Last Words (Morelli Family, #7)

by Sam Mariano

  That’s more familiar to him. This is only the third time Meg has held him in three days, and the first time was only for a minute. It may take a couple more days for him to recognize her as a regular caretaker. He still fusses a little, resting his tiny hand against my chest.

  “That’s enough, Roman,” I tell him firmly, giving his back a little rub.

  He frets one last time, then goes quiet.

  Meg smiles. “He already knows the ropes, I see.”

  “Mia puts up with his shit. I don’t.”

  She nods. “Well, sure.”

  I peek down at Roman. He’s happy enough, so instead of taking a seat, I just remain standing. One never knows what might set him off.

  I swear, if this is what my kid is like, I don’t even want to think about the temperament of Vince’s. No way Mia’s going to bend much there, either. I’ve paid close attention to how devoutly she cares for Roman, and Dominic will have no co-parent. He’s all hers.

  Oh well, I’ll train his little ass, too.

  Nighttime is mine.

  “So, where do we go from here?” Meg asks, tentatively.

  I could tell her what I’ve come up with in the time it’s taken me to walk across the house to this bedroom, but I decide to give her a brutal dose of honesty instead. “I don’t know. Up until an hour ago I assumed you were dying tomorrow. I think the first thing we need to do is move you out of this room. The ivory bedroom might be better. There’s a small adjoining room that can be easily made into a nursery for this little gremlin.”

  “He’s way cuter than a gremlin. Even Gizmo.”

  “See? You know what a Gremlin is.” I shake my head.

  She pauses briefly, then says, “I take it you owe Rafe $50, then?”

  I smirk faintly at her reference to the bet the guys made about whether or not she’d try to kill me. “I owe him a little more than that.”

  Her gaze drops to Roman. “So, is he staying much longer?”

  “Rafe? No. He’ll head back to Vegas now that the job’s done.”

  She nods her head, but kind of awkwardly. “That’s good. Of course, the way he’s been visiting, he’ll be back again next month.”

  I narrow my eyes, but she still won’t look at me. Mia’s been begging me to bring Rafe here because she had the idiotic idea of pushing him together with Meg. I didn’t think the idea came from Meg, or that there was a chance in hell it would ever take anyway, but I got tired of hearing about it.

  If Meg’s not dying, I give it a week before she’s back in Mia’s good graces, if she’s not already. Once Rafe leaves, Mia will forget how easily he crawls under her skin. If Meg gives her even the vaguest hint that she might like Rafe, Mia’s going to be in my fucking ear about it again.

  No, I’m not doing this shit again. Best nip this in the bud right now.

  “I’m fairly certain all his interest in Chicago should be sated after tonight. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again anytime soon.”

  Meg nods. “Right. That makes sense. He was just here for the payday,” she says, lightly.

  “I think he was more interested in the benefit package than the payday. Money doesn’t hold the same appeal for men like Rafe; they have plenty of that. What appeals to men like Rafe is offering them something they consider off-limits. Giving them a little hit of the one drug they can’t buy.”

  Her chin rises defensively as she absorbs each word. I caught the look on her face in the bedroom when she saw Rafe and Mia on the bed. I wasn’t sure if she’d developed a little crush—Rafe tends to have that effect on women—or she was concerned he might hurt Mia. Whatever her faults, however inconsistent she can be, Meg does at least prefer people not rape Mia. If there’s a strong enough incentive—a Black Amex seems to be sufficient—she can be flexible, but she’s a self-serving opportunist, not a malicious shrew. She only wants Mia hurt if there’s some gain in it for her, not just for kicks.

  Thinking about it makes my blood boil again. I pull at my collar, even though it’s not constricted by a tie like it normally is. The idea of Mia being hurt by anyone for any reason…

  Now I don’t just want to sting Meg, I want to remind her how close she came to a dirt nap. I stop rubbing Roman’s back for a moment to reach into my pocket and draw out the present I bought her.

