Last Words

by Sam Mariano

  He smiles, holding me close and lengthening the kiss by a few seconds before murmuring against my lips, “You can thank me later.”

  I beam up at him. “With pleasure.”

  I leave the men in the dining room so I can head in the kitchen to grab bread for the table. Elise is already heading out to pour the wine while Colette and Francesca line up salads. Meg must have just come in because she’s washing her hands at the sink. I’m relieved to see she looks okay, but I feel a little awkward about approaching her for the first time, too. I don’t know if anyone has told her I’m not allowed to visit her or if she just thinks I’ve abandoned her.

  Since Mateo isn’t here to police me, I wander over to her, offering up a weak smile.

  “Hey.”

  “Long time no see,” she shoots back, her gaze moving over me as she takes stock. “Cute dress, but I can’t even tell you’re pregnant. God, that’s annoying. I look like the side of a house and you look like this.”

  “Well, I’m not that far along yet; you’re ready to pop,” I point out.

  “I am. And your husband won’t even give me a baby monitor or anything to call for help in case I go into labor, so—”

  Before Meg can finish, Francesca sails up beside me and says, “You know what, since we’re being forced to have you at this dinner, maybe instead of pestering Mia about things she can’t control, you should make yourself useful and take out the bread.”

  “Oh, I’ll take out the bread,” I offer quickly, as Meg’s unfriendly gaze drifts to Francesca’s. “I was just about to; I just wanted to say hi to Meg real fast.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been locked away in a literal dungeon with almost no human contact for two weeks, so pardon me for trying to catch up with my friend.”

  Francesca’s dark eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Friend? Bitch, please. You’re not Mia’s friend. You’ve also done far more to earn your spot in that dungeon than any other woman who’s ever been thrown in it, so forgive me for not feeling sorry for you. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”

  Meg laughs shortly. “Seriously? Your husband runs the literal mafia and you want to lecture me about my crimes?”

  “Okay, ladies.” Colette comes over, eyebrows rising, her blue eyes moving from me, to Francesca, to Meg. Pointing at Meg, she says, “You go over to the salad station, Mia and I will take out the bread.” Glancing at Francesca, she adds, “Try not to stab her, okay? She’s heavily pregnant.”

  Brown eyes narrowed at Meg, Francesca says, “I guess I can wait a couple weeks.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna stab me now, huh?”

  “Actually, you’re not worth getting my hands dirty; I’ll just have my husband kill you,” Francesca shoots back. “He’ll happily do the job; we don’t hesitate to kill rats.”

  “I am not a rat.” Meg pauses, her hands clenching into fists, then she says, “You know what? I don’t have to defend myself to you.”

  I interrupt. “Can we please all be civil? I don’t like to play this card, but I’m the one she betrayed. If I can be nice, can’t we all?”

  “You have a soft spot for psychos who hurt you,” Francesca informs me.

  “And it’s worked out really well for me so far,” I state.

  Francesca shakes her head, but she seems to be giving in. “It won’t this time. She didn’t just fuck you over, she crossed Mateo. You don’t cross my brother.”

  Meg frowns. “Refresh my memory. Didn’t you cross your brother?”

  Francesca smiles, but there’s nothing nice about it. “Yes. But unlike you, I’m not a useless little bitch.” Raking her gaze up and down Meg’s body, she lingers on her abdomen. “As soon as that baby’s out of you, you are. Mateo won’t forgive your betrayal—it doesn’t benefit him, and he doesn’t fucking like you. You went too far this time, you cocky bitch. I can’t wait until that baby is born so we never have to see you again.”

  Francesca’s aggravated voice fades as she approaches the salads and Colette goes to retrieve a basket of bread for the dining room. I linger by Meg, torn on what to do. Meg stands tall, but the lightness is absent from her face. Normally she can make light of anything, but Francesca’s last line was a little too close to what she probably legitimately fears for even Meg to make a joke of it. Her fate rests in Mateo’s hands now. He’s not merciful in the best of circumstances—and these are not that.

