Page 113 of Dirty Pool

She pressed her lips together, whispering, “But what if he comes here, or something?”

“He won’t.”

Of that, Michel was most sure. Charles was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. The man had to know he didn’t have any real allies in New York by way of major families to help him go against the Marcellos, if he wanted to try and take his daughter back. That was before they even factored into the fact that Gabbie was now Michel’s wife.

He just wouldn’t do it.

“Call him,” Michel said as he pulled into the garage of the hotel where they would be staying. The Astoria had always been a favorite of his; sometimes, having expensive taste was more than worth the price. “You won’t feel okay until you do, so just get it over with.”

Gabbie nodded. “Okay.”

Michel parked the car as Gabbie dialed on the phone. He thought she would put the phone to her head, allowing him access to only her side of the conversation, but she put it on speakerphone for him to listen in.

It rang three times.

Each ring, his anxiety spiked.

He almost thought the phone would go to the voicemail, which might be for the best, but he couldn’t be so lucky. Charles picked up on the fourth ring.

“Aye, I’m feckin’ busy here!”

“Da,” Gabbie said softly.

A silence answered his wife back, thick and loaded. Michel didn’t miss it, and even their car became so quiet that he could hear her swallow in the seat next to his. Wordlessly, he reached across the car to place his hand on her thigh. His fingers curved around her body, and he squeezed tight. His silent show of support, if she needed it. Gabbie gave him a small smile, but this time, it didn’t reach her eyes.

He didn’t need to ask why.

“Gabbie?”

“Yeah, Da, it’s—”

“Where the feck are you, lass?”

“I’m—”

“You took off with that Italian cunt again, didn’t you?” Charles let out a dark noise. It sounded like disappointment and anger all rolled into one. Michel felt the tremor that worked its way through Gabbie’s body as it vibrated against his palm, but he just squeezed her leg again. It was the best he could do if she really felt a need to do this to herself. “Just tell me where you are, and make this easy on all of us, Gabbie. I’ll send someone to come get you—do you want me to promise I won’t kill the Italian? Fine. I will leave him alive. Is that better?”

Gabbie cleared her throat. “Da—”

“I don’t have time for this shite, girl. Do you understand me? This entire city is in an uproar, I have police banging on my door, and too many men dead to count. And you want me to play tag with you all over Detroit while you chase after a man you can’t have?”

“I’m not in Detroit, Da.”

That silenced Charles.

For all of one second.

“What did ye just say to me?”

“I’m in New York with Michel. We just got married. I’m not coming home, Da. It’s not where I want to be, and it’s not where I belong. I love you, but I need to be where—”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“What you did, lass … say it again.”

Gabbie cleared her throat. “We just got married.”