Resisting Mateo (Morelli Family, #5)

by Sam Mariano

  It makes my heart hurt.

  I scroll past it, not wanting to look at it anymore. Luckily the next one is me and Mark at Francesca’s wedding. We’re posing like fake gangstas, even though he’s a real one, and at least this one makes me smile. There’s no darkness associated with this one. It reminds me that tomorrow’s Saturday, and I hope Mark stops in at the bakery. I missed him last week since I didn’t go to work, but I’d like to see him.

  The third picture is more what I expected, and my heart cracks open, just a little. Me and Vince at Francesca’s wedding, all dressed up. He looks so handsome, his arm curled protectively around me, and he didn’t even like me much that night. Still, he was protective.

  Now other memories of that night are flooding back, all the sadness. My dance with Mateo. Mateo stealing me away from Vince for said dance, and the pain I knew I was causing him, but I did it anyway. I would let Vince pay with his pain for my stolen moment with Mateo.

  To be fair, I thought I would pay him back. I didn’t think this would happen. I thought Vince would still have me later, to punish with bitter hate sex and mend with scrambled eggs. I didn’t think that was ending anytime soon.

  There are a lot of photos of the wedding, so I scroll through those much faster. Then I get to a random one that I completely forgot I took—Vince is making a funny face at me, sitting beside me in a booth at a restaurant. I thought he looked really handsome that day and I told him to give me a smile. He did that instead. I nudged him in the shoulder, rolling my eyes, and he grabbed me and pulled me in for a kiss.

  Well, shit. Now I’m crying.

  I keep looking though. I keep looking at pictures of Vince, pictures of me and Vince. There’s one of him in bed, the sun shining through the window of our bedroom. His shirt’s off and he’s looking up at me with his signature unimpressed sulk.

  God, I miss that sulky face.

  Now I miss them both.

  It’s probably good Mateo isn’t here, I decide, as I set my alarm and put my phone back on the nightstand. Tears flow freely down my face now, and I haven’t been crying myself to sleep the last few nights. I’ve been distracted by Mateo. If he was in bed with me right now, his arms locked around me, he would be here for this, too.

  Though I guess if he’d been here, I wouldn’t have just taken a stroll down memory lane, so I wouldn’t be crying.

  But he didn’t come.

  So I cry myself to sleep, all by myself, just like I told him I wanted.

  ---

  The bells on the door jingle, alerting me to a new customer. My face lights up momentarily when I see Mark, but fades fast when I see the look of concern on his face. He doesn’t even stop behind the counter; he walks around the display like he did when he used to work here and grabs me, wrapping me in his arms and giving me a firm hug, just like that night at the wedding.

  It sort of makes me want to cry, because he has to know. There’s no other reason for this. And the idea of Vince’s death being talked about, being gossip-worthy, making it over to the Castellanos family upsets me. I don’t even know the details of what kind of work Vince did for Mateo (he said it was better if I didn’t know, for practical purposes), but I guess it makes sense that people in their circles would notice him missing.

  “I’m so sorry, Mia,” Mark finally says.

  I sigh, resting my head against his chest. “I appreciate that, but you’re going to make me cry again.”

  He pulls back, still with his arms around me, and looks down at me. “What the fuck happened?”

  “I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t talk about it,” I tell him.

  “It’s been talked about. The last time Mateo went postal was when he killed his wife. When it happens, people take notice.”

  “Well, it sounds like you already know what happened,” I point out, pulling out of his embrace and taking a step back. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks, obviously not satisfied by my lack of real response. “Is he hurting you?”

  “No,” I assure him, shaking my head. “I mean, emotionally, by killing Vince, but not… I’m fine. I can handle Mateo.”

  He snorts. “I have my doubts about that.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, does it?”

  Mark shakes his head, but he looks decidedly irritated now. “He has too much power. No one should have this much power.”

  “Mark,” I say, giving him a look of warning. As far as I know, there’s still only the one camera in the corner over here, but I wouldn’t put it past Mateo to put some hidden ones in after the Mark incident, just to be safe.