  “You need to show him he can trust you,” I tell her, since I can’t even lie and tell her I’m sure she’ll be okay. I’m not sure at all. The only thing I don’t understand is why he let her come to family dinner tonight. Everything else he’s doing, especially not allowing me to be her friend and cutting her mom time down to an hour a week, seems to indicate he’s phasing her out so he can kill her. I’m trying really hard not to believe that, but it’s difficult.

  “How?” she asks, shaking her head. “I’ve already shown him he can’t.”

  “I don’t know. Surprise him. That’s always worked for me. Mateo always expects the worst of people, so it’s not that hard to surprise him, you just have to…” I don’t finish, because I don’t know how. What you have to do to surprise Mateo is behave in a way he can’t see coming—but he and Meg are too much alike for that. I don’t know how Meg can surprise him, especially since he’s never around her anymore. “Prove him wrong,” I finally say.

  “I don’t see myself getting a chance to prove him wrong, Mia,” she states. “I’ve seen him exactly once since he threw me in the dungeon, and only for about a minute.”

  “I’m doing what I can,” I offer, somewhat apologetically.

  Smiling without humor, Meg says, “I’m not sure even you can help me this time.”

  I already hate this dinner and it hasn’t even begun yet. Weighed down with Meg’s problems, I grab two more bread baskets and head out to the dining room, placing them at Mateo’s end of the table and the middle. When I go back in to get Mateo’s salad, Colette comes up beside me. We don’t socialize much, so it’s unexpected.

  “He doesn’t have security on the dungeon, does he?”

  I frown faintly. “I don’t think so. I’m not really sure.”

  Colette seems concerned. “So, what if she does go into labor? Even if he doesn’t care if she dies, what about the baby? When is she due?”

  “Two weeks.” I roll my shoulders, growing tense. I’ve already asked Mateo all of this, but he’s good at stonewalling. If he doesn’t want to answer a question, he just doesn’t. I don’t support any of this myself, but as his wife, I share the weight of these sins. What he does outside of this house I can’t help, but inside, I feel partially responsible for not being able to stop him.

  I can’t stop him though. I’ve never actually been able to stop him. Francesca told me years ago she never expected that of me, and I think I’ve managed to temper him more than even she thought I could. Vince is alive, after all. Meg is more complicated. Since she has kids (that she knows about), she’s not so easy to banish.

  Colette doesn’t appear to be impressed, but if I can’t control what Mateo does, she damn sure can’t. Francesca, Elise, Colette and I grab salads for our men, so Meg grabs the remaining two in the men’s line. I completely forgot to tell her Rafe was here what with the dust-up in the kitchen, but I don’t have to because she follows us and sees for herself. She pauses just inside the dining room, doing a double take, then her gaze jumps straight to me.

  I want to drift close and respond, but Mateo is watching me, so I can’t.

  I’m a little dismayed to see Rafe is not sitting by Meg, he is sitting in Vince’s old seat—right by me. Meg is still across from me, though, so at least he’s close enough that they’ll be able to talk over dinner. I really hope Mateo didn’t tell him what Meg did to get herself tossed in the dungeon.

  As we head back into the kitchen, Meg crowds close to my side. “Way to give a girl a heads-up.”

  “I meant to! I got distracted with you and Francesca reprising your one-woman roles of
the Jets and the Sharks.”

  “What is he doing here?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Business, I think. I didn’t know he was here until five minutes ago. Mateo didn’t tell me.”

  “What good are you?” Meg mutters. “You’re supposed to know this stuff. You’re his wife, for Christ’s sake. You live in this house. This is your house. Why don’t you know when Vegas cousins come to visit?”

  “I’ve been busy campaigning to keep your ass alive; I didn’t have time to read the newsletter.”

  Nodding once in begrudging acknowledgement, she says, “I guess I can’t complain about that.”

  “Ingrate,” I mutter, grabbing my own salad and heading back to the dining room. “This is why Mateo calls you my frenemy.”

  Meg snorts. “He used the word frenemy? I can’t believe I missed that. Please tell me you can get footage off one of the cameras.”

  “I have much bigger problems right now,” I inform her.

  We’re back through the kitchen doors so I stop talking to Meg and approach my spot at the table. Since Vince is long gone and we don’t usually have as many people as we have tonight, normally no one sits beside me.

