"Fuck, man! I didn't know!" The voice was ragged, nervous, and high-pitched in its adrenaline-fueled frenzy. "I-I swear, if I knew--" the man cut himself off, taking a few steps backwards, against the wall. He was in a small, empty, and dark basement. The only source of light crept out from the bottom of a door-frame. Another, younger man stood before him, with a large-caliber pistol in hand.

"You fucked up, Marcus. You're not getting out of this." The gun-wielding man spoke in a deep monotone, seeming emotionless for the time being.

"No, but-- come on, Sal! Look, you can just tell Johnny I know I was wrong. I can get you twice the usual next week! Every week!" The man was now pressed fully against the wall, his hands clasped in a prayer-like motion in front of him.

Still, 'Sal' shook his head. "I didn't want to have to do this. Really, I didn't. But nobody fucks with John Fabroni. You knew how this all worked when you came into this game, Marcus, and--!"

Sal was cut off as Marcus attempt to tackle him. The gun went off as both men began to struggle. Their quick, violent battle continued for a few seconds longer. With a combination of scratching and clawing, Marcus fought more like an animal than a man -- and Sal merely did his best to keep control of the pistol.

Blood began to seep out from both men's newfound scars, and two more shots rang out. The first had no immediate effect, though, shortly after the second, Marcus' eyes widened. The young thug rolled off of his aggressor, and clutched at his stomach angrily, beginning to yelp in pain. Sal fumbled to his knees, slipping about slightly in the blood that was already pouring onto the concrete. He pushed the pistol against the now-laying Marcus' forehead, and craned his neck away before pulling the trigger.

There was a satisfactory 'thud' as Marcus' head hit the ground, and Sal rose to his feet. He rubbed a large gash directly under his eye -- scarily close, in fact -- that was beginning to let blood trickle down his cheek. He rubbed some of this away with the sleeve of his disheveled jacket, and shoved the door open with his shoulder.

The pawn-shop was closed, and the basement's doorway barely visible from the main room, so, he felt confident enough that he was alone as he sat down to dial a quick number.

There was a 'click' as the call was answered, but no sound.

"I took care of our friend Marcus." Sal spoke quickly, though clearly, and hung up without waiting for a response. He pocketed the phone, and headed for the door. Despite the poor lighting of the store, and the night, he could make out his reflection in the glass windows.

He was a few inches above-average height, especially for his age. He looked to be in his twenties, though he was in his late-teens. His clothing was fashionable, though cheap -- a white t-shirt, old jeans, and a dark brown jacket. Now, however, all three were lightly torn and tainted with blood. He was considerably muscular, and a tribal-patterned tattoo snaked out around his neck and right arm. He had short-cut jet-black hair, and large, though inexpressive eyes. He sighed heavily before shoving the door open, and walking out into the surprisingly cold air.

The young girl of sixteen cursed as she realised she was late. Her curfew had been a couple of hours ago, before it got dark. It was now pitch black as she left the local library. She'd been studying. Yes, studying. She may have been the daughter of a mobster, of the boss of all mobsters, but she still went to school. In fact, she surprised a lot of people, expecially her father's associates.

In her father's associates eyes, she was a decent looking girl that would be good to bed. Of course they never told their boss this, but they got a few glances of her when they could. She also looked too innocent to be a mobsters daughter. And one thing she was, was innocent, in all ways. She was like an angel. That's why most of the guys were so attracted to her. They knew she was innocent, and they knew that she was forbidden territory.

She ran out of the library clutching her books and turning on her cell phone in a slight panic. Her dad would be going crazy. He was incredibly over protect of her, and she could imagine that he had people out looking for her already. She couldn't help but smile and roll her eyes. He was too over protective. She turned on her phone and as she got signal, saw all the missed calls and messages. Sighing, she entered 4 - speed dail for her father, and pressed call. Putting thecell to her ear, she continued down the road, ready to apologise to her father. As soon as the cell connected, she spoke.

