Coming Home (Morelli Family, #6)

by Sam Mariano

  My stomach drops like a rock and I glare at him. I despise when he uses that against me. It’s so unfair.

  As soon as he gets the large double door unlocked, he slips inside and pushes in an alarm code. It’s weird that I can still be blown away by big fancy houses after living in Mateo’s for four years, but this one is so much different. I don’t like it. It feels like the house is trying too hard, like it thinks an awful lot of itself. It expects me to be impressed, so I’m not.

  Mostly because most houses don’t have front doors that lead to pools. This one does. Instead of a traditional enclosed foyer, there’s a stretch of marble floor that leads to a completely open arch instead of a wall. There’s a long rectangular pool with three raised fire pits on either side, fountain sprays criss-crossing as they spray into the gleaming turquoise water. There’s house on each side, a U shape built around this impractical pool. At the top of the U, where the house stops pretending to be a home, it opens up into a big pool that curves around the right side. There are more palm trees and the pool is lit on that side. There are lounge chairs and tables, an open sitting area with furniture and an actual television under cover of a roof, but open, with huge, thick columns. There’s a bar and an outdoor workout area.

  This isn’t a home; it’s a bachelor pad on steroids.

  “Pool’s heated,” Vince tells me, like that might be a primary concern. “Even when it’s windy you can swim, ‘cause there’s a grotto over here.” He walks my around to the right side, indicating a lit cave with a waterfall tumbling down the center of the entrance.

  “This is obscene,” I inform him.

  He rolls his eyes. “Please. I know where you live.”

  I turn back around, my eyes drifting across the literally thousands of square footage that serves no real purpose—it’s just for show. “Everything is open. Is there no air? I’m going to melt.”

  Vince snorts. “Don’t worry, princess; there’s air. It’s not all open. The upstairs is enclosed living space—downstairs is just fun.”

  I hate this house. It’s big and beautiful, but it’s arrogant and impractical and I hate it. Mateo’s house is so much smarter than this stupid, classless house.

  I point to a room on the right. “That is an outdoor living room. There’s furniture. There’s a television. What happens if it rains?”

  He rolls his eyes at me again before he starts walking back toward the house. “You’re not in Chicago anymore.”

  That is glaringly apparent.

  I follow him inside and up the white marble staircase. I’m relieved to see that upstairs it’s more of a house. Downstairs is a mega bachelor pad—seriously, there’s a motorcycle inside the house downstairs, on an altar with a blue lit wall behind it. The upstairs has indoor living rooms and bedrooms and presumably a kitchen. We haven’t made it there yet.

  “This is our bedroom,” he tells me, opening a heavy, gleaming cherry wood door and gesturing for me to go in and have a look.

  More white marble floors and ostentatiously boxy ceilings, but it’s more inviting than the play area downstairs. A huge bed is neatly made up with a pillow for each of us and a long decorative pillow. The decorative pillow makes me think of Mateo and makes me really sad. The usual trappings dot the rest of the room—a fireplace, a sitting area, a couple of chairs, a closet beyond the bed. It’s walk-in, but not like Mateo’s closets.

  There are white gift boxes on the bed. Five of them.

  “What are those?”

  Vince shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Take a look.”

  I approach the bed like there might be rattlesnakes inside the boxes. I don’t even want to sit there—like somehow that will make it mine. Like I’ll be cheating on my bed in my own room at Mateo’s house. So I remain standing and lift the lid off one of the smaller boxes.

  It’s a pink lacy bra and panties set. That makes me a lot less excited to open the next ones, but I do. There are five boxes in all—three bra and panty sets, one skimpy bikini, and a coral babydoll nightie with sheer panels and a fancy thong.

  Lifting my chin, I stare at the items and refuse to speak. Mostly because I want to scream at him. I want to hurl angry, vicious words at him. Normally presents make me feel appreciated, but these make me feel degraded. These bestow the weight of expectations I cannot meet, even if I wanted to—which I also don’t. But that’s frankly beside the point. I would anyway, if I belonged to no one and it would get me the fuck out of here. But I belong to someone, and not just anyone—Mateo Morelli.

