by Sam Mariano
Rafe watches me for a moment, but there’s no indication of his thoughts. The wheels are turning, but there’s no hint, not a single one, of what he might be thinking.
“I know I won’t be around to see it, but I hope whatever her future holds, it’s gentler on her than her past has been.”
He stares at me, hard. Finally, his jaw locks like he’s lost whatever inward battle he was fighting and he asks, “Why did you do it? If you care about her, if you’re worried about what happens to her, why would you do what you did?”
I flatten myself against the mattress, sinking into the pit of bad decisions. “It didn’t have anything to do with Mia. I know I did it to her, but it didn’t… It’s not like I hated her or anything. I had no ill will toward her. I treated her like a casualty in my imaginary war. She was just the person I had to step on in order to accomplish my end. I was being an asshole, that’s the short answer. A selfish asshole.”
“Is that who you are?” he asks, simply.
He asks that like it’s a simple question, but it’s not. At least, it doesn’t feel like it is. Maybe admitting it just isn’t pleasant. I think it’s the way he asks, though. He’s not asking if I do selfish things, he’s asking if what I did is who I am. If I would do the same thing over again, if I had a second chance. He’s asking if I’m a monster, or just some lost little lamb who made a horrible, desperate mistake to save her own wool.
Thing is, I’m no lost lamb.
I care about Mia, and I threw her to her dangerous ex who made her miserable when they were together, just so I could hold onto a relationship that had already died and a comfortable lifestyle I apparently could’ve kept either way. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew she could end up hurt or worse; I even had a week to sleep on the decision. I sat at the breakfast table across from her that morning, knowing I could stop her from leaving, stop him from getting his hands on her, save her from further hurt she didn’t deserve.
I didn’t stop it.
I care about Mateo and I’m going to stand by and let these assholes kill him so they can take everything that belongs to him.
I am not like Mia. I’m not some innocent who got lost and wandered into dark places, hurting people I loved without meaning to. I chose to do it. I choose to do it, because it fucking benefits me.
I am a selfish asshole.
Rafe doesn’t like selfish assholes—not in female form, at least. I know he’s already agreed to help me, but he could change his mind. He said himself he doesn’t deal with people he can’t trust; the last thing I want to do is verify that I’m someone he shouldn’t trust.
Instead of answering that loaded question, I sigh and tug the blankets up, settling them around my chest. “You know what? I just had a baby a few hours ago; I’m exhausted.”
The corner of Rafe’s mouth tips up and he nods very faintly. “All right.”
I roll over so my back is to him, creating a little more distance. I punch my pillow and settle in. I may not know what tomorrow brings, but for tonight, I’m relieved to have the soft surface of an actual bed beneath me.
“Good night, Rafe.”
“Good night, Meg.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mia
As happy as I was to have Roman delivered safely, the morning after his birth I dreaded getting out of bed. Not because I was exhausted—I was; he was up most of the night, which meant I was up most of the night—but because I knew Meg was no longer safe.
When Mateo returned home for lunchtime, he found me snuggled up in bed with Roman, finally getting some sleep. We didn’t want to wake the baby so we didn’t talk, and I didn’t get to see him again until dinner. When Meg didn’t show up at the table, my mind went to the darkest place. What if she was already gone? He probably wouldn’t give me a chance to say goodbye.
I didn’t get a chance until we were in bed that night. I snuggled Roman to sleep, then took him to the adjoining bedroom—the little nursery room that was generally used for storage when I moved in. Now it’s decorated in blues and grays, the perfect little spot for a baby boy.
When I climbed into bed and my husband wrapped me up in his strong embrace, I had to ask, “Is Meg…?”
“Not today,” he said, simply.
The next day was much the same—wake up with dread, love on Roman while I wait around all day for a death knell, then cuddle in bed, wondering if my husband had choked the life out of Meg with the same hands he used to fit our tiny son into his blanket sleeper.