"Dad, I'm sorry..." She started.

"Mackenzie! Where the hell are you? I've been trying to call you for hours now." He interupted, his tone told her he was fuming.

"Listen, dad. I'm ok. I was at the library. I'm on my way home now. I had my cell turned off." She tried to explain.

"Just get back home. Now." He growled. "I've had Larry and Greg out looking everywhere for your stupid ass."

Mackenzie rolled her eyes. "I'm coming now dad, don't worry. I'll be home soon." At that point she just hung up, not wanting to deal with her father.

Mackenzie Grace Carlson was the daugher of a mobster, the king of all mobsters, well of the ones that worked for him. She didn't like to think of it though. She didn't get involved with it all. Crime was wrong, so she pretended to know nothing of it and wouldn't be around any of her fathers associates or meetings. She just prefered it that way. It kinda meant that she didn't have to feel so guilty about everything.

She moved her long blonde hair our of her face as a slight breeze caused it to get in the way. Her ice blue eyes staring down the high street, a few people around, walking down the street that was practically empty. She was wearing light blue jeans, and a white hoodie, a black strap top was concealed underneath. Mackenzie was quite thin, naturally. She wasn't one to worry about her figure and ate properly. She had a level head on her shoulders, not like some of the blonde headed bimbos you could get.

Mackenzie continued to walk in the direction of home, a good 20 minute walk still and though it was dark, and the alleys coming off the main street could be seedy places, she wasn't worried. Not much scared Mackenzie and the dark wasn't something she was scared of.

[Hope that was good enough!!!]

Sal limped out to his car, from the pawn shop's parking lot. It was a low-quality, brown sedan. He sighed, rolling his shoulders back, before opening it and sitting at the wheel. He started the engine immediately, anxious to flee the scene of his recent crime. Soon enough, he was humming slowly along towards one of the town's darker districts, to the apartment building he lived in.

The drive there was eventless, and he quickly maneuvered up the stairs to his section, and then room. The apartment building itself smelled of fish and alcohol, though Sal's room was substantially better. It was well-furnished, which made it stand out compared to the dreary and bleak interior of the building. Though, the young mob enforcer wouldn't have presented himself in any other way.

He walked to his bathroom, and quickly stripped down to his boxers, to evaluate the cuts he'd received in the small skirmish earlier. Nothing too serious, luckily. He wet a paper towel and wiped up some of the blood, before tossing his now-wrinkled clothing into a corner of the room, to clean later.

He walked to his bedroom and changed into a dress-shirt and dark-colored, though flexible, pants. He smiled as he took a gold-chain necklace from the top of his bureau, and slipped it around his neck. With a final, grinning sigh, he grabbed a bottle of expensive cologne and slapped some against his neck.

His pockets lined with illicitly-obtained cash, and feeling on top of the world, he walked back outside and to his car. He sat in it for a few seconds, before deciding to head to a local mob-owned nightclub to kill some time. Despite the time, he was nowhere near tired. He'd always been considered rather attractive, and -- at least, with some women -- the fact that he worked for Jonathon Fabroni, one of the city's most elusive and powerful criminals, was a plus.

The nightclub came into sight soon enough, and he switched off the engine, and cracked his neck, before walking towards the dimly-lit doorway.

Mackenzie finally arrived home to recieve a yelling from her father. She knew it was coming. Her dad always did this. What was worse, was that he was with several associates. As soon as he heard the door go, he called her.

"Mackenzie!!!" He shouted.

She slowly walked into the room and gave an innocent, apologetic smile.

"Dad I'm - " She started.

"Don't give me bullshit Mackenzie..." He growled. "I give you a curfew for a reason and you disobey it..."

"I was studying..." She sighed, looking at the few associates in the room, she noticed the looks they were giving her. They were looking her over, wanting her, imagining all sorts of images.

Her dad just shook her head and let her leave. She sighed and headed upstairs, going to her bedroom. She washed and got dressed into silk red pyjamas and going to sleep.