  The last woman who cheated on Mateo died for it.

  And I would frankly rather die than break Mateo’s heart.

  I can’t let Vince touch me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I know Mateo loves me, but Meg and I are both aware of who he is. We both know his rules and limitations. Life is good right now because we respect those rules.

  I don’t know what Mateo’s rules are in this scenario. Strangely enough, we never discussed how I should conduct myself, should I ever be kidnapped by a man who wanted to revenge fuck me.

  I know how Vince would react. I remember that very clearly.

  I also know Mateo will come for me eventually, so I’ll have to answer for whatever happens here. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I know he’ll come rescue me. He always does. Usually Mateo is the one who puts me in the perilous scenario I need to be saved from, but he always comes for me.

  Finally I say, “Kind of thought there might be clothes in there.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  “They’re… pretty, but they’re underwear. I didn’t exactly have time to pack,” I point out, indicating the jeans and striped long-sleeve shirt I’m currently wearing. “This is literally all I have with me. What am I supposed to wear?”

  Now he smiles—well, he doesn’t smile, exactly, because it’s too mean to be a smile, and not mischievous enough to be a smirk. I don’t know what the fuck to call the look on his face, but it makes anxiety crawl down my spine. “These,” he says, simply.

  “And what am I supposed to wear over these?”

  “Nothing.”

  My gaze drops to the marble floor. “So, you brought me here to humiliate me?”

  He moves closer, his eyes moving over my body like I’m wearing one of the new lingerie sets instead of casual clothing. “Don’t you like being humiliated?”

  My eyes narrow with rebellion “Not by you,” I fling back.

  That pisses him off. I figured it would, but I don’t care. I want to piss him off. He’s pissing me off.

  “What is your end game here?” I demand. “You want to punish me? Do you hate me that much? Why not just move on if you hate me so much? Why can’t you ever just let anything go? Why do you have to dwell and hold onto shit that can only hurt you? You never had to see me again. I was gone from your life—completely gone. You could have started over with someone new. I could’ve been a fucking ghost. Why this? Why, Vince?”

  He doesn’t like my questions and he doesn’t like my reaction to his gifts, so he sweeps his arm across the bed and knocks half of them onto the floor. The other two he picks up and hurls against the wall.

  “Nothing I do is ever fucking good enough for you, is it, Mia?”

  “I don’t want you, Vince. Don’t you understand? It isn’t about you not being good enough, we just aren’t right for each other. We aren’t good together. We bring out the worst in each other.”

  “Bullshit,” he flings back, glaring at me. “We were good together until he came along.”

  “That may be true,” I allow, nodding. “But then he came along. And he changed everything between us, and we were never good again. And we never will be again, because now I’ve met him, and he’s right for me. I love him. I don’t just love the things he does, I don’t love the fancy house or the expensive gifts—I would live in a tool shed with him and wear clothing from a fucking thrift store, Vince. It’s Mateo I love, not his stuff.”

  “I’m not trying
to be fucking Mateo,” he grinds out. “I’m sorry if you think he has a monopoly on being a Morelli, but guess what? He doesn’t. It’s my fucking birthright just as much as it is his. And maybe that asshole owns Chicago, but guess what? He doesn’t own shit here. Look around, baby. I’m the only living son of Benito Morelli. This is my fucking inheritance.”

  I shake my head, dread moving through me at the picture that paints. “This is all wrong. You never wanted any of this. This isn’t you, Vince.”

  “It is now,” he states, coolly.

  “Well, that makes me sad,” I tell him sincerely, meeting his gaze. “That makes me incredibly sad.”

  “Don’t try to make me fucking feel bad for who I am, Mia. It’s not your style.”

