Last Words (Morelli Family, #7)

by Sam Mariano

  When we go back outside, Rafe does not do that. He’s still shooting the shit with Dante. Once Colette returns to Dante’s side, the men shake hands. Then, resting his hand around his wife’s dainty waist, Dante regards me briefly before strolling toward the door to leave.

  “Come on,” Rafe says, nodding back toward the dining room.

  My heart pumps a little faster as I resist the urge to look back at Dante and Colette over my shoulder. I can’t do that. I’m completely flabbergasted, but I can’t alert Rafe to the fact or he’ll be suspicious. We are clearly not on the same team here.

  Just to get a better feel for the situation, I remark, “You and Dante seem to get along. Most of us avoid him—Mia calls him Dr. Doom.”

  He smiles faintly at Mia’s nickname. “Dante’s a little dark for Mia. Mateo’s generally sociopathic, sure, but he’s not as mean as his brother. Dante’s colder, less flexible, more old-school. He’s not really her type.”

  “I’ve never heard anyone refer to Mateo as flexible before,” I state. “That’s a new one.”

  “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” he shoots back, raising an eyebrow. “If that’s not flexibility, I don’t know what is.”

  “He’s flexible for Mia,” I explain.

  Rafe shrugs. “Dante is flexible for no one.”

  Chapter Five

  Mia

  “Toys, toys, toys! Get your toys here,” Rosalie calls out like an old-timey paper boy, even though I’m the only one in the room. Offering her most pleasant smile, she looks at me. “Hello, miss. You wanna buy some toys for your daughter?”

  “I sure would,” I tell her, looking over the line of her own toys she assembled in the floor in front of me. “Do you have any idea what kind of toy she might like?”

  “I think all of them,” Rosalie states. “She likes toys and she always is a good girl.”

  “Oh, is she?”

  She nods in earnest. “If you buy her more toys, maybe she’ll keep being good.”

  I fail to bite back a grin. Before I can respond to Rosalie’s subtle extortion, Mateo’s voice startles me from the doorway. “I think our daughter has enough toys.”

  Rosalie brightens, breaking character for a moment. “Daddy!”

  He smiles and pushes off the doorframe, approaching us and squatting down to meet Rosalie’s gaze. “You’re supposed to be in bed, little girl.”

  “We’re playing,” she states, sweetly.

  Now his gaze lands on me. “You were supposed to read a bedtime story and leave.”

  “I got sucked in,” I offer, apologetically.

  “I’m a little worried that my three-year-old can rule you,” he states.

  “She’s a very persuasive three-year-old,” I inform him.

  Rosalie ignores us and punches some numbers into her cash register. “For all of the toys, that will be five dollars.”

  I hand over my pretend plastic credit card.

  She grimaces apologetically. “We don’t take this kind.”

  “What?” I demand. “It’s the only kind I have.”

  Shaking her head, still with the apologetic grimace, she says, “You give me real money.”

  “Real money?” Mateo questions. “We have to pay you real money for the toys we already bought you? To give to you again?”

  Rosalie nods. “That’s the rules.”

  Instead of giving her money, he tickles her until she’s laid out on the floor, helpless with giggles.

  “You have to get up a lot earlier in the morning to con me, kiddo,” he informs her.

  Since she does not understand that phrase, Rosalie sits up and throws her hands down dramatically. “I don’t want to get up in the morning. I don’t even want to go to sleep. I want to stay up and play and play and play.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s bedtime.”

  “No fair,” she objects.

  “That’s life,” Mateo informs her. “If you don’t like the rules, be the one who makes them. Go get in bed or there’s no story tonight.”

  She crosses her arm and scowls at him, but then she trots right over to the bed and climbs up, awaiting her bedtime story.

  I lean in and whisper, “Big meanie.”

  “One unruly child cutting into my Mia time is enough,” he informs me, his gaze dropping pointedly to my stomach.

  Now I copy Rosalie’s scowl. “He doesn’t mean it.”