Salvatore spent a few moments in the club, aimlessly wandering about the small dancing horde that had gathered at its center, before getting himself a drink. He was considerably well-liked here, due in large to the fact that his boss owned the club, and employed many of its patrons in his vast criminal empire.

He idly chatted with the bartender for a while, until feeling drawn to the dancers -- unsurprisingly, his bottle of beer emptied at about that time.

Light-headed with the dancers and pulsating music, he shuffled about in motions that could only vaguely be described as graceful, or dance-like. He managed to catch the eye of an attractive woman who was also dancing solo, and he grinned towards her. She seemed to return the gesture, so he flattened himself between some of the others, on his way towards her.

He raised his hand slightly, as if he was about to speak, and grinned again. Before a single world could escape his lips, a large hand patted him on the shoulder, from the crowd. He turned, confused, to look one of the more-respected made men in the eye. He swallowed nervously, as the gangster spoke.

"You're Salvatore, right?" The man spoke in a deep voice, which severely intimidated Sal.

"Uh, yeah. That's me." Sal nodded a few times, rubbing the back of his neck -- suddenly having lost all interest in the woman a few feet away, who raised her eyebrows as she watched the duo speak.

The mobster jerked his neck towards the back room. "Boss wants to have a talk with you." he mumbled, before slowly sliding away from the mass of people.

Salvatore swallowed nervously again, and immediately shoved his way away from the crowd. Johnny was at the club. Sal adjusted the collar of his dress-shirt, and made sure his pant-legs were even. He cleared his throat as he scuffed his shoes lightly against the dance-floor, and walked into the backroom with a fake confidence.

"You, uh, wanted to talk?" He asked.

John nodded. The man was overweight, though had obviously been very well-built during his prime. Dark, black hair was now turning gray, and once-tanned skin seemed a bit paler in the smokey lights of the club. The boss was dressed casual -- a t-shirt that did little to conceal his obese shape, and some jeans.

"You know our 'friend' Mr. Carlson? The Irish one?" John wrung his hands as he spoke, sliding back into a seat at an empty table.

"Yeah." Salvatore nodded vigorously.

"Well, one of his guys came to this club last week. Played a little too rough with one of the girls," John gestured with a flattened palm outwards towards the dance-floor. "Poor girl's in the hospital, now. She's got a kid, too." The mafioso shook his head and hand, as he realized he'd gone off-track. "Anyways. The guy's name is Patrick. Runs some gambling operation out the back of a liquor store. Hill's Liquor, or something." John waved his hand dismissively, again. "Now, usually, I wouldn't think anything about this. Girls get roughed up now and then. Part of the job. But, with the way things have been going..." he tapped the table with his free hand in rhythm with his words. "I'm thinking maybe Mr. Carlson is trying to send a message. Thinks he's so big, his boys can come up here, and fuck around with my business." Johnny unveiled a toothy smile. "I don't want this Patrick guy dead, of course. Just see to it that he doesn't fuck up again."

Salvatore nodded a few times, solemnly.

Mackenzie woke up early that morning and showered and dressed. She wore a pink strap top, a white hoodie and a red short miniskirt. She thanked God that it was a saturday and had the whole day to study. She'd had a good night's sleep and felt refreshed, ready to take information in again for the day.

She packed a small black shouler bag with things - it was big enough to hold a note pad and a couple of books, and this time she decided to keep her phone on rather than off. But on silence so it would light up if her father wanted her. She smiled a little, seeing that she had everything and left.

Her father, as usual could be seen in his office with all his associates around talking as she headed down the stairs of thier home. It wasn't a mansion, but it was bigger than the average home and had more rooms then they needed. She was glad that the associates weren't housed here some nights. Shivering, she could imagine them trying to peek at her every night. That just gave her the creeps, but they gave her the creeps. She tried to pass her father unnoticed, but it failed miserably. He always noticed her.

