“Mr. Maccari, beautiful morning, isn’t it?” the shorter of the two asked.
Both men flashed their badges, not that they needed to. The stench of cop was as clear as day, even if Mac hadn’t recognized them.
Mac’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “I wouldn’t know.”
“May we come in?” the other one asked. “We have a few questions about the incident last night at your wife’s establishment.”
“Say what you mean,” Mac replied coolly. “You want to speak with my wife because she owns the joint.”
“And you, too.”
Fucking wonderful.
“Mac,” Melina said behind him, soft and sweet, “let’s just get it over with.”
“Make it quick,” Mac said, stepping back to allow the detectives into the apartment. “I have somewhere to be.”
“Ah, yes,” the tallest detective said, moving inside like he owned the place. That probably pissed Mac off the most, if he was honest. “Luca’s let out the war cry this morning, hasn’t he? Time to gather all of his little soldiers so he feels a tad safer on the streets.”
Mac hesitated, grip tightening around the edge of the door as he took in the detective’s words. Melina seemed oblivious to the blatant statement that essentially admitted the cop had inside knowledge of Luca’s orders. Something no one outside of the men in the family should know.
Already, the detectives had moved onto questioning Melina about the club and the events of the night before. Mac stayed quiet through it all, only speaking when spoken directly to, and answering as vaguely as he could. Melina did the same.
They’d practiced this.
Talked about it all.
She knew what to say.
Mac was still on the detective’s statement.
He knew Luca had put out an order.
That only meant one thing.
La famiglia had a rat.
Mac ignored the stares as he strolled into Luca’s library, trying to appear as unbothered as he possibly could be, given the situation. It was never good to let another made man see that you were concerned about something, even if it was widely known they were all concerned about the same thing.
The fear of the unknown would always be better.
“Great of you to finally join us,” Luca said, a cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
“Detectives,” Mac said in explanation.
He didn’t offer more; his words were more than enough to get the point across.
Luca’s lips curled up at the edge, showcasing his teeth biting into the end of the cigar with enough force to mark the tan, tapered end with indents of his bites. He looked as though he’d smelled something bad all of the sudden.
“And?” the boss asked.
More than a dozen pairs of eyes landed on Mac, all questioning at the same time.
“And nothing, they’re gone.”
Enzo scoffed from his seat at the window bench. “The bastards will be back.”
Probably.
Mac wasn’t concerned about that at the moment. There was bigger fish to fry.
“Who else had a face to face with the police last night or today?” Luca asked the men in the room.
Hands flew up. Murmurs passed around, confirming they too had been approached. Luca’s face grew progressively redder with each person who admitted they had needed to talk to police.
“Cazzo. They’re gonna put us in the ground,” Luca said, more to himself than the room.
Nonetheless, Mac knew every man had heard it. Especially as they had all turned into stone statues of themselves.
Mac understood the boss’s frustrations, and the men’s hesitance. Having police attention was never on Cosa Nostra’s high list of priorities. It was better to keep officials looking away from you rather than focusing in on only you.
At the moment, it seemed like every cop in New York was all up in Pivetti business in one way or another.
That was bad all over.
“Why don’t we address the real elephant in the room?”
The question came from the corner. It’d been posed quietly, and nothing else was offered from the stoic Capo that sat on one of the many leather chairs against the wall.
Anthony Corelli.
“What elephant is that?” Luca asked.
Without missing a single beat, Anthony tipped the drink in his hand toward Mac and said, “The one standing right in front of you.”
Irritation and stress tightened Mac’s shoulders. God knew he had enough bullshit going on and things he needed to handle without adding Anthony to the pile. The Capo was always looking for a reason to give Mac hell. This wasn’t even a surprise.
Luca leaned forward on the edge of his desk, his fingers drumming against hardwood as a billow of smoke clouded his features from the cigar. “Explain yourself, Anthony.”
“Two separate incidents. Two men dead. Both close to you, boss.” Anthony shrugged. “Seems kind of obvious.”