  He understands this. “Why don’t we go somewhere after you get off work to talk? We’ll get dinner or coffee or something.”

  “I can’t,” I tell him, shaking my head. “You know I can’t.”

  “You don’t have to tell him,” he says, quietly.

  “Mark.” I widen my eyes at him pointedly.

  “God, he is a pain in the ass,” he mutters.

  My eyebrows lift and fall real fast, the most agreement I can really give him, since I don’t know how well monitored I am. Not live—he doesn’t watch these cameras live, I know that much, but he could always go over them later. He hasn’t liked Mark since he found out he was a spy in his bakery anyway, so it’s not a good idea to give him any additional reasons.

  “It’s just dinner with a friend,” he says, affecting a harmless smile. “No biggie.”

  “I have to be home for dinner.”

  “Then it’s coffee with a friend. Popcorn. Doughnuts. I don’t care what we do. Let’s go check out the bean in Millennium Park, people seem to dig that.”

  “I’d have to ask him,” I say.

  “You need his permission? That’s fucked up. I thought Vince was the crazy one.”

  I wince.

  So does he. “Shit, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

  “We’re all crazy here, Mark,” I tell him, sighing and moving around him to get back around to my side of the counter. “What kind of sweets are you in the mood for today?”

  Ignoring my question, he tells me, “You need a friend.”

  “We are friends; I just can’t hang out with you right now. And I have a friend—I have Meg.”

  His eyes widen, clearly stunned. “Still?”

  I nod, so ensconced in our way of life somehow that I don’t immediately understand why I wouldn’t.

  “Damn,” he says, shaking his head. “Really?”

  “Of course. Meg and I are best friends, you know that.”

  “Unbelievable,” he mutters, still looking vaguely stunned. “I mean, it’s not uncommon for a boss to have a wife and a girlfriend, but for them to remain best friends and get fucking mani-pedis together, that’s fucking unprecedented. This asshole has it made in the shade, doesn’t he?”

  I crack a smile. “It isn’t like that. I’m not a mistress. We’re… I don’t know what we are right now. I really, really don’t want to talk about Mateo though.”

  “First time for everything, huh?” he remarks.

  “Okay,” I say, cutting him a look of censure.

  Ducking his head, he apologizes for the jab and indicates the cupcake he’ll take from the display today. Before he leaves he tries once more to convince me to go somewhere with him later, but I tell him no again. I do sort of want to though, so I debate over whether or not I could ask Mateo. Maybe next week when he comes, I could go hang out with Mark.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Mia

  I’m invited to the study tonight for drinks, but I still can’t go into Mateo’s study without bursting into tears, so I decline and hang out in the kitchen with Maria instead.

  I’ve noticed a major lack of Cherie since I moved back to the mansion, so I decide to ask Maria about it.

  “Hey Maria, how come Cherie doesn’t help out on Sundays anymore?”

  Maria shakes her head, her face pinched with displeasure—this isn’t uncommon though, her face
usually looks like that, but now it’s more pronounced. “Cherie doesn’t help with anything anymore. She quit after…” Maria trails off, sliding her eyes toward me, and I realize she doesn’t want to mention Vince in front of me and trigger the waterworks.

  “Oh,” I murmur, arranging the breadsticks in the basket. “I didn’t realize… I mean, I was never really sure how that worked. She’s allowed to just quit?”

  “Cherie was never really a maid,” Maria explains. “She’s related to them. And she was never overly fond of Mateo, but now…”

  “Right.” I nod, my heart heavy. “Is she okay? I’ve been so lost in my own grief; I didn’t even think to check on her.”

  “It hit her very hard,” Maria says. “She and Vince were close.”

  “I know they were.” Sadness rolls over me again, remembering Vince and Cherie together at school. All of us playing together in the pool over the summer. God, Vince looked good wet.

  Now I’m sad again.

  I help take out the salads before I take my usual seat next to Mateo and across from Meg. I’m keenly aware of the empty seat beside me though, and I was already sad, so I’m not an ideal dinner companion tonight.