"Mackenzie. Where you headin' to?" He yelled.

"I'm heading to the library again dad." She sighed.

"Come 'ere..." He answered.

Mackenzie cringed, she really didn't want to.

"Dad, I need to go."

"Just come 'ere a second..." Was his reply.

She cursed and headed into the office. His associates eying her up and down, imagines entering thier head that shouldn't be, no doubt - she thought.

"Be back before dark this time." He told her. "I'll call you about 9.30. I need you to stop by the liquor store. I have a small list of things you can get me on your way home. We might be having a small party tonight."

"Oh." She muttered. "Sure. Ok dad. I'll stop by, but don't make the list too long, my arms can't carry everything." She sighed.

"Ok sweetie, run along now." He grinned.

Mackenzie smiled, relieved she could go and left the house heading down to the local library.

She did a long day of studying. Many books surrounded her throughout the day, and the table increased rapidly over the day with books, thick and thin, small and big. Before she knew it, 9pm had also approached quickly. Her dad was going to call her at 9.30 to go to the store with a list. What he hadn't realised was that it was already dark at that point. So, he was keeping her out past curfew. Oh well, more study time, she thought. Finally at 9.25, she packed up and left.

It was a short walk to Hill's liquor store and just after 9.30 she arrived, it wasn't long afterwards that she got a call from her father, and like usual, he couldn't make up his mind on what he wanted. She browzed the beers, naming things off, the wines, the champagnes, everything, but he couldn't decide, finally, he left her with a list longer than his arm of stuff he wanted. She wanted to protest but he'd hung up on her. How the hell was she supposed to carry it all home? Sighing, she started collecting what he wanted, taking it to the cashier in bits as she couldn't carry it all at once.

"You got it, Johnny." Sal had mumbled awkwardly as he walked away from the backroom. He'd gone straight home from the nightclub. As an impromptu enforcer, he'd delivered more than his share of beatings, but never anything straight from the mouth of Jonathon Fabroni. He ran his hands through his hair, staring into the mirror -- at his few scars, his seemingly dead eyes, as he thought. He was stuck in the less-than-enviable position of thug. He was obviously trusted enough to kill for the mob, though not yet given enough trust or respect to 'earn' on his own -- instead, he struck out mercilessly against the people of the city, at his mafioso superiors' command.

Eventually, he fell asleep. He slept in late -- wanting to keep his energy up in order to make an impressive show of Patrick. He'd be particularly alert, today, to prove whatever he could to Jonathon. Sal didn't actually get out of bed until around noon, at which point he lounged about his apartment for an hour or so. He went for lunch at a small deli, having nothing else to do with his day but deal with Patrick. Rumor had it Patrick only showed up towards the end of the day, to collect earnings and gamble for the last few rounds of whatever game they played.

Sal was unsure of how to spend the rest of his day, so he went to the gym -- and after a short workout, back home. He couldn't help but enjoy the lack of working hours he had, as he showered and watched television until it began to grow dark. By the time it was 9:00, he decided he'd head out to take care of Patrick.

The liquor store was a short drive away, being as it was in Carlson's "territory" -- not that the semi-warring criminal factions had mapped out the districts on any official scale. The store itself seemed to be doing alright, even if the rest of the district was falling on hard times. Sal chuckled as he imagined the Irish goons who owned it guzzling down all the alcohol.

He opened the door of his sedan and walked into the store, pushing the door open violently. There weren't too many people around. He grabbed a bottle by the neck and headed for the backroom. The cashier began to speak. "Excuse me, sir, but you can't--"

Sal cut him off. "Don't worry. I'll only be a second." He flashed a fake smile and shoved the door open.

The backroom was almost completely empty. A single man snored loudly on a couch, and Patrick stood watching the end of a basketball game on a small television. A few stacks of cash lay around, as well as a phone and a pad covered in gambling amounts, names, and teams.