  He shakes his head and stands, muttering something about a “pain in the ass” as he walks to the bookshelf. I don’t know if he means me or the baby, but I decide it’s me since the other option makes me a little ragey.

  I’m starting to understand what Meg meant about pregnancy wreaking havoc on your emotions. She’s usually a logic-monster so it just made her more emotional, but I feel like this baby has sucked all the patience out of me. Given the man I love requires more patience than most and my best friend tried to get me killed by my ex-boyfriend who kidnapped me (and I’m trying to keep all of them alive, for some reason), a lack of patience isn’t really something I can work with.

  Now Rafe is here stirring up trouble on top of all that. When do I get a break?

  Book in hand, Mateo takes a seat on the bed beside Rosalie and cracks it open. Naturally, watching him go into daddy mode for Rosalie melts away my moment of impatience and by the time he stands and tucks her in, I want to kiss his face off.

  I can tell by his cocky smile he knows it, too.

  “You’re evil,” I inform him.

  He smacks my ass as I step out into the hallway, turning off Rosalie’s light and following me out. “You like it.”

  “Using your fatherly charm to melt me into a puddle,” I continue, shaking my head.

  “What can I say? I like making you wet.”

  Somehow, I blush. I shouldn’t be capable of blushing at this point, but here we are. His hand snakes around my waist and he tugs me into his side as we head back to our room.

  Once our nightly routine is finished, I curl up close to Mateo and lean in to kiss him. This is my favorite part of every single day. I love his strong arms wrapped around me, his lips brushing mine, my body fitted snugly against his. The only part of pregnancy I dread is when I’m showing more and I don’t fit against him as perfectly.

  But then I get to meet the new little baby who grows in my womb. My son or daughter—we have a baby appointment this week, and though I’m told not to get my hopes up, I’m hoping this is the one we find out if it’s a girl or boy.

  “Do you think it’s okay she isn’t moving yet?”

  Mateo’s fingers skate down my shoulder and he cocks his head, confused.

  “The baby. My—Our—This baby,” I settle on, pointing to my tummy. “I still haven’t felt her move.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that’s normal for first time moms. It’s moving, you just can’t feel it yet. Wait until it gets a little bigger.”

  His word holds all the weight for me, so my concern is immediately settled. “What do you think the baby will be like?”

  “If it’s a girl? Beautiful and sweet, like you. If it’s a boy? Dark hair, big ego, short fuse.”

  I give him a dirty look.

  Mateo rolls his eyes and tugs me into his chest. “You asked.”

  “Are you excited to meet Roman?” I ask, pulling back so I can look at him. “Your first son—that’s pretty exciting. What do you think he’ll be like?”

  “Dark hair, big ego, excessively calculating.”

  “You and Meg both learned to be that way,” I point out. “You weren’t born like that. So maybe he won’t be. His upbringing will be much different.”

  “Possibly.”

  I frown, since he doesn’t sound convinced. “Definitely. Your father was psychotic and you had no mom.”

  “If Vince hadn’t fucked everything up, we could have just told Roman you were his biologically and it wouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Just throwing this out there, but you could not kill his mom and then it also wouldn’t
be an issue.”

  “Mia, I love you to death, but you’re being naïve. I can’t trust Meg. She can’t raise my son if I can’t trust her.”

  “I mean, she’s already serving a literal prison sentence. Maybe you could let her out and then do the loyalty test like we talked about—that way you know if you can trust her or not. Give her back the bar and let her build something of her own and see what she does with it.”

  He shakes his head. “Too risky. Too time-consuming. After what she did to you, she doesn’t deserve that level of effort.” Bringing his hand to my face, he runs his knuckles over my jawline. “Anyway, I already told you, I don’t want you to worry about Meg anymore. We don’t have to talk about this.”

  “I want you to be able to talk to me about anything,” I tell him. “I’m your wife. Even if we don’t see it the same way, you should still be able to run any of your problems by me.”

  He catches my hand, holding my gaze as he brings my fingers to his lips and kisses them with exquisite tenderness. “I do, Mia,” he states. “I have the Meg situation in-hand, that’s all. I don’t need to talk about it anymore. Simple as that.”

