Last Words

by Sam Mariano

  Folding his arms across his muscular chest, he cocks his head to the side and tells me, “If you wanted proper medical care, seems to me you shouldn’t have pissed off the man who foots the bill. That wasn’t so fucking smart, now, was it?”

  “We could both die if I go into labor and there’s no one to help me, Mateo. Not just me, him too. You didn’t go to the trouble of impregnating me just to let your coveted heir die in a dungeon because you’re pissed off at his mom.”

  “Haven’t you learned by now not to assume you know what I’ll do, Meg?”

  Eyeing up the food he dumped into my cell with less care than a farmer feeding his pigs at a troth, I nod. “You’re right. My mistake. Clearly even after spending four years of my life with you, I have no idea what you’re capable of.”

  His brown eyes are chilly, any affection they once held melted away. “That’s right, Meg. Don’t forget this time.”

  He leaves now without another word. I wait until he’s gone and I’m sure he’s not coming back before I go for the food. I’m too big to bend over—I can’t reach all the way to the floor. If I try, I get light-headed, so it’s incredibly inconvenient that he tossed all my food on the ground. I do have to crawl, but at least no one is here to see it. I heave a sigh as I grab the spoon, inspecting it for dirt before rubbing it on the long skirt of my maxi-dress. It’s dirty by now anyway (I only get to change clothes on Sundays when I go upstairs, so I’ve been wearing this for close to a week; I smell fabulous) but I can’t bring myself to eat off a spoon I watched touch the dungeon floor without at least trying.

  I grab the apple and dust it off. It’s a bit bruised now, but I use my teeth to peel it. The peel also touched the ground, so I’m grossed out, but I’m hungry enough to eat it anyway.

  I can generally spin even the worst of situations, but I won’t lie; this sucks.

  It’s still difficult to wrap my head around my life right now. It all changed on a dime. Mia never sent me pictures from Italy like she said she would—that should have been my first sign something was wrong. There’s only ever been one other time Mia avoided me: when Mateo danced with her at Francesca’s wedding and she didn’t know what to do. I just figured maybe she didn’t have service out on the yacht—Mateo frequently goes without service for days on end when they travel, so I just assumed it was that. Everything was fine before they left. Mia even let me be in her wedding, despite my admission of guilt. There was no reason to think she would tell on me to Mateo.

  And there was no warning. While they were in Italy, everything was fine. I went about my normal routine with the kids; I didn’t notice Adrian paying any extra attention to me. Even the night it happened, I went back to the bedroom I’d been assigned once I had to leave Mateo’s, changed into my pajamas, pulled my hair back into a pony tail and settled in for the evening.

  Then Mateo came barging through my door. He hadn’t even been home last I’d checked, but one look at his angry stride was all it took to get me off the couch and scurrying back against the wall. It wasn’t the first time he pinned me against a wall, but it was the least sexy. As his strong hand curled around my throat, terror leapt within me. His grip never got too tight, though. It was a reminder of what happened to the last idiotic woman who fucked with him, not a murder attempt. I searched the depths of his brown eyes for fury, for pain, for betrayal, but the emptiness I saw instead made my stomach sink.

  I wanted to be calm, but my voice shook as I asked, “What’s going on?”

  “You know what you did,” he said, simply.

  I didn’t admit guilt, and he didn’t offer anything else. We stared each other down, his cold gaze unwavering, mine shaky as hell as I tried to act like I was sure he wouldn’t kill me. I wasn’t. My head was flooded with visions of him lying alone in Mia’s bed, raking his hands through his hair, helpless in his grief. I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t kill me if he knew I could have stopped all that. I wasn’t sure at all.

  After a minute, he dropped his hand and stepped aside. Adrian had followed him in—I hadn’t been worried since Adrian is essentially family, but he was in business mode, his face as stoic and eyes as empty as Mateo’s. Logically, I knew it was the same man who blew bubbles in the back yard with his toddler, that Mateo was the same man I’d spent years sleeping curled up next to, the man who once donned a fedora to make me smile, but looking at the pair of them then with their hard hearts and empty eyes, I knew a sinking certainty that I was about to die.

