Page 75 of Dirty Pool

That was offensive.

Michel refused to show it.

He knew honor, respect, and loyalty better than anyone. Especially in this life, and in his own personal dealings. His father made sure he understood that even if he wasn’t a made man, his word and being an honorable man who understood his standing against other men would be the only thing that allowed him any kind of respect or trust in their world. Because his last name wouldn’t matter if they couldn’t trust him. The people who raised him wouldn’t make a single difference if a made man felt like Michel was a complication or a traitor to the family.

Like right now, his mind pointed out.

That’s exactly what Sal was seeing him as right now. A man, who, despite not being made had still been given a place at the table although his voice had never been very loud in the grand scheme of things. Not that it mattered.

He’d still been given that privilege.

And he shit on it.

To Sal, anyway.

It was then that Michel realized exactly how much trouble he was in. It wasn’t something Sal said that scared him, or made him think Detroit was no longer safe for him. Rather, his own mind reminding him that he wasn’t playing in familiar streets anymore, but in a way, the rules still applied.

Fuck.

The only safe way to get himself out of this situation would be to leave Detroit. And while it would set Michel back a year, likely, for his pre-med … well, it would be worth it. Because it literally meant Michel would at least be able to continue to go to school. If he stayed in this city, there was no guarantee that he would continue to see the morning light.

He was in danger here.

And so was she.

It was that fleeting thought that quickly ripped away any idea that Michel might leave Detroit right now. There was no possible way he was going to head out of the city while Gabbie was still here, alone. No doubt, with a street war raging on around her that would only make her collateral damage to them in the end.

The Italians didn’t care.

Not about her.

She could die—so what?

That would be their first and only opinion about it. Michel wasn’t quite the fucking same, clearly. He also didn’t know what in the hell he could do to either stop this shit from spiraling out of control, or to fix everything. Weren’t they already beyond that point now? Because it sure as hell felt like it.

Sal glanced over at Michel, his nostrils flaring in his anger. “You’re to stay away from the Irishwoman. It’s not negotiable.”

Right, right.

That was expected.

And impossible.

Michel loved Gabbie.

His heart was in that woman’s hands, and his soul was now inexplicably tied with hers. There was no way these idiots were going to keep him from being near that woman if it was what he wanted to do. It might take him a while to see her safely, especially if Sal was going to be a prick about it, but that was the thing.

Michel was a patient fucker.

A silent sort of vicious.

This was not going to work the way Sal wanted it to, but Michel figured now wasn’t the time to point it out to the man. He probably didn’t care to hear it, anyway. Besides, for the time being, Michel had other things to focus on.

Like getting out of here.

Or stopping it all.

Something.