“The Albanians have been causing us one problem or another for a good decade or more. And those fucking scum don’t need a damn reason to come in on any of us. You just have to look at them while driving by and they’re ready to kill. Bastards.”
Luca sighed heavily, rubbing at his temples with two fingers and looking like he was entirely over the day and the men surrounding him. Through his fingers, he glared at the man throughout his entire tirade, saying nothing, and not once stopping the man from talking.
That was Mac’s first clue that something was wrong with Luca.
That, without a doubt, Luca was close to reaching his limit before he exploded.
By nature, Luca was cold, cool, and calm. But he never tolerated disrespect of any form from his men. Shouting and going on like the men currently were was certainly something Luca would not normally allow to happen.
Yet, there the boss was, doing just that.
It was all a little strange.
“It wasn’t the Albanian syndicate,” Enzo said quietly from his spot in a corner booth. With a coffee resting on the table in front of him, the underboss never took his attention away from the steaming mug as he spoke. “They have a habit of making a show and claiming a kill. It’s been almost a week, and not a single word has come out of their side. Regardless of past issues between our organizations, we can safely assume they were not the people behind the bullets that killed Matthew.”
“And therefore, not our target,” Luca added firmly.
“But—” the Capo from earlier started to say.
“Not our target.”
“What about the Russians?” Anthony—a Capo that regularly tested Mac’s patience and good nature—asked. “We had that scuffle two months ago down in the Coney. They’re known for their patience. They like to wait, to make you think all is well again, before they strike and have their revenge. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
The room grew quiet as the suggestion was considered. Glances and silent questions passed between men, wondering but never speaking out loud.
But while the men were looking between one another for answers, Mac looked to the only man in the room whose voice truly mattered above the rest.
Luca.
The ever-calm, always regal Don seemed tired.
Worn down, maybe.
A darkness lingered in his features.
An emptiness colored his gaze.
Grief, Mac realized suddenly.
Luca was grieving for his friend who had been killed on his very property—a home that Mac would consider to be one of the safest places, with its security.
Except apparently, it wasn’t the safest place.
Mac had to wonder—did Luca blame himself?
His thoughts drifted back to the argument he’d witnessed between Luca, Enzo, and Matthew on the night of his wedding. Whatever had caused it couldn’t have been good—it had been heated—and Luca rarely, if ever, publicly fought with anyone. Especially if others who were not a part of their lifestyle might be watching.
Mac had, for a short while, his suspicions about Matthew’s death and Luca’s possible involvement. It wouldn’t be unusual for Luca to kill someone, even if that someone was a friend, should they give him a good enough reason. But it hadn’t really been Mac’s place to say anything or ask questions. No made man demanded answers from their boss. That was not the way things worked in Cosa Nostra.
So, yeah, Mac had wondered.
Who wouldn’t after what he’d witnessed?
Still, as he watched a look of sadness pass between Luca and Enzo, a look that was missed by the other men, Mac wasn’t so sure Luca had done something to Matthew.
But of course, if there was anything Mac had learned in this life, it was to trust no one.
Grief was not just subjective to loss.
For some men, it was also a reflection of regret and guilt.
“The Russians …” Luca trailed off as all eyes turned to him again, conversation ceasing. “That’s unlikely as well.”
No murmurs passed between the men that time. No one questioned Luca’s statement at all.
“If not another syndicate,” Anthony said, “then the only plausible explanation is rather simple, isn’t it, boss?”
Luca didn’t respond.
But he really didn’t have to, Mac believed.
The boss’s silence was answer enough.
Enough to make them all question.
To allow them to wonder.
… to look between one another and let the suspicion burn.
If not from the outside of their organization, then there was only one other possible explanation.
It must have come from the inside.
That probably concerned Mac the most.
Suspicion bred fear.
Fear would breed contempt.
Contempt was known to breed unrest.
Unrest meant a lack of stability.
The strongest of organizations could and would crumble under that sort of mistrust.
And Mac knew that if he had been able to witness the disagreement between Luca, Enzo, and Matthew the night of his wedding … it was possible that more men had seen it, too.
All it would take was a thought turned into a word, and then to a rumor.
It was a dangerous game.