Today is Sunday. The nice thing about it being Sunday is Mateo stays in bed a little longer. I get to sleep a little bit—Roman is still sleeping during the day and staying up most of the night, so I’m completely worn out—but before my body can recover from this insane sleep schedule, Roman wakes up, screaming his precious little head off for more food.
I’m too tired to go all the way down to the kitchen, and I’m out of the little ready-to-go bottles Mateo stocked me with, so I message Adrian for help.
There’s no knock, but I’d be too tired to get up and answer the door anyway. Adrian strolls right in with a serving tray. On top, a four-pack of bottles and a bowl of oatmeal with bananas and strawberries chopped up and sprinkled on top.
“You’re my favorite,” I inform him, as he goes a step further and takes Roman from me so I can eat. “Don’t tell my husband.”
Adrian smirks, wedging Roman’s tiny body in the crook of one arm while shaking a bottle with his other hand. “It can be our little secret.”
“I’m so tired,” I tell him, forcing my body into an upright position and pulling the tray in my lap.
“Yeah, that tends to happen with newborns. Do you have a burp cloth? Kinda don’t want baby vomit all over my suit.”
I grab one from where I stashed it earlier, just in case of emergency—right under Mateo’s pillow. Adrian cocks an eyebrow at me.
“It’s clean,” I defend. “Don’t tell him that, either.”
“Keeping all the secrets today,” Adrian remarks, attaching the nipple to the bottle, throwing the burp cloth over his shoulder, and popping the bottle in Roman’s eager little bird mouth.
“Speaking of secrets, how’s Meg? No one is telling me anything.”
Rolling his eyes, my beloved friend and bodyguard says, “Smooth segue.”
“I’m too tired for smooth. I need food and a shower. If Mateo comes in here for some afternoon delight and gets turned away again, he’s going to strip me of my baby privileges.”
“Glad to see you’re whipping him into shape,” Adrian says, dryly.
“It’s a work-in-progress,” I assure him, scooping up some oatmeal. “He’s letting me keep the baby in the adjoining bedroom; that’s more than he wanted to give.”
“Warming him up for Dominic?”
I don’t even want to think about trying to juggle Roman and another newborn in a few months’ time. God. I’m going to be a complete zombie. Maybe I’ll feel like a person again when they’re both potty trained.
Mateo is not going to like this, at all. He keeps telling me to use Ju and he’s respected my denial thus far, but if I can’t handle it better, he’s going to eventually cut me off.
“Stop distracting me with babies,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes at him. “What’s going on with Meg?”
Adrian sighs, looking down at Roman while he goes to town on the bottle. He’s trying to suck too fast and Adrian has to take the nipple out of his mouth. Roman immediately begins to pitch a fit, whining like Adrian just took away his lifeblood; Adrian wipes his little chin with the soft cloth and pops the nipple back in his mouth before Roman can work himself up to a full-blown conniption.
“She’ll be at dinner tonight, and then that’s it.”
My stomach drops. I realize I shouldn’t have asked about this when I’m trying to eat breakfast; the fruit turns to sand in my mouth. I have difficulty swallowing. I grab the bottled water he brought me to wash it down, then I sit back, no longer hungry. “That’s it? L
ike… that’s it?”
“He wanted to do it as soon as he was born, Mia. He only let her have some time to recover for you. She’ll get one last family dinner tonight—all for you.”
I want to cry, but my eyes are somehow too tired to produce tears. “He really hasn’t changed his mind? When will…” I swallow, shaking my head. “Tonight?”
“Tomorrow. Please don’t think about it. You don’t have to think about it. Just enjoy your dinner tonight—”
“How?” I demand. “How am I supposed to sit there, knowing what’s going to happen to her, and enjoy my food?”
When he speaks again, I’m a little surprised by the firmness in his tone, the light intolerance. Adrian has chastised me on many occasions, but I’m too tired and emotionally raw for it this time. “The same way she sat across from you and ate breakfast before sending you off to be kidnapped by Vince,” he states, without sympathy. “That woman made her bed, the same way Beth made hers. I’m sorry it’s going to hurt you, but he isn’t doing the wrong thing here, Mia. Actions have to have consequences. Trying to hurt Mateo or the people he loves is not an offense that can go unpunished; people will stop fearing him, and we’ll all be left vulnerable.”