  Instead of killing me, Adrian locked me in the dungeon.

  I attempted to joke with him once Mateo was gone and it was just Adrian, to take the temperature of the thing. “Didn’t think I’d be coming back here. Do you think my old room’s available?”

  He was not amused.

  I thought Mateo might eventually come back downstairs to deal with me in some way—surely he had questions. Surely, despite the mask of coldness that had slipped into place that night, he had feelings about what I’d done. Complicated layers of feelings that he would need to work through. He would need to understand why I had done it, whether I’d wanted to hurt him or her—and this was all assuming that was actually what I’d done wrong, because to be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure!

  With little else to do but worry, I spent night after night rehearsing the eventual conversation we could have, whittling it down from a long-ass ramble to a sensible explanation. I could assure him honestly that it had never been my intention to hurt him, that I wasn’t bitter or angry that he loved Mia, that I didn’t want to punish him. I knew I could make him understand.

  Only, he never came down to have that talk.

  That Sunday, Adrian came down. He brought me upstairs so I could shower, see the girls for an hour, and have lunch like a human being. I never saw Mateo. Adrian kept guard the entire time, then escorted me back to the dungeon.

  Once he had me locked inside again, I remained by the bars, my hands wrapped around them as I peered out at him. “When is Mateo coming?”

  Adrian flicked a glance in my direction as he pulled the key from the lock, then rattled the door to double check it was properly secured. “He’s not.”

  “But we need to talk about this. I need to explain myself, to explain to him that I—”

  Adrian didn’t even allow me to finish my sentence. “He doesn’t care.”

  “But he hasn’t even asked me—”

  Adrian interrupted again. “He doesn’t care.”

  “But—”

  “Do you have information regarding any additional danger he or Mia might be in?” he asked that time.

  “No.”

  Nodding once, Adrian stated, “Then he does not care.”

  “I don’t believe that. He’s Mateo; he’ll need to know why I—”

  “Meg.” He stared at me, his eyes widening slightly. “Read my lips. He doesn’t care why you did it. He doesn’t care how you felt. He doesn’t care what you thought would happen. He does not fucking care. There’s one stanch rule for survival in this house. One. Don’t fuck with Mateo. It’s simple. Obey and live. Break the rule and die.”

  “But I wasn’t fucking with Mateo.”

  “You fucked with Mia,” Adrian stated, dead-eyed. “There’s no difference.”

  That knocked some of the wind out of my sails. I took too long to answer so he started to walk away. “Wait. Wait, so—” I paused, collecting my thoughts and shaking it off. “What happens to me now? Am I reduced to a prisoner, hidden away in the dungeon for the rest of my life?”

  Adrian turned back to look at me, his gaze dropping to my protruding belly. His gaze lingered there for a moment, then returned to my face with a telling soberness. “Don’t worry; it won’t be too much longer.”

  Chapter Three

  Mia

  I turn sideways in the mirror, reconsidering the form-fitting dress I donned for this evening. I love my baby bump, but I’m not sure I’m feeling a tight dress tonight.

  Mateo hasn’t let me see Meg at all since our
honeymoon, but he’s letting her come to dinner tonight. I’ve asked to go down to the dungeon for a visit on multiple occasions, but he always tells me no. After the most recent ask, he got tired of repeating himself; that time he told me outright that if I go to the dungeon, he’ll remove Meg from the house.

  I don’t know what that means, so I stay out of the dungeon. He has let her come up for a brief reprieve the last two Sundays, but he hasn’t let me see her then, either. I’m not sure if he’s trying to wean me off her friendship so he can dispose of her more easily, or he’s just afraid Meg will try to use me if she gets me alone.

  Wrinkling my nose up at my reflection, I turn and head back into the bedroom. “Babe, can you unzip me? I don’t think I want to wear this one, after all.”

  Mateo shrugs his jacket on and crosses the room. A contented sigh slips out of me as my gorgeous husband anchors one hand on my hip and drags the zipper down my back. I feel him lean in, then his lips brush the nape of my neck.

