Mac peeled out of bed with measured slowness and extra grace, so as not to jostle his wife more than he had to for fear of waking her up. The beeping of his phone had woken him, and the call had been one he was waiting for.
Luca was willing to see him.
Mac checked the clock.
Apparently, the boss would see him at five in the fucking morning.
Quickly, Mac dressed, not bothering with the suit he’d usually wear to see the boss, but opting for a pair of jeans, a button down, and a leather jacket. Just outside the entrance of their apartment building, Mac found Enric leaning against the brick, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Mac pulled out his own pack and lit one up, ignoring the chill in the air as nicotine burned his lungs.
“Heading out?” Enric asked.
That much was obvious.
Mac didn’t grace it with a response. “You never really sleep, do you?”
“Will when I’m dead.”
Enric wasn’t required to watch the building, the vehicles, or Melina while Mac was around. It was the young man’s only off time from the job.
But that wasn’t how he worked.
Mac appreciated it, and he sincerely hoped Luca knew the kind of son he had in Enric. The kid was doing this the right way—the whole Cosa Nostra thing, just like Mac had done.
That was something to be proud of, really.
“I’m going to catch a meeting with the boss,” Mac said. “I was going to call you and get you over here, but …”
“Figured I already was?”
“I was right.”
Enric shrugged. “We don’t need another bomb incident.”
Point taken.
“Melina is sleeping,” Mac said, “so be quiet if you want to go in and get some food or chill.”
“I’m good watching the sky, Mac.”
Enric was a good kid.
A little strange sometimes.
He had a lot of mouth.
But good.
Without a goodbye, Mac headed into the underground garage to grab his Ducati. He figured it would get him across town to where Luca wanted to meet up a hell of a lot faster than his car, and then it would get him back faster, too.
Traffic wasn’t bad, and Mac was just pulling into what looked to be a rundown, abandoned warehouse less than twenty minutes after he’d gotten the call from the boss. He made good time, if nothing else.
Mac parked around back where his bike wouldn’t be seen by the highway, and made his way inside the warehouse. At first, the long hallway seemed quiet, but it wasn’t long before a loud snap echoed, like leather whacking hard against skin, and a muffled shout followed the hit.
Mac followed the sound.
He found Luca, and one of his usual enforcers, on the main floor of the warehouse. Mac’s shoes crunched on the dirt floor, and it took him a second to distinguish the form hanging from a hook.
A man, it seemed.
Bound, naked, and gagged.
Hanging from his ankles.
Mac’s eyes widened at the sight, but he quickly schooled his features.
“That was quick,” Luca said, tossing the whip he’d been wielding aside to a table.
The enforcer in the corner, a lever in his hand to control the hook the man was hanging from, never moved and didn’t give Mac’s arrival any of his attention.
Mac was still staring at the man hanging from his ankles. The room smelled of blood, vomit, dirt, and piss. It was quite a mixture. He didn’t recognize the bleeding, bruised, and broken man, but the guy’s eyes begged for help.
He didn’t have any to offer.
“Amusing, isn’t it?” Luca asked, passing his victim a glance over his shoulder.
Even while torturing someone, Luca dressed for his position in a three-piece suit that seemed clean of blood and dirt. Mac had no idea how his boss managed it.
“What is?” Mac asked.
“How quick they are to apologize once they understand the pain a mistake can cause.”
Mac didn’t know what to say to that.
Apparently, Luca wasn’t looking for a response, but he did wave at the hanging man. “As you can see, I’m still working on my end, Maccari. And this cafone is just about the closest I have come to getting anywhere.”
“And he is?” Mac dared to ask.
It was hard to say if Luca would answer.
“A decoy,” Luca mused, smiling just slightly as he passed the guy another dismissive look. “Planted to distract me, I think. Seems the FBI thought putting a simple cop on the ground in plain clothes with a decent Italian accent would work to get him in one of my Capo’s crews. But again—he’s a distraction.”
Mac wasn’t getting it. “Sorry, boss?”
“I’m getting nothing from him—they’ve given him nothing to work with. They want my attention elsewhere, and I need to figure out why.”
“Which crew?” Mac asked.
“Audino,” Luca said.
Corrado Audino was a Capo Mac tended to stay away from, if only for the fact the man housed his good for nothing bastard of a father. James Sr. worked under that crew for years after his brother’s death.
Mac wanted nothing to do with it.
“Seems a little strange that Corrado would have a mole in his bunch and not have even a suspicion about it,” Mac said.
Crews were not that big.
If shit like that was happening in his crew, Mac would know about it.
Simple as that.