“Perfetto. Now, onto other business.”
Mac navigated the streets of downtown Brooklyn, wondering what other business there was that needed attending to. Nothing immediate came to mind.
“What’s that?” he asked when Luca stayed quiet.
“My wife.”
Mac’s brow furrowed.
What did Neeya Pivetti have anything to do with Mac’s job as a Capo?
“Go on,” Mac said, keeping his tone level for respect’s sake.
“She’s been chatting my ear off for the last week—she knows what’s coming up tomorrow, and she won’t shut up about it. It would please her greatly if she could see Melina shortly after she was released, hmm?”
A dull pain settled in Mac’s chest.
He tried not to talk about Melina to those around him. It wasn’t like he had much to say. Sure, he kept up with what updates he could get from her lawyer, but his position as a new Capo, and Luca’s demands, kept Mac far away from where Melina had been housed to serve her nearly six-month sentence.
It fucking killed him.
Every single day.
He woke up alone—so cold.
His thoughts almost always revolved around Melina in one way or another. He found himself considering how she was fairing, what she might be doing, and if she was missing him, too. But it was more than all of that.
Mac was constantly wondering about Melina’s opinions on things in his daily life, like picking out a new vehicle, or settling into a new apartment in a better part of town.
He took that all as a sign of what he already knew—he intended to have a life with Melina. He wanted a future with her.
But she wasn’t here.
He was still waiting on her.
Mac knew none of that was really his girl’s fault—what happened couldn’t be helped.
That didn’t necessarily make him feel better about it all.
It could drive him damn near insane if he let it. So instead, he focused on anything and everything else that he could.
Work.
The gym.
His men.
Making money.
Territory.
Keeping the boss happy.
Every day, his cycle repeated.
But in the back of his head, Mac was counting down the days until Melina’s sentence was served and he could keep his word like he’d promised.
Wherever she was, he’d be waiting.
The countdown was finally coming to an end, however. Tomorrow, his doll was getting out. Mac would be there—no question.
“Well?” Luca demanded.
“I will make time for Neeya to see Melina,” Mac assured.
As soon as he could—after he’d had his fill.
It’d been too long.
Far, far too long.
“Remember, she still isn’t your wife, Mac. Try to keep her quiet for a little while.”
Mac scowled. He didn’t need the damn reminder.
“I am still working on the wife thing,” Mac said, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone. “I will ask when I am ready.”
Or when Melina was, anyway.
Luca laughed. “How well do you think that will go over?”
With Melina?
Mac couldn’t even begin to guess.
“Beautiful day,” Cynthia said, patting her son’s arm as they strolled together through the quiet park.
“It is.”
Up ahead, Mac kept an eye on his sister, who had her Husky puppy on a leash. Victoria had showed up at his place with the dog, claiming she found him in a pet store, looking lonely and sad.
Mac figured his sister was one of those kinds of people who were emotional spenders. Those people liked to spend their money—even if it was their last dollar—on things that brought emotional reactions out of them.
His only problem with the dog was that on more than one occasion, Victoria dropped it off on him, leaving him to care for it.
Taz was a good dog—for a puppy.
Victoria, on the other hand, was a bit spoiled.
Mac blamed himself for that, because he couldn’t tell his sister no.
“So,” his mother drawled, bringing his attention down to her soft smile.
“Yes, Ma?”
“I like this,” she said, patting a hand on the breast of his suit. “You look very … gentlemanly.”
Mac laughed, and kissed his mother’s hand before dropping it just as fast. “Is that so?”
“Grown up.”
“I’m twenty-seven, Ma. I grew up a long time ago.”
Cynthia grinned in that way of hers, sly and knowing, but it quickly faded. Her tone turned more serious when she said, “As much as I disagree with … things …”
The mafia, he knew.
Mac chose not to openly say it, given where they were, and the fact his mother despised his career choices.
“As much as I disagree with it all,” Cynthia repeated, “I am happy that you’ve found your place, James.”
“Mac, Ma.”
“James to me, my boy.”
Mac would always be James to his mother.