Not yet.
The bigger, most obvious, problem was that Mac was doing all of these things proactively with no real reason or obvious threat to justify his actions. No one had actually threatened him, per say. It wasn’t his right-hand man or second lawyer that had been killed.
No one said he was the one that pulled the trigger.
Still, something didn’t feel right.
Anthony—as much as Mac hated that fucking cafone—had a point when he said it had been two incidents, both involving Mac in some way.
That, to Mac, was threat enough for him to act proactively like he was.
Just in case someone was trying to make a point of something, and decided Luca wasn’t getting them anywhere. Mac—or his wife and family—wouldn’t be the one whoever it was came after next.
Not if he could help it.
Instead of having a cab take him back across the city to The Dollhouse, Mac only took one half way, opting to get out at a storage place. Since Enric would be using his Challenger for a week or two—the guy refused to get a car, though he did have his license—Mac would need something else to use. Melina had her car, but he wasn’t about to take the keys from her.
Mac found the storage container that had a large number nine painted on the front. It was small enough that a car couldn’t fit inside, but large enough for him to keep safe the one thing he only brought out occasionally. He made quick work of unlocking the padlock and pulling up the metal door to expose his metallic, navy and red Ducati Superbike waiting for him. The full-faced helmet hung off the right side of the handlebar.
Damn, he’d missed this bike.
It wasn’t often he used it—it wasn’t practical when his car could haul things if needed.
The bike would do, and when he drove it, Mac found he didn’t have to focus on anything but the sound of his bike and the road ahead of him. It relieved his stress in a way his car couldn’t.
It wasn’t long before Mac was on the highway, face hidden behind his helmet as he passed car after car, his bike pushing three times the legal speed limit. It took him half the time it usually would to reach The Dollhouse. He’d just parked his Ducati alongside the front in an available spot as his phone began to buzz in his pocket, and three women stepped outside of The Dollhouse’s front door.
He recognized them as girls that his wife had hired, and didn’t pay them any mind as he tugged his helmet off and then pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket to answer the call.
Mac didn’t check who the caller was as he put the phone to his ear. “Ciao?”
“How is Enric doing?”
Mac’s brow furrowed at Luca’s calm tone. “Boss?”
He was the last person Mac expected to hear from, after what had gone on earlier that afternoon, never mind a friendly chitchat about Enric.
“Who the hell else calls you from this number?” Luca asked.
Mac decided to answer Luca’s first question. “He’s doing well. A little mouthy sometimes, but he’s good at what he does. That says a lot. He’s good.”
“Good,” Luca echoed.
Passing the front door to his wife’s business a look, Mac said, “Was that all?”
“No. A rat, you said.”
Mac stiffened on the bike. “I thought you weren’t listening.”
Luca chuckled dryly. “Or did you think I was more interested in what that fool Anthony was saying?”
“Honestly?”
“Let me have it, Mac.”
“A little bit of both,” Mac muttered.
“We all have to be careful right now, seeing as how there is a lot happening but none of us have any real answers as to why. You, especially. Me, more importantly. I will do so how I have to do so, and you will do the same—understood?”
“Got it, boss.”
Although Mac wasn’t entirely sure he did.
“I do trust you,” Luca added after a quiet moment.
“Do you?”
“Even if I have to do it from afar for a bit, Mac. You’ve given me every reason to trust you, and not one reason to distrust you. Keep it that way.”
Well, then … what could he say to that?
“It could be related to me,” Mac said. “These killings, I mean.”
“I have no doubt they are, even if you’re intended to be a distraction of sorts by whoever it is,” Luca agreed. “You work on finding who that is.”
“And what will you do, boss?”
Luca sighed. “Apparently, with the way they keep coming closer to the people at my side, I’ll try to stay alive and smoke out a rat at the same time. Enjoy your evening with your wife, Mac, I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you showed up tonight. I’ll be in touch.”
Mac’s head snapped up and his gaze zoned the street.
Luca knew where he was.
“As I said,” Luca murmured, “you haven’t given me a reason to distrust you. Don’t start now. Have a good evening.”