  The shield she was just starting to erect around herself drops and surprise flits across her features. She swallows, staring at the bullet, then casts a questioning look at me.

  “I want you to keep this,” I tell her. “It’s yours. I picked it out just for you.”

  She doesn’t appreciate my light sarcasm, I can tell in the pucker of her mouth. She doesn’t dare say anything though.

  “You may not have been able to put a bullet into my head, but I promise you, I wouldn’t have hesitated a single second to put one in yours.” I nod at the bullet, for emphasis. “This one, in fact.”

  It takes a minute, but eventually she sees that I’m not dropping my hand. She reaches out and grabs the bullet. Since there’s a pocket of silence to fill, she rolls the bullet between her fingers and inspects it. “What would you like me to do with this?”

  Swallow it.

  I’m slightly nicer. “Why don’t you get it set in a necklace, wear it around your neck?”

  A faint, humorless smile stretches across her face. “You do love threatening jewelry.”

  “Maybe it’ll serve as a daily reminder. I’m going to say this to you once, and only once. No one is watching out for you anymore. We all saw how you repaid the loyalty Mia gave you; I promise you, none of us will offer so much as a scrap of it ever again. Mia is not looking out for you anymore. If—and only if—you can be a good friend, I’ll consider allowing a friendship between you. This means you’re nice to her. You look out for her. If you see any harm coming her way—whether she’s about to stub her fucking toe—you scream it from the rooftops. If you’re useful, if you make my wife happy, then you may stay. The first time you try to use her, it ends. If you behave the way you have before, you won’t survive the year. There are no more chances for you. You played a game of chance with terrible odds and you lost. You tried to get one over on me. I have a long memory, Meg. I won’t forget that.”

  “Can your long memory also include tonight, when I had a gun pointed at your head and I decided to shoot someone else to save you, even though you wanted to kill me?” she requests.

  To be honest, I’m disappointed she swerved the way she did. I had no interest in administering a loyalty test on Meg. I don’t want her useless, sham loyalty. For all her casually aggressive opinions, the woman doesn’t stand for a damn thing. In every regard, she is unreliable. Whichever way she thinks the wind might blow in her favor, she’ll go. The only person Meg is loyal to is herself. Whatever lingering affection she has for me, whatever sentimental tie contributed to her inability to pull the trigger tonight, it’s an inconvenience to me, not a fucking gift that I should remember fondly and appreciate.

  I wanted Meg to pull the trigger.

  I wanted Mia to see her pull the trigger.

  That was the most important result of tonight’s production, so overall, it was a fucking failure.

  I don’t say any of that. I’m tired of being here. I’m tired of talking about this. I want to move on with my evening and my life.

  “Don’t fuck up again. Don’t even think about fucking up again. This is the last warning you will receive from anyone. If I so much as have a bad dream that you’re up to something sketchy, I’ll have you killed.”

  “Mateo, I don’t want it to be like this between us.”

  “You tried to take Mia away from me,” I state.

  “And I am so sorry I did that.”

  “I don’t care,” I state, plainly.

  “You’ll see,” she tells me, with more spirit than I expect. “I’m going to show you. You don’t have to worry about anything like this happening again. I’m relieved to be alive. I just want to live my life and raise my kids.�
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  “Help raise your kids,” I correct.

  She nods, not arguing. “I will be good to Mia. I will be good to you. I did a stupid, desperate thing. I know that. But I don’t want either one of us—and especially you—walking around, feeling uncomfortable in this house. I don’t want us second guessing each other and regarding one another with suspicion and barely restrained hostility. Neither of us can live like that.”

  I smile faintly. “Speak for yourself. I already live like that.”

  “Well, that’s… I don’t know how you do that,” she states, dropping her gaze and shaking her head. “I’d love us to be friends again.”

  “I don’t want to be your friend,” I inform her. “You tried to extinguish the only light I’ve ever had in my life. If that’s what you think friends do, your friendship isn’t worth having.”