  It’s incredibly odd to be seated next to Mateo’s Vegas cousin at the dinner table. Rafe Morelli somehow takes up too much space. I feel crowded. That’s absurd because Vince sat in this same space for nearly a year and I never felt too crowded, but tonight I do. Tonight I’m a ball of tension, Rafe taking up far too much room on my left. His elbow bumps mine several times. Meg sits across from me, but Mateo doesn’t want me to be her friend and I don’t want to bring up her imprisonment in case Rafe doesn’t know. Then my beloved husband presides over all of us, tonight’s resident wild card.

  Luckily Alec is seated next to Meg tonight. Ordinarily he sits down by Adrian, but tonight he’s the buffer. Alec is the only one in the house who takes no sides in anything. We are all on our own teams, and Alec is chilling on the bleachers, only here because he has to be.

  Sal and Francesca are beside Alec, then Elise is seated at the end with Adrian at the foot of the table. Rafe gets the rare honor of sitting next to Colette and Dante.

  As much space as Rafe sucks up, at least I don’t have to sit by Dante. I bet he would take up just as much space, but instead of Rafe’s calm presence, he would exude malice.

  “Didn’t expect you to be back so soon,” Dante says casually, cutting into his salad. “Did you fall in love with Mia, too?”

  Rafe looks his way and nods casually. “I did. My master plan is to woo her right in front of her husband, after advertising it to the whole family at the dinner table.”

  I roll my eyes and look at Mateo to make sure he’s on board with all this nonsense. He winks at me reassuringly and I fill up with affection.

  “I like it,” Dante states. “Bold. Let me know if I can be of any assistance.”

  “If I need a chloroform rag, you’ll be my first call,” Rafe assures him.

  “I like this plan, too,” Adrian says agreeably, spearing a big bite of salad and nodding. “Makes it so much easier to figure out who I’m supposed to kill to keep the peace. I wish everyone would be so transparent.”

  “Speaking of people who need killing,” Francesca says, cocking her head to the side as she addresses Rafe. “You’ve met Meg, right?”

  Sal shakes his head, glancing at Mateo. “Still no popcorn course, huh? I gotta say, as legendary as your hospitality is, I’m disappointed.”

  Rafe glances from person to person, but takes it all pretty much in stride. If he’s surprised anyone would say Meg needs to die, he doesn’t show it. “We met on a couple of occasions.”

  “Well, if you wanna take a chloroform rag to anyone, make sure it’s her. Stuff her in the trunk and don’t stop until you’re back in Nevada,” Francesca advises him.

  Amused as hell, Rafe cocks an eyebrow at Meg. “I see you have a lot of friends.”

  “Almost too many,” Meg agrees, taking a drink of her water. “I don’t have time to hang out with them all so I’ve taken to the dungeon for some me-time. Totally my choice. If anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying.”

  “Dungeons can be fun,” Rafe states, like that’s pretty reasonable.

  I can’t resist piping in here. “This one really isn’t.”

  Now Rafe grimaces at Mateo. “You need to improve your dungeon, man. Your wife’s not impressed.”

  Lips curving up faintly, Mateo assures him, “My wife has never spent time there. It’s not meant for the fun kind of punishment.”

  I steal a glance at Meg across the table, but she’s tossing her salad as if not even interested in our conversation.

  Rafe’s attention is back on me, eyes sparkling with borderline flirtatious amusement. “Yeah, I bet you’re a real good girl, aren’t you?”

  I’m not sure I like his tone, even if I know he’s not serious, so I offer back, “Mateo Morelli is the man of my dreams; draw your own conclusions about what kind of girl that makes me.”

  “The crazy kind?” Sal offers congenially.

  Francesca swats him in the arm. “They’re perfect together and you love them.”

  Sal cocks a dark eyebrow. “But I like the crazy ones myself, obviously, so I can’t say much about that.”

  “You all like the crazy ones,” Alec states. “If they were sane, they wouldn’t be sitting here with smiles on their faces.”

  “I would,” Elise volunteers. “I have a wonderful husband who would never emotionally terrorize me or put me in the dungeon.”

