by Sam Mariano
Chapter Fifteen
After I drop Elise off at the mansion, I head to the bakery to see Mia.
Well, not really to see Mia, but since she’s there, that’s what ends up happening.
“Did you come to check up on me?” she asks as she refills the chocolate cannoli tray.
“Nope, I’m a customer,” I tell her.
“You want a cannolo? Did you know that’s the singular form of cannoli? I didn’t, and this old Italian lady yelled at me. A lot. It wasn’t pretty.”
I smirk. “I did know that.”
“Well… you could’ve told me,” she states. “She invited me over for spaghetti sometime when she realized she overreacted, but it was a pretty uncomfortable few minutes.”
The shaggy haired baker heads up front, a dopey smile on his face until he sees me. His smile droops, then falls off completely, and he sets another tray down for Mia with less enthusiasm.
Then before she can even thank him, he disappears to the back.
Mia glances after him, then shrugs to herself. “How about an apple turnover?”
“Actually I need a strawberry cassata cake,” I tell her.
She lights up, all pleased with herself. “I hooked you with the piece I made you take home, huh?”
I nod, even though the cake isn’t for me. “It’s weird seeing you here,” I remark.
She finishes the cannoli tray and places it on an empty counter behind her, then she grabs a cake box for me. “Yeah, I know. I’m so used to Francesca here. You guys still haven’t heard anything about her?”
I shake my head, glancing through the doorway to the back. “He ever say anything about it?”
“Mark?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “No.”
“He’s been an awful good sport about coming back both times the place closed without warning. Does he make enough money to have a nest egg when he goes a couple weeks without a paycheck?”
Mia shrugs, like she’s never thought of it and can’t imagine why I would.
I’m gonna have to look into him. Just to be safe.
“How’s Elise like the new place?” she asks me.
“We’re actually going to be staying back at the mansion for a little while,” I tell her.
“Oh, cool,” she says, smiling. “Then I’m sure I’ll see you around a bit more.”
“Are you at the mansion more than Sundays now?”
“I like to pop over and check on Meg. She’s bored and all cooped up in the house. Plus she likes when I bring her treats.”
“And Mateo?”
Levelly, almost like she was expecting it, she says, “Doesn’t like treats.”
I wonder if he talked to her about my suspicions. I realize that’s an incredibly suspicious thought to have, but I don’t put it past him at this point. “In Francesca’s stead, I’d usually expect Mateo’s woman to run the bakery.”
She smiles thinly, dropping my cake in the box and closing the lid. “Yeah, well, I’m filling in until she can.”
“Right, right. Took a bullet for him and all.”
Her eyes narrow and she slides the cake box across the counter, leaning in. “Something you wanna say, Adrian?”
“Nope,” I say, grabbing the box. “What do I owe you?”
“On the house,” she states, straightening.
I give her a mock salute, putting the cake under my arm, and head out the door.
---
A cute redhead is sitting on the couch, watching television when I come through the door. She appears startled, which I guess makes sense, seeing as no one ever comes to visit.
I try to remember her name. I wanna say it was something Ukrainian? Damned if I can recall, it’s been years since I’ve actually looked at this person.
“You can take the rest of the day off,” I tell her, as she pushes off the couch and warily approaches me.
“He needs more medication with his dinner,” she explains, casting a glance at the old man on the daybed, his wily brown eyes dim with age. He watches me, a vague smirk on his face.
“I’ll give it to him,” I tell her.
Nodding uncertainly, she approaches the counter of the little kitchenette in his suite to grab a bottle of pills. “I’m not really sure what I should do,” she tells me.
I look her over once more. She flushes, thinking I’m being an asshole, but I’m just trying to determine whether or not I should send her to Mateo. He’s never gone for a redhead before, but I don’t want to invite more trouble into my life. That said, he does need a maid, and we probably can’t release this girl back into the wild right now.
“Go downstairs. I’ll be down in a little bit.”