  My impatience is kicking up. My need to get the hell out of this room and away from this woman.

  My response to betrayal has evolved over the years. I’m more or less inoculated at this point; it doesn’t hurt, it just pisses me off. The first time someone betrays you is obviously the worst. It’s unbearable, difficult to believe, impossible to accept—and yet you have to, because that’s the only choice. Only fools ignore a threat because it makes them feel more comfortable to do so.

  Walking through discomfort and outright pain with a straight face is how you know you’ve become an adult.

  Me, I’ve been an adult since I was a kid. I learned young.

  Meg’s had a handful of unfortunate events happen to her, but she’s a coward. They could’ve made her strong, fierce, but she ignored the call. She doesn’t walk through the fire and come out learning not to fear the flames; she willfully closes her eyes and pretends nothing is amiss so she doesn’t have to deal with the inferno blazing through her life and burning it all to the ground.

  Now I am the inferno, and she begs to be my friend in hopes I’ll let her live comfortably ever after.

  People are all so disappointing, with only one notable exception.

  I genuinely enjoyed having Meg as a friend, but now I know she never was one.

  I’m not going to fucking cry over it.

  I want to leave, but I can’t take the baby. I peer down at him and see he’s fallen asleep. “Where should I put him?”

  Meg shuffles awkwardly after my speech, not knowing what to say. She glances around for somewhere to put Roman, then points toward the bedroom and I follow her. A bassinet is set up in here. She picked it out prior to the honeymoon, and it was already set up in anticipation of the nice life I had planned for her. Everything she wanted could have been hers. I gave her a business of her own, freedom she couldn’t have while she was mine, all the money she required to feel safe.

  Hell, I might have even let her have Rafe.

  Not now, of course.

  Now she gets no Black Amex, her every move watched for a misstep, and she damn sure doesn’t get my powerful Vegas cousin. I might’ve been able to make him a tempting offer, but not compared to what I can help him do in Vegas. It would’ve been a hard sell, especially since Meg isn’t even his type. He likes vulnerability, and she likes life on the surface level. He likes his freedom, and Meg has three kids. Then there’s the whole Mia issue. I’m not so worried about him—I think he’s one of the few men of my acquaintance who could taste Mia and move on, but Meg can’t. Her preoccupation with my wife seemingly surpasses Rafe’s.

  Still, I could’ve probably made the match happen. I tend to be quite persuasive when I want to be, and some of the qualities I liked in Meg, Rafe would as well. Particularly her ability to turn the other cheek and contentedly live her life, regardless of the fuckery you’re stirring up all around her. Give her security and she’ll give you a pass to do whatever the fuck you want—regardless of what she claims.

  Now there’s not a shot in hell I’ll exert that much effort to restore Meg’s happiness, though.

  Loyalty is sometimes rewarded—never betrayal.

  I manage to put Roman down in his bed without waking him up. I should’ve brought his little toy elephant. I don’t know if he actually likes the thing, but Mia is always showing it to him and talking in silly voices, so I assume he must.

  I keep my voice low, so as not to wake him, but cold, because I want her to bleed. “Mia’s going to be quite tired tomorrow, so you can take the day shift. She’ll take him in the evening once she’s managed to get some rest.”

  ---

  When I return to my study, I find the room empty.

  I took a little longer than I said I would by the time I finished with Mia and Meg, but where the hell did they go? They should have waited for me.

  I draw out my phone to text Adrian, but then something catches my eye.

  The door to my security room is cracked open.

  My brow furrows and I head for the panel, pushing the door wider and stepping inside.

  Rafe is kicked back in my chair, sipping my 40 year old Scotch and watching my security feed.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask him.

  He tips his drink back, draining what’s left and places the glass down on my desk. “Wanted to see if I shared your voyeurism kink.”

  I step around the desk to see what he’s watching. It’s Mia bent over the bed, breasts bouncing, panting and whimpering as I fuck her hard from behind.