  Mateo watches me on occasion, and I don’t know why. There are too many possibilities. Maybe he’s wondering if I missed him in my bed last night. Maybe he popped into his surveillance room to see what I did without him and saw me sobbing over Vince. Maybe it’s something I just haven’t thought of yet, because my brain doesn’t have as many open tabs as his does. Who knows? It’s always something with him.

  Meg is on her game, though. She’s in a good mood. Probably because he was in her bed instead of mine last night. I can’t blame her for that. I’ve been monopolizing him.

  I thought it would be a lot stranger to think about him sleeping with both of us. I’m super possessive; it would’ve pissed me off to think of someone with Vince. I didn’t even like the idea of Meg with Mateo when I first met her, before we were friends, when she was a maid and started asking me all those weird-ass questions. Maybe it’s because we became friends first. Maybe it’s because I sort of hate him still. I don’t know. I’m not going to question my good luck on the matter, because it would not serve me to be jealous in this scenario.

  As soon as dinner’s over, Mateo summons me. When he leads me down the hall toward the study, I balk. “I’m not going in there.”

  “We’re going to my room,” he states.

  My heart drops. “Your room? Meg’s room? Why?”

  “I have something I want to give you, and it’s in my room.” Glancing back at me as we approach the stairs, he says, “You’re still allowed in our room. Everything doesn’t have to be kept strictly separate.”

  It feels wrong to occupy Meg’s space alone with him, though. It’s not worth putting up a fight over, but it makes me uncomfortable.

  At least, I thought I was uncomfortable. Then he opens up this little gold box and pulls out the necklace that used to hang around Meg’s neck, the one he took from her when he gave her the engagement ring.

  I stare at it, wide-eyed. “Meg’s death necklace?”

  He rolls his eyes as he unclasps it. “I really wish she wouldn’t have called it that. It’s a locket.”

  “The one all the dead women wore,” I point out, since I’ve heard this story.

  He nods, not even bothering to argue. “Did anyone tell you about Belle, my father’s first wife?”

  “I’ve heard some things,” I say, eyeing the necklace uncertainly. “Do I have to wear this? I feel like this necklace is the opposite of a good luck charm.”

  “She didn’t want to be with my father,” he summarizes. “But it didn’t matter, because he wanted to be with her.”

  “Morelli trap 101, I’m familiar,” I murmur, nodding.

  “She worked at the bakery. She met a man there—a nice man, a man who made her laugh, a man who wasn’t as dark and twisted as the Morelli men.”

  I sigh heavily, my shoulders drooping. This is about Mark.

  “She had an affair with him. Fell for him. Ran off with him. It ended badly. My father found them. Lots of murder. Lots of retribution. It was tragic.”

  “You should really put together a Morelli study guide for us ladies to look over before we make the colossal mistake of fucking one of you,” I inform him.

  A hint of a smile plays out across his lips. “I’ll recommend it for the next generation.”

  “Meg and I can design pamphlets.”

  He ignores my comment now so he can finish his story. “Now, that man was a nobody. He really was just a baker. My father could’ve—and should’ve—just killed the bastard as soon as he realized she was fucking around. Problem solved.” He moves to stand in front of me, towering over me, and a wave of intimidation rolls over me. I lose my spunk. I forget I hate him. I remember he can be scary. I shrink under his dark gaze. “Your friend Mark is not a baker. He is not a nobody. He’s just enough of a somebody to be a thorn in my side. I could kill a baker with no repercussions. I cannot kill someone connected to the Castellanos family without repercussions, especially not a close friend of Salvatore’s. That would be like someone killing Adrian. I would rip their intestines out through their nose holes. The point is, I have invested a lot of time and a good deal of effort brokering peace with that family. People died on both sides. Lives were lost. I married my sister off to him. Now there’s peace. I want to keep that peace. I would appreciate, regardless of your current feelings for me, if you didn’t make that harder.”

  He moves behind me now, draping the chain around my neck and clasping it. Once he’s finished that task, he drags my zipper down until the back of my dress gapes open. My pulse quickens and I feel a little unsteady.