She looks decidedly uncomfortable with these instructions, but she’s trained well enough to listen anyway.
Once she’s gone, I put the cake box down on the counter.
Matt Morelli glances at the cake, then meets my gaze. “Here to celebrate my birthday?”
“I think I missed it by a couple months,” I tell him. “Better late than never.”
The old man sighs, maneuvering himself into a sitting position. “Should’ve called first. Ilya and I had shows to watch for a couple more hours.”
Ilya, that’s her name.
“I’m sure she’ll be heartbroken in the absence of your company,” I state, turning to open the cake box.
“They always are,” he agrees.
I roll my eyes at that one. There’s never existed a woman whose heart was broken by losing this man, only by the heinous shit he did to them.
“You got any knives?” I ask, opening and closing drawers in search of one.
“No. Strangely enough, Mateo won’t let me have any,” he says, as if amused.
“Well, he knows you.” I grab a spatula instead. It won’t be as neat, but hell, who do I need to impress?
“I can’t believe it’s taken this long for you to walk through my door, Adrian. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I think you know,” I tell him, grabbing a plate and plopping an enormous slice of cake down on it.
“Why don’t you humor an old man,” he says, playing at docility.
I shake my head, grabbing a fork and walking over to him. I hold out the plate and he just stares at it. His eyes move over the huge slice of cake, but then they wander to the hand holding it. My left hand. The scars end before they reach my fingers, but the marbled skin nearly reaches my knuckles.
“Your favorite,” he remarks.
It takes me a second to realize he means the cake. I put a mocking hand to my heart. “You remembered.”
His lips curve up again, another little smirk. I don’t think he remembers how to smile. There’s too much evil in him for such a harmless expression.
“Cake, huh? That’s how you’re gonna do it?”
“Do you still possess the strength to feed yourself, old man, or should I do it for you?”
His feigned amusement fades at that, his dark eyes flashing at the insult. Matt’s never been able to handle a real insult. He snaps the plate up and settles it on his lap, but doesn’t move to take a bite.
“I’m disappointed,” he says, looking up at me. “I expected more from you.”
“You thrive on violence. You don’t deserve anything you’d enjoy. I know how much you hate sweets,” I tell him. Then, because it brings me joy, I tell him, “It came special from Belle’s bakery. I know how many good memories you have there. Why, it was probably prepared on the same counter where she let another man fuck her.”
Even after all these years, the bitter old man snarls at me for the visual.
Maybe he’s why Mateo doesn’t hold a grudge. He’s seen what holding grudges does to a man, how it breaks you down, controls you.
I nod at the plate. “Get going on that. I don’t have all day.” I go back to the dining area, opening the fridge and drawing out two beers. I pop the caps off on the countertop and head back to the living room, holding one out to Matt. “Something to wash it down w
ith.”
I drop onto the couch where Ilya had been seated, reclining and propping my feet up on the coffee table. Matt looks at the plate again, but still doesn’t touch it. I’m probably gonna have to feed the old bastard. I thought maybe he’d accept his end with some kind of dignity, understanding it’s been a long time coming, but I guess I shouldn’t have expected so much.
“Your son’s dead,” I tell him. I take no joy in Joey’s death, but I figure he should probably know.
“Which one?” He doesn’t sound like he cares. He doesn’t even seem excessively curious; he just knows he’s expected to ask.
“Joey. Suppose he can thank you for that.”
Matt shakes his head, taking a sip of the beer. “Joey was always weak. Like his mother.”
Joey’s mother had been the youngest of Matt’s toys—to my knowledge, anyway. Only 17 when he locked her up in the basement, torturing and impregnating the poor girl. Most women lasted a few years with him, but Stacie barely made it through her pregnancy. She wanted nothing to do with Joey at birth, and she was dead before he turned four months old.
“Does Mateo know?” Matt asks.
