Page 52 of Dirty Pool

“You, apparently,” Sal replied.

Michel still didn’t move, and in fact, he didn’t even react to that statement. Although, if he were being an honest man, he would admit it was damn hard not to laugh at that. Only because what was he doing that could cause problems? He was purposely keeping his head down, doing his work because he gave Sal his word, and very little else.

Nothing to make issues, anyhow.

“Gabbie Casey, ring any bells?” Sal asked.

Michel stiffened.

Yeah, okay.

That could be considered an issue.

“Of course, it does,” Michel replied carefully.

“Oh, good.” Sal smiled, but it wasn’t at all true, and his tone held a touch too much sarcasm. “So, I suspect you won’t mind at all to explain why you were seen leaving a bar last week with the Irishwoman?”

Michel’s teeth ached from clenching his jaw so hard. It was the only way he could keep his mouth shut, and say nothing. He really didn’t think words were going to help his case here, all things considered.

Sal nodded when Michel stayed quiet. “If you thought the Irish are the only people following you on a regular basis, then you are highly mistaken, Michel.”

Good to know.

He still didn’t reply.

“This … thing we have with the Irish right now is a loaded gun waiting to blow. What we don’t need, however, is more distractions because of you and that fucking woman. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, but—”

“No, I didn’t ask for a but, Michel.”

“I could possibly help you to … smooth out the issues with the Irish.” He wasn’t exactly sure how, but he thought anything was possible. As long as someone wanted it badly enough, and in this life, no one wanted blood to spill enough that they were willing to let a war rage on within city limits. “If that’s something you’re looking at, Sal.”

The man at the table scoffed. “Not at all.”

Well, then.

Okay.

“Your closeness to the Irish is concerning,” Sal added.

Michel did laugh at that one, although it was quick to die in his throat when Sal turned his gaze on him. “My closeness to them? They beat the fucking hell out of me after they kidnapped me!”

Sal raised a single brow high. “Yes, and you’re the first Italian I know of in this city to have made it away from the Irish alive, Michel. Add that onto your clear interest in the Irishwoman, and it spells bad things for you.”

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t like what Sal was suggesting.

Not at all.

There were a handful of things that were never negotiable in the life, whether one was directly in it by being a made man, or they were simply an associate, like Michel. And one of those things was a person’s loyalty. To the life, and the family. To the person allowing them a place in the business.

No excuses.

Loyalty was everything.

“Do I have to be concerned that the Irish could entice you to their side of things?” Sal asked quietly, folding his hands on the table as his gaze met Michel’s from across the room. “Or is a simple order for you to stay away from the Irish, which means her, too, going to be enough for you to listen?”