  “I didn’t think you’d be threatened by Mark,” I say.

  An abruptly exhaled breath hits my skin as he laughs. I shiver, closing my eyes as he tenderly presses his lips against my shoulder. He lingers, then moves a fraction of an inch and does it again. He does it a third time before he leans in, his warm chest pressing against my nearly bare back. Then he drops a few kisses along my neck. Once he gets to my ear, he murmurs, “He isn’t a threat, sweetheart. He’s a pain in my ass. And you’ve seen what happens to boys who become pains in my ass.”

  Anger moves through me at his crass reminder of what he did to Vince, but he’s doing his scary-sexy thing, and I’m too goddamn intimidated to talk back now. I know when to push and when to back down, and this isn’t a moment for pushing.

  Trailing the back of his finger down the curve of my back, he continues, “I understand you’re a young, attractive girl. I understood that before I acquired you. I’m sure you like the attention. I will give you all the attention you want. But please, for your own sake, do not create another Vince. I promise you it will not end any better a second time, and I shouldn’t have to start a war over what’s already mine.”

  “Does Meg get warnings like this?” I ask, a little shakily, as he uses both hands now to push my dress down.

  “No. Meg has much more sense than you; she doesn’t require these kinds of warnings.”

  I stiffen at the insult, but I don’t respond.

  He’s pushed my dress to the ground now and I’m standing here in my heels, bra, and panties. Then he hooks his fingers around the panties and tugs them down.

  “Shouldn’t we go to my room?” I ask.

  “This is my bedroom,” he states. “I’ll fuck whoever I want in it.”

  Jesus, he is in a bad mood.

  He prowls around me now in a circle, looking me over like a prized piece in his collection. I don’t especially like the feeling; it’s not the first time since being “acquired” that I’ve felt more like a possession than a person, but he’s in such a weird mood tonight that I keep my mouth shut.

  He stops in front of me, his hands moving to unbutton his pants, and looks at me like he’d just love for me to object. “Now, get your pretty little ass on my bed and stick it in the ai
r.”

  I jut my chin out like I’m going to be difficult, but I haul my ass over to the bed and do just as he says. He laughs a little at this. It vaguely embarrasses me, but since I clearly have some kind of sickness, that turns me on.

  “This won’t be gentle,” he warns, unnecessarily, as he climbs up on the bed behind me.

  “I sorta figured,” I mutter, bracing my weight on my forearms.

  And it isn’t. He shoves his cock inside me like he’s wielding a sword and he wants me dead. This round is the most reminiscent of the first time I was in this bed with him. He fucks me harder and harder, making it impossible to stay upright on the bed, impossible to stay silent. He finishes inside me before I can come, and when he drops to the bed beside me, knowing that and not caring, that’s when I accept that he’s definitely mad at me.

  And I hate it.

  Swallowing my pride, I curl up beside him. Tentatively, I rest my hand on his chest. I watch his face, but he doesn’t look at me, not even when I brush my thumb across his skin, offering up a meager serving of the tenderness I’ve been withholding like it’s my job for two weeks.

  It shouldn’t make me nervous, given I hate him and all, but now that I’ve seen how annoyed he is with me, his absence from my bed last night does worry me. Maybe he’s getting tired of me. Maybe he doesn’t like having to put in this much work. God knows he doesn’t have to. Maybe he’s getting bored with me. That shouldn’t make my stomach sink. That shouldn’t make me feel shaky inside.

  Besides, how sick of me can he really be if he gave me the death necklace?

  “Are you really that mad over Mark?” I ask quietly.

  Mateo rolls his eyes. “I’m not mad about Mark. I was merely warning you. I know girls like you enjoy having some asshole always waiting in the wings. That’s not going to happen with me. It invites trouble and I want peace.”

  “It’s not like that. I know he’s attracted to me, but he doesn’t actually want to date me or anything, he’s just a harmless flirt. And I only want to be friends with him. I don’t even see Mark that way. He’s not my type, you know that. He’s comfortable. It’s nice to have a little comfortable when you’re with someone like you.”