“Nope,” I say, before taking a swig of my beer. “Mateo doesn’t know shit, and he’s never going to. I don’t think he’d give a damn at this point—he certainly doesn’t give a damn about you—but just on the off chance, I wouldn’t let you hurt him one more time.”
Matt shakes his head, his lips curving up again. He always has this one smile, the kind that’s meant to fuck with you, to make you think he knows more than you do. “Your mother ruined you,” he states.
I chuckle, shaking my head. Of course now he wants to talk about my mom.
“She was so kind. Too kind. Protective. Such a good friend. Just like you.”
“We must have different definitions of ruination,” I state. “Most people aspire to teach their kids qualities like kindness and loyalty. I wouldn’t expect you to know that.”
“Kindness and loyalty are for followers, not leaders. You could’ve been a leader. Feared. Respected.”
I don’t bother telling him I’m already both of those things. I have nothing to prove to this man.
“You have the look of a man who’s walked through hell, thrown off every demon that dared come at him, and emerged stronger for it. People revere that.”
“Okay,” I say, already growing tired of whatever little game he’s playing. “We both know you don’t like me, so whatever you’re up to, you can stop.”
“I don’t dislike you, Adrian. I’m just disappointed you never met your full potential.”
“I’m sure you can imagine how deeply that wounds me,” I tell him flatly.
“You should have embraced your darkness,” he tells me, the excitement brewing in his eyes telling me we’re approaching his point. His grand finale. I’ll let him get it out, then I’m shoving that cake down his throat. “You’ve worked so hard over the years for Mateo, haven’t you? Cleaning up his messes. Building his empire. Ensuring that he keeps everything I left him. Giving him more power, more wealth—building him up and up and up, and what’s he done for you?”
Turning me on Mateo? Really? That’s his play?
I have to smile. “You’ve lost your touch, old man.”
“Do you remember what your father did for a living, Adrian? Before I killed him?”
I don’t feel pain, but I still feel anger. My smile melts right off, twisting into something less pleasant. Something more like his.
“He was a banker,” he tells me, nodding. “A banker.”
“I’ll make a note in my scrapbook,” I reply.
“Do you feel like a banker’s son, Adrian?”
Suddenly uncomfortable, I take another sip of my beer.
“Your mother and Belle, they became good friends, you remember? And your mother, your protective, sweet mother… sometimes she’d try to intervene when my temper got the best of me. To protect Belle. To… divert my attention.”
My heart beats a little faster, but I keep my face expressionless. He’s not going where I think he’s going with this. I’ll jam that fork down his fucking throat.
“You’re not a banker’s son, Adrian.” The words slide off his tongue, sick pleasure dancing in his eyes. “You’re mine.”
He’s lying. I know he’s lying. He has to be lying, because there isn’t a lot that bothers me, but that? That would gut me.
There’s nothing in the whole world I want less than to be a Morelli.
But he knows that, I remind myself. He knows that. I’m not his secret son. Matt’s just a liar, and maybe he’s trying one last ditch effort to save his own skin, or maybe he just wants to make one last splash before he dies. His motive doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I don’t let him get to me—because he’s just a rotten liar. That’s all.
His brown eyes practically glow as he awaits my response. So I grin, cocking my head at him. “That’s the best you got, huh? You think we’re in Star Wars now?” I snort, shaking my head and doing my best Darth Vader impression, “’Luke, I am your father.’”
He hates being made fun of. The excitement in his eyes only moments ago has turned to pure loathing, and at least that I can deal with.
I smile, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, Matt. I’m sorry. I should’ve just let you have that one. Let’s have a do-over.” I wipe my face clear, launching forward, dramatically ducking my head and staring at the coffee table like my whole life’s just been undone. “You’re… you’re my real father? Everything I’ve known is a lie? I… I’m two months older than Mateo—everything that’s his should be mine? I’m the eldest son of Matt Morelli?” I clasp my heart, falling back against the couch.
Matt’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head in disgust.
“Is that better?” I ask him, regular now, kicking my feet back up and tipping back my beer.