  Mm, that’s nice. It’s actually a bit strange watching myself fuck her, but it’s not like I’ve never done it before. “And?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I did enjoy it, but like watching porn with someone I know in it, not so much in a freaky way. Anyway, to each his own,” he offers, pushing up from the chair and retrieving his empty glass.

  I shake my head, stepping back so he can walk out ahead of me. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

  “I do,” he agrees, casually. “And your wife’s hand was on them about an hour ago. Just wanted to mention that now and get it out of the way.”

  “During the thing upstairs?” He nods. I nod back. “Good.”

  Rafe shakes his head. “You’re a strange guy.”

  “I’m a man with a lot of enemies,” I offer back. “Should one of them get the better of me someday, I don’t want Mia to go down with me. I’m glad she’s capable of securing protection elsewhere, should she ever need to.”

  “Save one of the sex tapes to show them as an audition; I’m sure she’ll be fine. I don’t want to overstep, but your wife sure can fuck.”

  My lips curve up faintly. “Not speaking from experience, of course.”

  “Strictly from what I witnessed in there,” he agrees, firmly.

  I nod my head. “Yes, I’ve trained her well.” I miss a beat. “Where’s Adrian? Why did he let you into my surveillance room?”

  “Oh, he didn’t. He went to check on his wife or something like that. I poked around and found it myself.”

  “Of course you did.”

  He spreads his hands, as if to say I should’ve expected as much. I’m not overly worried about it. In the time he’s been here, I’ve been able to slip in several small tests for Rafe, and he’s done all right.

  “You know what, though?” Rafe asks, as we take a seat in the wing chairs to wait for Adrian. “Giving you a little dose of your own medicine and studying your performance filled in the last little gaps in my research. I’ve figured out Mia, so I feel better now.”

  At first, I’m a little stunned. Rafe is an excellent observer of people and he can customarily see through bullshit like he has an actual superpower. It’s one of the many reasons I never wanted him hanging around me for an extended period of time. I deal in bullshit. Unless we’re on the same side, Rafe and I can’t coexist in the same city—and he’s never been particularly interested in being on my side before.

  Naturally though, as she does, Mia has changed things. That he even took my call when I reached out to him about helping me demonstrates that.


  But he thinks he figured out Mia? In two weeks? Now I’m the one calling bullshit.

  “No, you didn’t,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I have. Between what I’ve seen with my own eyes, what Meg told me, what Mia told me, and what Adrian told me before he ran off to his domestic jail, it all fits together pretty perfectly. He didn’t believe me either, but I think it’s because you’re all operating under the wrong suppositions to begin with. You can’t see how simple the answer is because you don’t believe the facts of the problem.”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, you’re operating under the reasonable expectation that Mia hates the things you do but loves you anyway, right?” He doesn’t wait for me to agree or disagree, just continues on. “But she doesn’t. She doesn’t hate what you do. All your mind fuckery, the way you orchestrate your plans, compose and conduct chaos—Mia doesn’t hate it at all. It impresses her. She’s your biggest fan. She’s basically your groupie.”

  “My groupie?” I repeat, eyebrows rising.

  “Yeah. You know, rockstars, athletes, actors—performers of virtually any kind can acquire those, right? Well, you perform for a much smaller audience, but seems like you hooked Mia right away. She obviously likes danger and excitement, but ultimately is drawn to people who protect her. It’s all in the Mateo package. You’d burn down the city to protect her, but you might also mindfuck her until she doesn’t know which way is up. You’re a unique performer, but Mia became a part of the audience and liked what you were selling.”

  I mull over what he says, matching it up with my own years of experience with her. He’s not entirely wrong. I know Mia doesn’t appreciate the extent of my destruction or she wouldn’t plant her little ass directly in my path every time I try to kill someone who fucks with one of us, but maybe she does like the other part. She’s actually said things to indicate she loves my mind, even at moments when I wasn’t sure how she would respond to what I was revealing I’d done.