  “This isn’t about who you are; it’s about who you’re choosing to be. Everyone’s always tried to tell me you straddled the line between good and evil, that you had it in you to be one of the bad Morellis, and I never believed that. I never even met Matt, but I’ve heard the stories, and you never would’ve done the things he did. You’re not bad. I even told Mateo that, when things were at their worst with us. I told him how much better you were than him, how at his core, he’s bad, and at your core, you’re good. But that makes this so much worse. You’re choosing the wrong path, Vince. You’re choosing to follow your bad blood, and for what?”

  “For you.”

  I shake my head, rejecting that bullshit. “No. Not for me.”

  “Fine. For me,” he says, meeting my gaze. “It’s my turn to win now.”

  “I’m not a prize, Vince.”

  “You’re my prize, Mia. You’ve always been mine, and this time? No one’s taking you away from me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Mia

  It’s a long first night at Vince’s palatial hell house.

  I’m cloaked in sadness the whole night long. I’m literally sad about everything. I’m sad about missing Mateo, I’m sad that I can’t be there for Bella when I promised her I would be, and I’m sad that Vince has gone dark and it’s kinda my fault.

  I’m incredibly sick of everything being my fault.

  I’m also sad when it’s time for bed, and instead of curling up in Mateo’s loving arms I have to go to sleep beside Vince. I’m sad when he tries to pull me close and I have to fight him off. I’m sad when he kisses me. I’m relieved when he leaves it at that, but still sad because I know it can’t last. He clearly plans on taking this further, on reclaiming me, and I can’t fucking let him. I also don’t know how to stop him. I have not been tremendously successful at stopping him or Mateo from taking me in the past, whether I wanted them to or not, and there’s so much pressure this time. I was only afraid of breaking Vince’s heart when Mateo took me that first time; Mateo might actually kill me for it. It would be more than a little heartbreaking to be murdered by the man I love more than life itself.

  Once again, I’m cast into the hell that exists in between Mateo and Vince.

  I cannot believe this shit.

  I wake up the next morning wearing the same clothes I slept in. They’re the only clothes I own now, so I have to shower and put them back on. I’m going to have to find the laundry room later so I can at least wash them before wearing them again.

  Vince isn’t in the bedroom and I have no idea where he is, so I explore the house. I’m looking for a phone or a computer I can use to reach out and contact someone. I do find a computer in Ben’s study, but it’s password protected so I can’t do anything.

  There are no phones. At first I think I found one in the bar, but apparently it’s some kind of intercom system throughout the house and there’s no dialing out.

  I need to get the hell out of here. I finally convince myself Vince is not here since I haven’t come across him, and as I stand in the back yard looking out at the pool, I gaze beyond the property line. There are other houses on this road. I can see a big gray one maybe a half mile from this one. Surely I could run over there, say there was a home invasion and I left my cell in the house, so I need to use theirs. I mean, I don’t know who lives there, but people mostly want to help.

  Since time is of the essence, I decide to go for it. Once I commit, my heart pounds and fear becomes me, but this is Vince’s doing, not mine. He never should’ve brought me here.

  I can’t believe it’s this easy, though. It makes me feel sick. I don’t actually want to get Vince killed. I don’t want him to feel like I’ve betrayed him again—I haven’t, he doesn’t have my loyalty anymore—but he might use it as an excuse to go darker. There’s no way this ends well, but he sealed all our fates when he drugged and abducted me.

  I can’t believe it, but I make it. I’m so fucking exhilarated as I approach the massive front door of yet another gigantic mansion. Now I’m in a hurry, checking over my shoulder, paranoid I’ll get caught. Now I’m remembering Vince’s threat to me back at the hotel—what if he comes home? Or he was just in a room I missed somehow, and he notices me missing? What’s he going to do? Will he harm his own neighbor? What am I supposed to do if he comes over to retrieve me before help can arrive?

  My plan now is to call Mateo first, tell him where I am in case Vince does come flying over here, and then call a cab to get me the fuck out of here. I don’t have any money to pay him with, but once I get to a public place, surely I can find someone to let me use their phone to get in touch with Mateo; he’ll take care of the financials.

