Your mother hates
me,” she groaned.

“No, she doesn’t,
doll. She’s just in shock.”

“Yeah, she can’t
believe her son brought home a hooker.”

Mac pulled her
back to look at him. “What’s going on with you? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Meeting your
mother is a big deal. I want to make a good impression. It doesn’t bode well
for a relationship if your boyfriend’s mother hates you.”

“Melina, she
doesn’t hate you. She’s just trying to figure you out. To bring you here means
I obviously care about you, so she just wants to know what makes you so special
to me.”

“And you’re sure
it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m wearing a red bodycon dress,
stilettos and I’m not some willowy, blonde, white girl?”

“Positive. Now
stop stressing.”

Mac pulled her closer
and kissed her forehead. Her nerves were rattled, but Mac’s quiet confidence in
her and their relationship was easing some of her fears.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” Mac
asked.

“For believing in
me.”

“I’ll always
believe in you. That’s what you do when you love someone and we both know how
much I love you.”

“Do I?” she asked.

“Yeah, you do,
doll.”

Holding her face,
he kissed her softly on the lips.

Once. Twice. Three
times.

The sound of a
woman’s throat clearing made them break apart. “Dinner is ready.”

Mac helped Melina
to her feet. “It smells wonderful,
Mamma
.”

“It should. I made
all your favorites.”

“You’re in for a
real treat, Melina. My mother is the best cook around.”

Cynthia beamed at
her son, basking in his praise. Anyone could see the love the two of them had
for each other. Melina swallowed a lump in her throat as she thought of her own
mother, gone from the world over ten years. Quickly blinking away tears, Melina
followed Cynthia down the short hall to a small kitchen and dining area. A tall,
raised mahogany table was covered with platters of food. It looked like Mac’s
mom was trying to feed an army.

“Wow. Ma, you
outdid yourself,” Mac praised.

“Thank you. Your
sister’s missing out.”

“Where is Victoria,
anyway?” Mac asked as he pulled out a chair for his mother.

“She was too busy
to come for dinner. You know how your sister is. Speaking of siblings, do you
have any, Melina?”

“No,” Melina
replied. “It’s just me.”

Melina sat down in
a chair, staring at the food in front of them.

“Ah. Well, dig in
you two. There’s stuffed meatballs, lasagna, garlic bread sticks, and chicken
parmesan. Oh, and tiramisu for dessert.”

Mac rubbed his
hands together with glee. “This was well worth waiting all day for.”

“This is impressive,
Mrs. Maccari. Have you always cooked like this?”

Cynthia smiled. “Yes.
Cooking large meals is an Italian tradition. When we cook, we make enough to
last for days.”

Melina took a bite
of the lasagna and moaned. “This is one tradition I could grow to love very
much.”

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.”

M
ac 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.”