“Now you sound like Rafe,” I mutter.
Instead of being offended, he nods. “Huh. Two men who know the ropes in this life saying the exact same thing? Go figure. It’s almost like we know what we’re talking about.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I state.
“You don’t have to like it,” he agrees. “You just have to get through it. This is what you signed up for. This is what she signed up for. Everyone is getting what they ordered.” He glances at the nearly untouched oatmeal in the bowl and maintains the authoritative tone he knows I respond to. “Eat your damn oatmeal.”
I scowl at him, but I pick up the spoon anyway. “I don’t like when you order me around.”
“I don’t like to do it, but I’m pulling rank. You’re exhausted. You need to eat, take a shower, and get some rest. After I feed him, I’m taking him to Ju.”
“But—”
“No.” He shakes his head, letting me know I’m wasting my breath. “Take a few hours to recharge and take care of yourself. I’ve seen this before; I know the drill.”
“Can’t you at least take him to Meg?” I ask. “If you want to give me a break… if this is her last day, at least let her spend some of it with Roman.”
He sighs heavily. “I’ll ask Mateo.”
---
I stand inside my closet, looking at the rack of little black dresses. The simple task of picking out a dress feels like too much. I’ve been standing in here for fifteen minutes, moping around the closet, looking at shoes and clothes, running my fingers along handbags, wondering what the point is. I don’t even want to go to dinner; I just want to stay in the bedroom and cry.
I’m so angry at Meg for hurting me, and so angry at Mateo for punishing her for it.
Why can’t everyone just behave like civilized fucking human beings? I manage to pull it off, and I’ve traveled the expressway through Hell on more than one occasion.
Assholes. I’m surrounded by assholes.
As if sensing my discontent, my favorite asshole steps inside the walk-in closet and comes up behind me. One strong arm curls around my waist, the other slipping inside the soft white satin of my robe and caressing my breast. His lips graze my shoulder, heading for my neck.
“Good evening, wife.”
I melt back against him, sighing with distress. He’s so damn distressing. I’m torn between raging at him, pleading with him, and dropping to my knees and losing myself in his pleasure. His hand dips lower, tenderly caressing my slight baby bump. My tummy fills up with answering flutters and I reach back, pulling his neck closer. He dips his mouth to the curve of my neck and leaves a trail of hot kisses that effectively obliterate my thoughts.
I love when he does that.
He walks backward, hauling me with him, and drops into a chair. I turn to face him and he yanks me onto his lap. Before I have time to recover any lost thoughts, he has one hand in my hair, the other hungrily groping at my body as he kisses me. Ordinarily he wouldn’t skip past foreplay, but we’ve had less of each other lately than we’re used to. When he frees his cock and pushes that wonderful instrument of pleasure inside me, the only sighs I have left are sighs of pleasure.
Afterward, I curl up in his lap with my head on his shoulder and try to catch my breath. He lazily caresses my now bare back. For this last moment of peace, I enjoy our little bubble, isolated from the ugly reality of the world outside our bedroom. This is my favorite place. Sometimes I think I could be the happiest if I never left.
Not that he lets me leave all that often. I smile faintly, burrowing into his neck and kissing him the way he kisses me. It doesn’t drive him crazy the way it does me, but he murmurs his approval.
God, I love this man.
“You seem more rested,” he observes.
“I am. Adrian took over baby duty and let me get some sleep. He fed me, gave me a shower—well, not gave me a shower, but you know what I mean. Gave me a chance to shower.”
Mateo smirks. “He better not be showering you. Not if I don’t get to watch, at least.”
“You’re such a voyeur.” I smile, my mind conjuring mental images of my husband and Adrian in the shower, taking turns putting their hands all over me. “Adrian can’t play with us. Elise would murder me. That wouldn’t be sexy at all.”
“I would never let anyone murder you,” he assures me.
Unfortunately, this round of teasing his inched too close to reality and my heart grows heavy, the brief reprieve at an end. “I’m sad,” I tell him.