  My stomach is a mess of anxiety, but this is a good plan. I can do this. The hardest part is over—I’m out of Vince’s clutches. Even if he comes home now, assuming he doesn’t have security cameras outside, he won’t know I came to this house.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” I murmur quietly to myself, tapping my foot on the stone platform.

  A maid opens the door, looking confused. “Yes?”

  “Oh, thank god. I’m staying right over there,” I say, indicating Ben’s house. “Someone broke into the house and I didn’t have a chance to grab my cell. Could I please come in and use your phone real fast? I just need to call for help.”

  The maid glances behind her, then moves aside. A man steps into view, a well-dressed, attractive man in his thirties with thick golden hair and golden brows slanted over turbulent brown eyes.

  Suddenly my stomach feels fluttery, like it does when I’m in danger. His gaze moves very briefly up and down my body, then he cocks his head to the side. “What can we do for you, young lady?”

  The maid opens her mouth to explain, but he stops her without a word, without looking at her, by raising his hand.

  The maid darts a glance at me, then turns and leaves, as if dismissed.

  “Um…” I swallow, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. My stomach is suddenly hollow. I’m sorely tempted to turn around and run back over to Vince’s house, and that’s absurd. “I just need to use a phone.”

  “You don’t have a phone?” he questions, watching me.

  “I have one, of course. I left it at my house, and someone broke in, I think. I need to call the police and have someone—”

  “That house?” he asks, indicating Ben’s house and walking over to a large wooden armoire on the side of the foyer where the maid stood before she abandoned me here with him.

  “Yes,” I say, frowning as I watch him open it up.

  My heart drops clear out of my body when he opens it to reveal it’s stocked full of guns. So. Many. Guns. He debates for a moment, then grabs a smaller one and closes up the armoire. My eyes are about as wide as they can be as he approaches me. I get the distinct impression this amuses him. He settles an arm firmly around my shoulder, walking me right back out of his house.

  “Just so happens I work for Uncle Ben. Also happens I can handle a burglar by myself, no police required,” he adds, with a wink to let me know that he knows I’m full of shit.

  “You’re a Morelli?” I ask, with growing dread.

  “Rafe. And you are?”

  “Mia,” I offer, suddenly a million pound
s heavier.

  “Aw, you don’t seem so scared now. You must feel safe with me.”

  He’s mocking me, but I still murmur back, “Not even a little bit.” Then, since I’ve already taken this chance, I ask, “You must know Mateo Morelli then, right?”

  His face betrays no indication of what that name means to him, but he nods once. “I do.”

  “Do you like him?” I ask, rather than sharing my story.

  He laughs. “No.”

  My hopes dwindle. “Oh.”

  Rafe wraps an arm around my shoulders again, giving me a little pat on the arm. “You must be Vince’s girl.”

  “I am not Vince’s girl,” I object. “I’m Mateo’s fiancée, and he’s going to be super pissed when he finds me.”

  “His fiancée,” he remarks, raising his eyebrows and looking me over again, this time with more significance. “That’s interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  “He fucked my girlfriend back in the day. I’ve always wanted to return the favor.”

  “You have a girlfriend?”

  Laughing again, he says, “Aw, man. I thought Vince was being paranoid, but you are a faithless little slut, aren’t you?”

  My jaw drops. “Excuse me? No, I most certainly am not. I don’t want to be here, I want to be at home with my family, and I wasn’t asking because—I don’t even know why I asked, it was just a natural response.”

  “If you were thinking about fucking me, maybe.”

  I shake my head in disgust. “Your whole bloodline is so infuriating, I can’t handle it. You all need to stop procreating and do future generations a huge favor.”

  “It’s okay. I get it. We’re pretty hard to resist.”

  “Only physically,” I reply icily.

  “In all honesty, little one, I wouldn’t advise you to pull something like this again. Even if you came across a house that didn’t have someone connected to us inside, you don’t want to lure Mateo out here. He doesn’t have a lot of friends in Vegas. He comes here, he’s gonna have problems. You just might find yourself weeping over a casket instead of planning a wedding.”