“Enzo has his son on lockdown—uh, detox, I suspect, because he thinks he can save the kid. I’m sure you’ve talked to him, you probably already know where he is. He won’t let me near him, I know it.”
Luca’s head dropped down, his shoulders lowering as well, as though the weight of the world had just come upon him. “You know, when Enric’s mother told me she was pregnant, I thought … no, the child can’t possibly be mine. She was a server in one of my restaurants, and we certainly weren’t a couple, so to speak. She assured me the baby was mine, and if I was so inclined, I could simply wait until after the birth, and make my choices then.
“And so that was just what I did,” Luca continued, smiling softly as he looked over his son. “I waited her pregnancy out—I ended up marrying Neeya during that time, though that came about rather fast, and she had no idea about the baby or the pregnancy. It came before she did, after all, and I was still quite adamant in my own belief that the baby wasn’t mine.”
“But he was,” Mac assumed.
Luca chuckled. “God forgive me … look at his face, how am I supposed deny him?”
Even Mac had to smile at that.
Enric was the spitting image of his father.
“Neeya was so angry—I loved her, and no matter how many times I tried to tell her that he’d come about before her, she wouldn’t believe me. It took a while, a lot of begging on my part, a lot of hurt pride and anger, but she heard me eventually. I felt so guilty, too. I’d spent months believing Enric was not my son, and I lost all that time, even if he wasn’t in the world yet. I still lost it.”
Luca rubbed a hand over his jaw, shaking his head as he continued with, “And so I gave him as much time as I could while he grew up, but he always felt out of place with me and in my family. I could tell. I tried bringing him in more and more, tried giving him more, but he only pushed away.”
“Maybe it’s that he does better standing on his own,” Mac suggested.
“He does, I know.” Luca cleared his throat, glancing back at Mac with a blank expression. “Don’t feel guilty for what happened to my boy—he’ll be fine, Mac. He’s a Pivetti, and we always make it out alive. Leave the guilt to me, it’s what I do best where he’s concerned.”
Mac wasn’t sure he could do that, but he would try.
“And Enzo’s son?” Mac dared to ask.
Luca let out a slow breath. “Find your wife. If it were mine, I would do the same. By whatever means necessary, find her. I’ll even call Enzo and get him away from his son, if you think that’ll help to grab the fool without unnecessary blood spilling. Enzo let it slip the kid has also been talking to police in an effort to save his ass from charges. That may very well be where part of our rat problem is.”
“It could be. Thank you for the call.”
“Done.”
Mac had his answer.
He left the room before Luca could even dismiss him.
He didn’t think his boss would mind.
After all, they were men cut from the same cloth.
Mac fitted the riding gloves on as he strolled across the street to where Enzo’s safe-house was located. He was grateful that at least the man was out, thanks to Luca’s call, and that the man’s wife would not be there to witness Mac taking her son by force.
It was not something a woman should see.
Mac would never want his own wife to witness something of the sort happening to him, or his future children.
Although he knew his wife could and would handle it, being as strong and stubborn as she was. He’d called Melina his Gun Moll once—the girl of a gangster that no one ever expected with a gun hidden under her coat, distracting everyone with the bat of her pretty lashes.
He was sure he’d undervalued her in that respect.
A Gangster Moll would have been more apt to describe her.
She was just as tough him.
Just as fucking capable.
Just as dangerous.
Better yet, Mac hadn’t needed to teach his wife how to be or do any of those things. She’d come to him like that—wonderful, difficult, and proficient.
Mac kept repeating that sentiment to himself as he picked the lock on the front door of the safe-house, needing the comfort it provided. As long as he kept telling himself that Melina was tough enough to handle whatever his father threw at her until Mac found her, then the fear of the unknown and the what ifs wouldn’t be able to reach him.
His doll would be fine.
This was just a bump in the road.
A shitty bump, but a bump.
The house was dark and quiet when Mac opened the door. He listened for any sounds, but other than the muffled drone of a television down the hall, he didn’t hear anything else. No doubt, given Enzo had said his son was detoxing, the kid was probably stuck in a bathroom somewhere. Enzo had likely put the kid upstairs, locked in somewhere that he couldn’t get out.
Mac understood Enzo’s desire to protect his only son.
If it were Mac’s son, he would probably do the same.
Maybe someday, Enzo would forgive Mac for what he was about to do, though in that moment, he simply didn’t care either way. This was a job—the kid was a means to an end.