  “Wear the short white one,” he says, releasing me and making for his own side of the closet.

  “Which short white one?” I murmur, peeling my dress off and grabbing the hanger. Once I get it zipped back up, I go into the walk-in closet to replace it. A lovely, flowy white dress is draped across our white marble counter. I assume he means that one, so I take it off the hanger and change into it. I smile at his reflection in the mirror as he comes up behind me to zip it.

  He wraps his arm around my waist from behind, tugging me close and looking at me in the mirror. “How’s the little monster treating you today?”

  “Our baby is not a little monster,” I say, giving him a light-hearted glare as I brace my hand over his. “He just can’t handle the roller coaster ride that is our sex life. Can’t blame the little guy. It’s really your fault for being such a vigorous lover. He’s too young for roller coasters.”

  He doesn’t appear to be convinced, but he flattens his hand across my tummy and gives it a tender rub anyway. I glow with pleasure. He may tease, but he’s going to be such a good daddy, whether the biology is there or not.

  Releasing his hold on me, Mateo checks his watch and tells me, “I have to head downstairs.”

  “Okay. I just have to grab shoes and I’ll be right down.” Mateo nods and starts to leave, but I remember I had a question. “Oh, wait! Is Meg making dinner with us tonight?”

  “Nope. Not letting her near the knives,” he states. “She’s visiting the girls now; she’ll join us to eat.”

  “Am I allowed to interact with her tonight? I mean, she’ll be sitting at the same table.”

  “Yes. Just don’t go anywhere alone with her. Don’t go anywhere alone, period. If I’m not with you, make sure Adrian is. It’s not likely to be a fun dinner tonight,” he adds.

  I nod my understanding and he leaves the closet. Approaching my shoe shelves, I search for a pair of gold sandals to go with my dress. I wasn’t really expecting tonight to be a fun dinner anyway given the irregular addition to the guest list—Dante is coming to dinner tonight. He pops over on occasion, but very rare occasion. Dante isn’t my biggest fan, but he’s also Mateo’s brother so I always try to be friendly. Now I have his thinly veiled hostility and awkwardness with Meg to deal with; it’s not going to be a fun time.

  Sometimes I think I’ll be glad when all this is over, but I’m not sure it will ever really be over. Mateo stopped pestering me about killing Vince, but Vince is tucked away in another state so he’s a less pressing concern. Meg is right here under our roof, and Mateo no longer trusts her to be. It’s not easy to gain Mateo’s trust to begin with, but I assume once lost, it’s lost forever.

  It’s too depressing to think about, so as I slip on my gold shoes, I do my best to put it out of my mind.

  The kitchen is bustling with activity tonight. Mateo had to have a couple extra chairs brought to the dining room table to accommodate all of us. Francesca stays by me while we prepare dinner so we can chat. Colette and Elise work by themselves.

  Meg still hasn’t made it to the kitchen when it’s time to get the salads ready and plate the food, so I leave them to do that while I go check with Mateo.

  The study door is cracked, so I don’t bother knocking; I just push the door open. Inside the study, I hear the deep voices of two different men—one I recognize as my husband, one that I don’t recognize at all until I have a visual match.

  Mateo has already turned his attention to me, but now the man standing across from him turns to investigate the interruption. Unexpectedly, the handsome visage of Rafe Morelli looks back at me.

  My gaze jumps from him to Mateo. They’re both smirking at me. I realize it’s probably because my jaw is hanging open—he’s the last person I expected to see tonight. He’s supposed to be in Vegas; what the hell is he doing in Mateo’s study?

  With a conspiring wink at me, Rafe intones to Mateo, “At least she seems happy to see me.”

  I let go of the door and drift forward, still a little uncertain. “Hey.” I glance to Mateo for explanation, but he offers none, so I look back at Rafe. “I had no idea you were in town.”

  Rafe shrugs. “Well, you talked up those Sunday night dinners so much I just had to come see for myself what was so great about them.”

  “Hopefully I didn’t oversell the experience,” I toss back, glancing past them at Dante. He lingers by the window, a menacing shadow, away from the other men. As if he can feel my eyes on him, his gaze snaps to mine.

