The Alibi's air grew heavy, like someone had turned the jukebox down without touching it. Everyone's eyes locked on MJ, and the two suited men standing like shadows in the doorway. Kev wiped the same glass over and over, forgetting he'd been holding it. Veronica leaned forward at the bar, brows raised, already sensing drama.
Lip muttered, "Who the hell are these guys?"
MJ didn't answer. He slid out of the booth, hoodie draped loose around him, expression unreadable. The two men stepped aside, one tilting his head toward the door.
"Outside," the taller one said.
The South Side had rules. Cops walked in loud, muscle walked in quiet. These two weren't cops. And quiet meant dangerous.
MJ followed, not looking back, though he could feel Ian tense up behind him, ready to move if things got messy. Outside, the black SUV idled by the curb, exhaust curling into the night air.
The taller man lit a cigarette, the flame briefly carving sharp lines into his face. "Word is you've been making moves. Tito's boy. Boosting cars, running packages."
MJ shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, leaning against the brick wall like he wasn't fazed. "Word travels fast."
"Too fast." The shorter man finally spoke, voice low, dangerous. "You're stepping into lanes that aren't yours. And people are asking questions."
"People like you?" MJ asked, tone cool.
The tall one exhaled smoke, eyes narrow. "Consider this a warning. Stay in your lane, or you'll find out how quick Chicago eats its own."
MJ's smirk was faint, practiced. "I've been eaten before. Didn't taste too good."
The man flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under polished shoes. Without another word, both climbed back into the SUV. Doors shut. Engine rumbled. And then they were gone, disappearing down the street like a bad dream.
MJ stayed there for a long moment, jaw tight, before finally going back inside.
"Who were they?" Lip asked the second MJ sat down again.
"Friends of Tito's?" Ian guessed.
MJ shook his head. "Not friends. Not cops either. That's worse."
Lip leaned forward, voice low. "So what now?"
MJ sipped his beer, eyes on the table. "Now? We act like nothing happened. But things just got complicated."
The next morning at the Gallagher house, Fiona was already mid-argument with the gas company over the phone. Debbie tried to drown her out with cartoons, Carl was carving something into the kitchen table, and Liam toddled around like none of it mattered.
MJ stood at the sink, rinsing out a chipped mug, watching it all with a mix of amusement and tension.
"MJ!" Fiona snapped, slamming the phone onto the counter. "Whatever you're doing out there—cut it out."
He turned, brow raised. "What'd I do now?"
"You come home with cash, you disappear half the day, and now Lip's whispering about some suits showing up at the Alibi last night. You think I don't hear things?"
MJ stayed calm, drying the mug with a rag. "If there was danger, I wouldn't be sitting here eating your burnt eggs."
"Don't play smart with me," Fiona said, eyes flashing. "I can't handle another mess. We're already hanging by a thread."
For a second, MJ wanted to tell her the truth: about Tito, about the SUV, about the men who came looking for him. But then Carl yelled about needing duct tape, Debbie shouted back, and Fiona's phone started ringing again. The moment was gone.
"Relax," MJ said simply. "I've got it handled."
Later that day, Lip and Ian cornered MJ behind the school. The chain-link fence rattled as kids passed by, but Lip's voice was sharp, urgent.
"Handled? That's your answer?" Lip demanded. "Those guys last night weren't clowns. They were serious. If you keep running with Tito, they're not gonna just warn you. They'll bury you."
Ian stood quieter, but his eyes were steady. "Lip's right. You've been out what—weeks? You don't even have your footing yet, and you're stepping into something bigger than you think."
MJ looked between them, lips pressing into a thin line. He respected these two, more than he let on. But he also knew survival meant moving fast, not standing still.
"Thing is," MJ said slowly, "the money I pull? It's not just for me. Fiona's paying bills with it. Liam's diapers? Groceries? That's me. So unless you've got another plan, this is the lane I'm in."
Lip cursed under his breath, slamming a hand against the fence. "You're gonna drag all of us down with you."
MJ's jaw tightened. "Or I'm keeping the lights on."
The words hung heavy until Ian finally stepped in, pulling Lip back. "We'll figure it out. Just… don't shut us out, MJ. We've seen what happens when people think they can handle everything alone."
MJ didn't answer. He just walked off, the weight of their words sitting heavy on his shoulders.
By evening, he was back at Tito's garage. Tito grinned big, clapping MJ on the back like nothing was wrong.
"You did good, brother," Tito said. "Client was happy. And happy clients mean repeat business."
MJ kept his expression neutral. "And enemies."
Tito waved a dismissive hand. "Don't sweat it. Those clowns last night? They bark more than they bite. You roll with me, you're covered."
But MJ knew better. On the South Side, coverage lasted only as long as loyalty did. And Tito's loyalty was to money, not to him.
Still, Tito shoved another envelope of cash into his hoodie pocket. And MJ, despite the storm building, didn't hand it back.
That night, MJ walked Fiona home from the Alibi after she'd pulled a late shift. The streets were quiet, streetlights buzzing faintly, the kind of silence that carried danger in it.
"You ever think about leaving?" MJ asked suddenly.
"Leaving what?" Fiona asked, hugging her coat tighter.
"Chicago. The South Side. All of it."
She laughed, bitter and short. "With what money? With who watching Liam? You think it's that easy?"
MJ glanced at her, the faint neon glow painting sharp lines across her face. "Not easy. But possible."
Fiona shook her head, steps quickening. "I can barely keep us above water here. Dreaming about anywhere else is just a waste of time."
MJ wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her he could make it possible. But then headlights flared from a block away. A black SUV turned the corner slow, rolling toward them.
Fiona didn't notice. But MJ did. Every muscle in his body tensed.
The SUV didn't stop. Didn't even slow down. It just rolled past, windows dark, engine low.
MJ's eyes tracked it until it vanished into the distance.
Fiona glanced at him. "You okay?"
"Yeah," MJ lied, forcing a grin. "Just thinking."
But his mind was already racing.
The warning was over.
Next time, they wouldn't just drive by.