Patrick turned slightly at the sound of Sal opening the door, though, Sal had already thrown the bottle. It hit the side of Patrick's face, which sent the man tumbling towards the wall. Sal proceeded to knee him in the stomach, and bluntly punch the side of his face and head. The sleeping man awoke, and half-yelped, though controlled himself, crawling away from the couch. Patrick attempted to fight back, but was largely held down by Sal's continuous flow of punches -- and now, kicks.

The man on the couch sprinted out the back door, through a small, normally-unused exit, into the night. Patrick remained silent as he sluggishly fell to the ground, and Sal delivered a final kick to the man's jaw.

"Next time you wanna' go do whatever fucked-up shit you're into..." Sal whispered, crouching so that Patrick would -- hopefully -- hear. "You stay the fuck away from Johnny's club." Sal straightened out his jacket, and began shoving the cash into his pockets. Patrick stirred slightly -- rising, and Sal, again, furiously kicked the man's face -- now almost entirely painted an eerily-perfect red with his own blood, seamlessly gushing from a few facial wounds.

Sal wiped his knuckles off on Patrick's shirt, and walked back into the main room. He smiled sheepishly to the customers, wondering if they had heard the racket, and nodded to the cashier. He grabbed a six-pack of beer, and got in line to pay, in a vain attempt to play off the entire assault.

Mackenzie looked up as the man passed her - the first thought, strangely enough, was that she thought he was quite cute. She shook her head a little and sighed, moving back thoughout the store collecting the beer, the wine, the champange that her father had wanted. Mackenzie was too busy shuffling around the store to hear the commotion back there but the cashier could hear something and paled a little, but didn't do anything.

Mackenzie finally came back to the cashier and smiled, she knew him personally because of her father and how she was hear often collecting things for him.

"Hey Greg, how was your day? Been busy?" She asked.

"Urgh. Not really." He glanced nervously towards the back as the guy came back out, starting to scan things in.

Mackenzie watched him until he was practically behind her, blushing as she felt like such an idiot.

"You carrying all this home?" Greg asked, trying to calm down.

"Looks like it. Been at the library all day and then my dad called." She sighed. "I don't know how I'm getting it home. I mean, if he wanted all of this, I don't get why he couldn't just come down himself."

"That's your dad for you." He replied, scanning the last of everything in. "Thats $88 dollars then." He told her.

Mackenzie sighed, pulling out her card.

"Ouch. You're paying for it all to?" He questioned.

"Looks like it." She laughed.

Once the transaction had been carried out, Greg bagged everything up, carefully handing them over to Mackenzie.

"Thanks Greg. I'll see you later."

"Yea, you to. Say hi to your dad from me." He replied.

"Will do." She smiled, leaving the store and practically dragging the bags with her.

Sal grinned to himself as he waited in the line. He eavesdropped slightly on the conversation in front of him, though, his mind was busying itself with the task of mentally counting up the money he'd just scored. He used to be a petty criminal -- robberies, and the like. He didn't have as much time for that kind of crime, anymore, and he couldn't always afford the risk. But, as dangerous as robbing mobsters usually was, he imagined that he was walking away with a little over $3,000 in cash. His grin widened.

He rolled his shoulders back as the woman in front of him finished. He rubbed the back of his neck and took a few steps forward. She seemed rather attractive, if a bit young. He'd felt a few seconds' worth of chemistry between them, something intangible entirely -- though he was sure at this point that he was just gleeful with the success of Patrick's beating.

"Yeah, how's it goin', Greg?" Sal asked with a smug grin as he put the six-pack down, making it clear he'd heard some of the conversation from before. He slapped a few bills down, and shrugged before even looking at their denomination. "Keep the change," he said, knowing that whatever amount had been placed would more than cover the costs. He was rich, for the moment.

He noticed the girl from before seemingly struggling with her bags. He sighed, as his six-pack barely took up a single hand, and gestured vaguely towards her.

"You, uh, need any help with those?"