  “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?” I ask, rhetorically.

  “Because you have all the compassion the rest of us lack.”

  “I think you guys have compassion, you just have less of it. If we were all—”

  Apparently he’s not in the mood for my philosophizing tonight; he cuts me off in the most delightful way—by tugging me in for a hard kiss. His hands roam the planes of my body, marking every inch his. My pulse quickens in anticipation of his every stroke, his every caress. Then he goes for the neck, nearly stealing my capacity for thought with his intoxicating neck kisses.

  Before he can effectively turn my brain off with his practiced moves, I pull back. “Wait a minute.”

  “I’ve waited lots of minutes,” he states, leaning back in.

  “Why is Rafe here?”

  He pauses, as I hoped he would. His face betrays nothing, naturally. “What do you mean? I told you, he’s in town on business and I told him he could stay here.”

  “I just find it a little suspect he hasn’t been around once in five years and now he’s suddenly here on business—and you’re inviting him to stay here right on the heels of what happened in Vegas.”

  “We weren’t on especially friendly terms for those five years,” he reasons. “It wouldn’t have made sense to invite him to stay here when we didn’t associate with one another.”

  “But now you guys are all good and you want to be friends?” I ask, eyebrows rising.

  Mateo frowns, watching me. “Is there some reason you don’t want Rafe here?”

  The way he asks sets me on edge. “See, that’s what I’m saying. What is that supposed to mean?”

  Caught somewhere between confusion and displeasure, Mateo’s frown doesn’t waver. “I’m lost.”

  “Who are you testing?” I demand. His frown clears and his eyebrows rise with faint surprise. “Is it me or him?”

  This time, he makes no attempt to hide the confusion that flickers across his face. “You? Why would I be testing you?”

  “You know why.”

  “No, I don’t,” he asserts, with what feels like exaggerated—and very intentional—ignorance. “Enlighten me.”

  I’m angry that he’s making me say it—I’m not sure if I’m angrier at him or myself. “To see if I would cheat.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t cheat,” he replies, without hesitation. “I don’t need to test you to know that. Your loyalty to me is the one thing I never question, Mia.”

  “But…”

  He doesn’t make me finish. “But nothing. We’ve already gone over this—more than once. I’m disappointed that I have to repeat myself. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Mia. Nothing. I never want you to feel shame about your body or anything anyone has ever done to it—with or without your consent, up to and including me. While I obviously love every inch of your body, it doesn’t determine your worth to me. We’re above this kind of small-minded bullshit, Mia.”

  I avert my gaze. “I know you said that, but I also know that the man involved who was never around before is suddenly in my dining room flirting with me in front of all our family and you’re not saying a damn word to put a stop to it.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Why would I? You flirt with Adrian—that doesn’t bother me. Why should this be any different?”

  “Because Adrian and I don’t have that kind of history,” I blurt.

  Amusement flickers across his face and annoys me. “You and Rafe have a history now? Did you have some secret, sweeping romance that no one told me about?”

  “Mateo.”

  Chuckling, he pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “This is absurd. You and Rafe hardly have a history. You know I like to watch you play—as long as you stick to men I can control. No loose cannons rolling around our house, but Adrian and Rafe are level-headed men. I thought you’d like having Rafe here for a couple weeks. You can have fun and blow off some steam. You’ve been stressed out by everything going on with Meg and on lockdown since you won’t let me kill Vince. With Rafe here, you have extra protection. You need a little distraction, something to take your mind off things. Rafe will be good for that. I’m too busy right now with work to give you as much of my time as I’d like and you need a friend. Rafe can be your friend.”

  “Rafe isn’t exactly Meg,” I point out.

  “If by ‘not exactly Meg’ you mean he won’t try to get you killed, then yes, that’s the point. Remember our talk? Only friends who value your safety and well-being from now on.”

  “What a weird requirement for friendship,” I remark, lightly. “Good thing I didn’t have that standard when I met you; we never would’ve made it this far.”