“You didn’t get your brother’s gift for showmanship,” he says silkily.
That’s like a knife to the gut, hearing him refer to Mateo as my brother.
“Eat your goddamn cake,” I snap.
“Believe me or don’t,” he says, finally using his fork to chop off a little piece of cake. “Makes no difference to me.”
“If it made no difference, there was no reason to say it,” I point out.
He raises the cake to his mouth, but speaks before taking a bite. “Sure there was. This is the last time we’ll see each other. My last chance to tell the truth. Don’t say you’ve never wondered.”
“Of course I haven’t,” I say, watching him finally take the first bite.
It won’t be long now. Matt’s deathly allergic to strawberries. At Mateo’s 10th birthday party, he picked a strawberry cassata cake. Matt couldn’t eat it, but when someone got him a slice of cheesecake (the only cake he does like), they used the same knife.
Before he finished half of it, his throat closed up and he had to be rushed to the hospital.
That’s when strawberry cassata cake became my favorite. When it nearly killed this evil bastard.
Now here it is, 23 years later, to finish the job.
“Few more bites, and I’ll get out of your hair,” I tell him.
“You’re not staying?” he asks, looking unimpressed. “Never took you for a coward.”
“Nah, it’s just… if there’s anyone in the world who deserves to die alone, it’s you.”
“A man who kills for a living shouldn’t be so judgmental,” he informs me, taking a sip of the beer. When he swallows, it looks like he struggles a bit.
I push off the couch, walking over to him. I grab his fork, getting a big bite full of strawberry. As I shove the bite into his mouth, I tell him mockingly, “Now I can add patricide to the list of my sins, huh?”
He chokes it down, and I grab his beer, taking it over to the sink to dump it out. I’m done here.
“What do you think he’ll do?” Matt asks. “What do you think he’ll do when he finds out, Adrian? Mateo has no
loyalty, no sense of family. Mateo is out for himself, and no one else.”
I shake my head. It shouldn’t even surprise me that this old bastard is using his last remaining moments on Earth to try to get to me to kill his son, but somehow it does.
“Go to hell, old man.”
He gives me that conniving smirk again. “I’ll be running the place by the time you get there.”
Chapter Sixteen
It’s a little harder to sit at the dinner table, opposite Mateo at the head of the table, and not think about Matt’s words.
He’s full of shit, and there’s no way he could be telling the truth… But what if he is?
Not that it would matter, in the great scheme of things. It wouldn’t change anything. That’s what I tell myself. But my mind keeps circling back to it. It sure would be a hell of a thing, wouldn’t it? It would also go a long way in explaining the one thing I never could figure out.
Why did Matt take me in after he killed my parents? I knew Mateo had begged him to, in the way that kids do, but why say yes? It had always plagued me, if I really gave it enough thought.
Not like I’d even want what Mateo has. That’s not the part that bothers me.
It’s more the prospect of what would change if Mateo knew. Depending on how long Matt’s had this up his sleeve, it’s possible Mateo will find out. It’d be just like Matt to leave behind a bombshell like that, a final farewell, one last ‘fuck you’ to all of us.
Should I tell him and get ahead of it? There aren’t usually secrets between us, on account of my position in his life, but if Matt does leave something for Mateo with this information, will he tell me? I don’t like to think Mateo would turn on me, but… well, I’m a realist.
Not like he has a reason to. I couldn’t care less about their bloodline bullshit. I don’t want anything to change.
It’s mulling that over that I make a decision: I’m going to give Mateo the commitment he wants. I’m going to work for him. If I start to notice him behaving strangely toward me, then maybe we can talk about Matt’s last words, but until or unless that happens, I have to shrug this off as his last attempt at a mind game. He’s pissed off at Mateo for rejecting him, for locking him up, taking away his freedom, and taking his place at the head of the family. He absolutely deserved it, but now he’s had years to nurse that grudge, to turn on his own son.