  “Who has already threatened murder once at the dinner table—and we’ve barely started the salad course,” Alec points out.

  Elise looks at him and blinks. “So?”

  Alec shakes his head, giving up on conversing with the lot of us. “Batshit crazy.”

  Adrian merely smirks.

  Chapter Four

  Meg

  Dinner is a blast.

  I’ve actually been looking forward to it all day, but I didn’t know the guest list was so long tonight. Sal and Francesca generally don’t come. Mateo’s sister and I had pretty much made our peace, but apparently she’s back to hardcore hating me now. Sal never hated me before, but he definitely prefers Mia so I’m sure he doesn’t like me now. Francesca did mention he would happily kill me. Granted, Sal being willing to kill someone isn’t necessarily personal, but it’s nice to imagine he would at least hesitate before ordering my hit.

  Even imagining hesitation is a fantasy, though.

  No one at this table cares if I live or die. Well, no one but Mia—ironically the only person I expect to hate me for what I did.

  I don’t know how she stays that way. I’m a million times stronger than her and Mateo wore me down over the years. How does she accept the mental blows he deals her—when he has always dealt her so many—and not only keep her sanity, but remain soft and cheerful? It boggles the mind. She should have more guards up than I have at this point.

  The first couple of times Rafe openly flirts with Mia at dinner, I tell myself I’m reading too far into things. For one thing, Mateo is right here. He does like to watch his girls flirt from time to time, but my assumption was that wouldn’t apply to someone who has been physically intimate with his wife. Especially a sexy someone who oozes dominance without all the mental torment that comes along with Mateo. Maybe it’s the fact that the only human I’ve seen for more than two collective minutes this week is Maria, but Rafe is looking even hotter than usual tonight in his crisp gray suit with his easygoing smile.

  When he’s still lightly flirting with her at dessert, I give up. The funny thing is, Mia is so not into it. Normally Mia loves to flirt, so you’d think she’d enjoy having a playmate, but she’s resisting the hell out of this one. Despite his preferences, somehow her resistance only seems to feed his interest.

  Mateo seems less concerned that Rafe is flirting with her and more intent on Mia’s lack of response. I’m so desperate for human contact after two weeks in
the dungeon, I sort of wish we were still friends so I could talk to him about it. Or about the linens—I’ll talk to anyone about anything. I’m starved for interaction at this point.

  I don’t get much of that. No one at the table likes me. It seems like the only reason Mateo invited me was to rub my nose in the fact. Maybe to show me Rafe is here and I’m not allowed to visit. Maybe he bought Mia’s insistence that I like Rafe. I totally don’t. Especially by the time Maria clears our dessert plates and I’ve run out of fingers to keep count of his stupid flirty interactions with Mia.

  Asshole. They’re all assholes. I’m almost sad my baby is a boy; he is doubtless going to grow up to be an asshole.

  And I won’t even get to see it because Mateo is going to kill me.

  God, this is the worst dinner of all time. Yet I feel a suffocating sense of dread that it’s over, because now I have to go back to the basement for another week of isolation.

  I take the cloth napkin off my lap—well, my belly. I don’t have much of a lap left at this point, it’s all belly. As if to remind me of his presence, baby Roman—if they let him have the name I picked out for him—jams a foot in my lung. I grimace, rubbing the heel of my hand into my belly to try to get him to move.

  “Are you okay?” Mia asks, her big blue eyes swimming with concern.

  All eyes shift to me and I wince. Roman moves his foot, but now he kicks me to let me know he doesn’t like being told what to do. I’m reluctant and I despise the nerves fluttering around in my gut, but given I’ve been in the dungeon, it’s been a long time since Mateo has interacted with the baby. I know he’s in my stomach, so it isn’t really interacting, but the last time his hand rested upon my belly to feel Roman moving was the night I tried to feed him ice cream and convince him not to make Mia get an abortion she didn’t want.

  He’s already looking at me so when my gaze shifts his way, I meet his eyes. A thin layer of ice barely covers the hatred he feels for me. It’s almost enough to knock the wind out of me. It should definitely be enough to stop the words from spilling out of my mouth, but somehow it doesn’t.