Greg jut paled as Sal spoke to him, looking as if he was about to faint. He quickly scanned the six pack in, took the money and completed the transaction. "Urgh thanks." He muttered.

Mackenzie looked up and saw the guy from before talking. She wasn't entirely sure that he was talking to her, and wanted to make completely sure that he was. Looking around quickly, she realised she was the only person around - as well as him of course, but she was the only person struggling with her stuff.

She didn't know the guy, yet he was offering to help her. He was cute, but a complete stranger. Her common sense was telling her to just struggle home, but the other part of her was telling her to accept the offer. She sighed, quickly giving into her worse side.

"Urgh, yea. A hand would be nice." She answered, trying to keep her composture as she picked up the bags to get closer to him so he could help her. At the same time, she remembered that she was wearing a skirt and just hope that she wasn't embarrassing herself as she picked up the bags.

Sal smirked as the girl reacted. He put up his free hand, dismissively. He was about to tell her to forget he'd offered -- she was obviously rather conflicted with accepting his help. She gave in at the end, regardless, and he raised an eyebrow curiously at her outfit as she picked the bags up.

He rolled his shoulders back, and moved over to grab two of the bags. He glanced down inside of it -- there was quite a bit of alcohol, here. She was buying more than he'd ever expect. He grinned wryly, to himself, as he wondered what it was for.

He thought he'd overheard something about her father, but, for all he knew, that was just some high-schooler's lie to the local cashier. He remained primarily silent, however, as he looked around the parking lot for a few seconds. His eyes fell back on her as he waited for some sort of instruction or direction as to where the bags would be going.

Mackenzie felt a little awkward as he took the bags and no further conversation was exchanged. Maybe it was a bad idea, accepting his help, but she couldn't go back now. She'd accepted it. She checked herself over before starting to walk down the street.

"My place is just a ten minute walk down this way." She told him.

She then went silent for a minute or so, debating whether to introduce herself of not. She was actually quite a shy person around people she didn't know too well and she found him a little intimidating, though she didn't know why. Plus, she was embarrassed that she found him cute.

"So," she finally started. "I'm Mackenzie. May I know who it is that's helping me carry all this back?" She asked.

Sal adjusted the bags slightly as he followed her, across the street. He glanced down either end of the road as they walked. He couldn't help but grin slightly as they walked. Helping the stranger out brought him back to nostalgic memories -- that perhaps only existed in his imaginations and dreams. Times when, long ago, the mafia was a respected part of the community. Dangerous, of course, but someone the local neighborhood people could turn to, to get things done. To help them out.

He shook his head, the bags ruffling slightly, as she said she lived a ten-minute walk away. He nodded a few times, twisting his fingers around the six-pack he held at the end of one arm, and walked in the silence.

She finally spoke, and he nodded again. "Name's Sal." He answered quickly. "Short for Salvatore." His eyes stayed locked ahead, and his voice in a low monotone. He glanced over at her for a second, then in the general direction he assumed her home was in -- the houses were getting nicer and nicer as they walked. "Nice to meet you."

"That's a different sort of name. I haven't heard it before, but then again, Mackenzie isn't the most common girls name either." She replied to keep up the conversation. She glanced at him a few times, noting again that he was good looking, and walking her home. Well, he was helping her carry her shopping back, but to her, it was as good as walking her home.

She smiled a little, trying to keep up the conversation as they got into the higher paid people's estates. It could be told where they were just from the types of houses they were passing, the size of them, and the gates that they were behind.

"So, what are you doing with your night tonight then Sal?" She asked curiously, again to keep up a conversation instead of a dead and awkward silence.

Salvatore did little more than shrug at Mackenzie's comment about his name, and nod to her few words about her own. "Yeah. Mackenzie's pretty rare," he mumbled, adjusting the bag in his hand, again, with a minor shake. His mind had drifted again to what he'd spend his new money on. Most likely some more expensive clothing and furniture. He grinned wryly to himself as he turned his gaze slightly towards some of the passing homes.