  Mateo smirks. “I’m an exception to the rule. Besides, I didn’t actually want to kill you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, it was just business.”

  “I changed my mind, that’s the important thing.”

  “You would’ve missed my cuddles too much,” I joke.

  He tightens his arms around me and draws me closer. “I would have,” he states, not joking. “I did. I never want to again.”

  Tenderness and protectiveness war within me, fighting each other to reassure him first. Logically I know he may just be using my emotions against me to get out of this conversation, but my heart doesn’t care. On the off chance he’s sincere, I want to wipe away any hint of unpleasantness he could ever be feeling. “You never will,” I promise him. “My heart is 110% yours.”

  His brown eyes dance with amusement as he looks at the death necklace I wore to bed tonight. “Plus you have all this commitment jewelry.”

  I hold up my beautiful engagement ring and gaze lovingly at the wedding band that now accompanies it. “That’s right. Mrs. Mateo Morelli. You’re never getting rid of me now.”

  Burying his face in my neck, he promptly transforms me into a vessel of pleasure. “I like the sound of that.”

  “So do I,” I tell him, while I still have the ability to speak coherently. “So do I.”

  Chapter Six

  Mia

  The busy Chicago streets are bustling with people trying to get where they’re going quickly, few prepared for the sudden onslaught of rain pelting them now as they walk.

  “I love rainy days,” I tell Rafe. We’re safe from the rain in the back seat of Mateo’s Escalade. Adrian is driving us—he seems grumpier about it than usual, though. I don’t think he’s overly pleased that Rafe is here.

  I’ve warmed up to the idea since Mateo assured me this isn’t some bullshit loyalty test he’s inflicting on me again. He could be lying, but I doubt it. For all his perceived selfishness, Mateo frequently puts my needs ahead of everything else.

  More than I ever knew, apparently.

  It’s strange how after five years with that man, he can still surprise the hell out of me.
r />   “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one,” Rafe replies, but he’s paying more attention to the front seat than the people or the weather. He’s less comfortable than I am with Adrian around. It’s odd, since he’s comfortable with Mateo around, but I suppose Mateo is more polite than Adrian. Unless you’re family, Adrian tends to emanate a distinct “I will stab you for smiling at me” vibe that doesn’t exactly put people at ease. Technically Rafe is family, but Adrian’s mood has hovered around “fuck off” since Mateo tasked him with babysitting us today.

  “Desert weather is weird,” I state. “You guys with your outdoor television sets and furniture.”

  Rafe cuts a look at me now, smiling faintly at the memory. “You should be glad for the outdoor set-up. At least you didn’t have to run your little ass all the way inside the house to serve me.”

  Adrian hits the brakes rather aggressively and Rafe lurches forward, raising an eyebrow in question.

  “Pedestrians,” Adrian states, though no one appears to be walking in front of the vehicle. “Mia, why don’t you get out here so you don’t get wet.”

  “By myself?”

  “No, Casanova here will have to go with you. I’ll be around as soon as I park.”

  Rafe smirks at Adrian’s clear displeasure, leaning forward to open the car door for me. He climbs out first, peeling his suit jacket off, then holds it over me so I don’t get wet as we run into the little deli where we’re having lunch.

  Once inside, Rafe shakes out his jacket and slides it back on. He’s all wet, but I’m nice and dry. I flash him a grateful smile for his gentlemanly behavior.

  He utterly ruins it by asking, “Does he want to fuck you or what?”

  My jaw drops. “Huh?”

  “Adrian. He hates me. Never used to hate me, and I haven’t done a damn thing to him.”

  “Oh, that.” I shake my head dismissively. “Don’t take it personally. That’s just how Adrian is. I think it’s because cleaning up after Mateo is such an all-encompassing, never-ending job. Adrian’s always mean to people if he feels like they’re potentially trouble. He loves me now, but he used to treat me the exact same way before Mateo and I got together. He was mean to me at every available opportunity. He just doesn’t trust you.”