His tone is regretful, his touch firm as he pulls me into his arms and rubs my back, offering comfort in the face of the pain he’s about to cause. “I know. I’m sorry for that.”
“Couldn’t you just think about it for a few more days?” I request.
“That won’t benefit anyone,” he tells me. “I’ve already given her more time than I intended. It has to end sometime. The longer we let it stretch on, the more stressful it will be for everyone. It’s time to end this.”
Apparently it’s also time to stop coddling me, because he boots me off his lap and stands, crossing to my rack of dresses and picking one for me. I bend and retrieve my discarded robe from the floor, slinging it over my arm and walking over to take the dress.
Before he hands it to me, his gaze rakes over my naked body, his face alight with pleasure. “I don’t know why I buy you so many clothes. I should just keep you naked in the bedroom all the time.”
I shake my head, taking the hanger from him. “It’s like you can literally read my mind. Did you add to your skill set without telling me?”
He smiles, leaning in to give me a lingering kiss. Then he smacks my ass, tells me to get dressed, and heads downstairs.
I have such a good husband.
When he’s not murdering and wreaking havoc, anyway.
Nobody’s perfect.
Chapter Seventeen
Meg
I had no idea Dante was coming to dinner tonight.
Somehow, despite having spent the better part of the last two days with him, Rafe has told me nothing. I haven’t died, though. Last night I followed him into the bathroom when he went to brush his teeth. He informed me I was intruding on his personal space. I reminded him the bathrooms are the only space in the whole house where we can talk without cameras.
It would have been the perfect time to tell me Dante was coming to dinner, but I don’t think he much appreciated how much control I was trying to take over everything, so he brushed his teeth in relative silence and sauntered back out of the bathroom without giving me anything.
Tonight is surreal. Getting ready for family dinner again—and not even alone, which is super weird. Rafe left for about an hour after telling me to stay put. When he came back, his whole demeanor had changed.
I finally go in to do my hair and make-up. Maria brought me my cosmetic case and a black dress with a full skirt that I should be able to fit on this weirdly shaped post-baby body I have right now. I wish I could just wear leggings and a T-shirt, but then it wouldn’t be family dinner.
I stab myself in the eyeball with the mascara wand when the door flies open and Rafe barges in. I take a step back, watching in alarm as he closes the door behind him.
“What the hell?” I close one watering eye, watching him through the other. “Give a girl a little warning, would ya? A courtesy knock? Jesus Christ.”
He rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Sorry, princess, didn’t mean to inconvenience you. Just thought you might want to know, tonight is the night.”
My heart drops. “Tonight? When?”
“Later. After dinner.”
“But… we haven’t had time to—”
“Has to be tonight,” he states, cutting me off. “Your clock’s run out.”
It takes a second for the words to land, then my heart stops altogether. “My clock… He’s going to kill me?”
“Tomorrow. So we move tonight.”
His gaze briefly skates across the surface of the counter, then he grabs a bottle of cologne—probably his excuse for coming in here, should they notice in the surveillance room—and heads back out as abruptly as he came inside.
Mascara forgotten, I stumble back a few steps and drop onto the closed toilet, trying to gather up my wits. It’s quite an experience, being told the father of your children has decided when he will kill you. Would he do it himself, or would Adrian?
I guess it doesn’t matter now; he won’t get to. Rafe is going to save me.
My stomach hurts. I should feel better about this. I should be more relieved, but all I feel is dread and terror. I don’t know how this happens. I don’t even know if they can pull it off. I never figured out who A was, but I don’t think it’s Adrian. I would feel so much better about all this if it was Adrian. Unfortunately, I don’t think he would so much as toss a life raft to my drowning ass, at this point. Besides, if he wanted to save Mia, he wouldn’t have to do all this. Surely he’s been banking all the money Mateo’s been paying him all these years. As the most effective member of Mateo’s entire operation, he’s also probably the most adept at disappearing. If he really wanted to, he could take Mia, Elise, and the kids and just disappear.