Some of the houses here had gates. He raised an eyebrow as he glanced over at Mackenzie, wondering how wealthy the girl's family was. He, again, shrugged the ideas away and listened to her final question.

It seemed like an odd thing for her to ask, so, he remained silent for a few seconds. "Uh. I'm not sure," he pointed out. It was true -- he didn't know what he would do that night specifically. "Maybe go to a club or something," he finished. It was possible, though, he tried not to spend too much time at the clubs. And he refused to say anything about the chance that he'd go shopping.

Mackenzie nodded slightly, listening to what he said. The expression told him that she actually was genuinely interested in what he was doing as well as trying to keep up the conversation with the guy walking home.

"Sounds like fun. My dad would never let me go clubbing. Not in a million years. He's so overprotective of me. Like yesterday I was studying, and left the library late. He went mental at me." She explained to him, rambling a little as she got nervous not sure what else to say.

She got to her house though and paused, one of the biggest in the estates. "Well this is my place. Thanks for walking me home." She smiled. "Thanks for helping me as well." She added as well.

She waited for the bags to be handed over as she pressed a button on the side of the gate.

Salvatore nodded in Mackenzie's direction, seeming to suddenly have lost a lot of interest in the conversation -- despite the expression she put on her face, that would hint at the fact that she was actually listening. He shrugged a few times, a grin quickly returning to his features as his arm brushed against the wad of cash in his pocket.

He looked around, again, at the homes. He was curious as to what Mackenzie was doing out at a liquor store at night, if her father was so over-protective, but he didn't question anything. He glanced over at her in an observing manner while she told him her story about the library.

"Yeah." He mumbled. "How 'bout that..." he shrugged again, and looked down the road. They seemed to have come to the right home, so, he held the bags out for her to take as she pushed a button.

"Here you go."

Mackenzie had noticed his lack of interest and cursed herself for been an idiot around a guy that she didn't know. She just sighed and put on a friendly smile. She took the bags as the gate started to open and the house and drive lit up for her.

"Thanks again for this. It was real nice." She told him.

She walked in a little with the bags before turning to press the buttons again, looking at Sal and still thinking about how cute he was and how much she had obviously messed up by just simply talking to him. She had no chance with the guy. She always messed up talking to guys.

"Have fun clubbing to." She told him as the gates closed.

She wished she could sneak out and go clubbing but there was two problems with it. One, she was only 18 and two, she didn't know where he was going and she didn't want to appear to be stalking him. She couldn't help but wish he'd shown some interest in her. Guys never seemed to like her like that and it annoyed her.

"Night."

She then bent down again to pick up the bags and take them to her father.

"Yeah. Sure thing." Sal nodded to her as she thanked him for helping with the bags. He shrugged his massive shoulders a single time as he turned to walk back towards the liquor store, and his car. He heard her final comment through the gate, and smirked to himself.

"Thanks." He kept the smirk on his face as he starting walking, and blinked a few times as he took a few seconds to think about her. He shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. Soon enough, he was back at the liquor store.

He wasn't sure if he should tell John about how he had handled the liquor store situation, or just let word spread to the boss. He decided heading back for the club would be an alright choice in either event, and slid back into the driver's seat of his car.

Mackenzie watched Sal disappear. There was no proper goodbye or anything. Just thanks. She managed to pick up the bags and carry them up the drive and into the house.

"Dad. I have you're stuff." She shouted.

"Great. Bring it in here, girl." He replied.

Mackenzie sighed and took it ot his office, noticing all his associates stare her way as her dad helped her carry the stuff in and to the fridge they had there so he could keep things cool while he celebrated.

She then headed up stairs, getting out of the way of the creeps in the office and headed to her bedroom. She was still thinking about Sal as she got in there. He definitely hadn't been interested in her. That was the most painful walk she'd had with someone. She sighed and started to sort out some night clothes. Better luck with the next guy. She thought before getting ready for bed.