  I avert my gaze and look back at Mateo, moving closer to him by instinct. He wraps a protective arm around my waist and tugs me against his side. “Rafe’s in town for a couple weeks. I told him he could stay here with us.”

  “Okay, cool.” I smile mildly. “You didn’t mention it to me.”

  “I thought it would be a fun surprise.”

  “Yes, you’re always full of fun surprises.” I nod my head, but he only looks more amused. “Well, I was just popping in to let everyone know dinner is ready, so you can all make your way to the dining room and we’ll be serving you momentarily.”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” Rafe says lightly.

  That reminds me why I came. I doubt Rafe knows Meg is in the dungeon though, and I don’t want to mention it in front of him if he doesn’t. I’m still trying to convince Mateo to move Rafe here so he can sweep Meg right off her feet (assuming Mateo doesn’t kill her, so I’m not saying there are no obstacles to this plan) but he might be less inclined to pursue her if he knows what she did. So, I bide my time and wait politely at Mateo’s side while they wrap up their boring conversation. Once Rafe is gone, I turn to Mateo and run my fingers down the front of his snowy white dress shirt.

  “I have a question for my sexy husband.”

  With a knowing smirk, he watches me. “What’s that?”

  “Is there already a seat for Rafe at the table? I was thinking maybe we could pull up a chair for him next to Meg.”

  Mateo rolls his eyes at my blatant transparency. “Give it up. Rafe and Meg are not happening.”

  “But they could if you let them.”

  “I don’t think he’s into necrophilia.”

  At that, I scowl. “That’s not funny.”

  “Who’s joking?” he murmurs back, leaning in to drop a kiss on my forehead. “Let’s not worry about Meg’s love life right now, okay? It’s the least of her concerns.”

  “But she likes him, I can tell. And wouldn’t it benefit you to have Meg with someone like Rafe anyway? He could keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t do anything outlandish.”

  “No,” he says, mildly. “It would benefit me to eliminate people who might do outlandish things and save myself a lot of money and effort managing them.”

  I can’t really argue that. “Well, okay, but wouldn’t this be a good second best option?”

  Mateo sighs, beginning to lose patience with my campaign. “Stop worrying about Meg. I assure you, Meg does not worry about you.”

  I can’t argu
e with that either. I hate trying to win arguments with him. It’s like trying to lift a house with my pinky fingers. “But she’s my friend,” I remind him.

  “Not anymore. She’s a shitty friend,” he returns, immovably. “You don’t need shitty friends. Be friends with Adrian—I can personally guarantee that if he ever found out someone planned to kidnap you, he would murder them without having to think about it. That’s your new standard for friendship. Nothing less will do.”

  “That seems like a high standard,” I point out. “I’ll never have any friends if they all have to be willing to kill for me.”

  Smiling wryly, he says, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  I sigh heavily, like he’s being a real drag with his rules. “I want friends, Mateo.”

  “Spend more time with Francesca,” he advises, placing a hand at the small of my back and escorting me out of the study. “Salvatore would also kill for you. That counts.”

  “But what about mommy friends? Francesca is obviously my friend, but she has her own life. It would be nice to have a living, breathing mommy friend to have play dates with. And hey, Meg already lives here.”

  “So does Elise. I’ll make Elise be your friend if you want someone in-house. But I’m cutting off the parasitic frenemies. It’s past time to draw that line.”

  “Elise hates me,” I point out.

  He couldn’t be more dismissive. “Do you really doubt my powers of persuasion after all these years? If you want Elise for a friend, I will hand deliver her.”

  “I would like Elise for a friend,” I admit. “I think we have stuff in common, and we’re having babies close to the same time. I feel like we could like each other if she’d give me a chance. It would also make Adrian’s life much easier since you make him be my friend anyway.”

  “I don’t make him be your friend; he likes you. I will make Elise be your friend, though.”

  I grin up at him, leaning in to give him a little kiss as we make our way toward the dining room. “You’re the best husband ever.”