by Sam Mariano
Unease tickles down my spine at that grim realization. If Vince and that other guy did kill my neighbors, what would stop them from doing the same thing to us? They could be planning to burn our house down as I stand here scrubbing dishes.
I drop the sponge into the sink basin, bracing my weight on the edge as my shoulders sag, my head falling forward.
I have to stop thinking about this. I’m driving myself crazy, and there’s nothing I can do about it right now.
I barely register the movement behind me and I’m pushed forward, my hip slamming painfully against the counter. Someone shoves against my back, one arm neatly trapping both of mine against my body, the other clapping a hand over my mouth to stop me from crying out.
A knowing kind of terror drenches my bones and I can’t move, can’t think—for almost a full second, everything stops.
Then I start bucking, rearing back in an attempt at head-butting my assailant.
My head connects with nothing, but taking advantage of my movement, he swiftly repositions the hand trapping my arms, locking it around my neck and pulling me back into a painful position.
My hands fly to his arms, digging my fingers into his skin as I instinctively attempt to pry them away from my throat. It only serves to tighten his grip, so I stop fighting, terrified he’s going to snap my neck and focus on getting myself under control. I force myself to quiet down, in a show of cooperation. I need to see who’s in my home to see if I have a chance. If it’s Vince, I might make it out alive. If it’s some flunky and Vince isn’t there, I’m probably already dead.
I count six seconds before he finally speaks. “Are you done?”
My eyes nearly roll back in relief. It’s Vince’s voice. I attempt something like a nod and the pressure around my neck eases up, disappearing completely as he lets me go. He remains close instead of taking a step back, and for a wild second, I try to remember if there are any knives in the sink—just in case.
What are you thinking? No, that’s a bad idea. I can’t stab a Morelli. Then I really would be dead meat.
Diplomacy is the only way to go.
“Don’t scream,” he says calmly.
I shake my head, my hand automatically going to my neck. “I won’t.”
His gaze follows my hand as it brushes across my throat.
I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.
I need to calm my ass down.
Only that’s hard to do, with a son of the mob breaking into my house while I wash dishes.
My heart floods with ice water as I consider my brother and sister asleep down the hall. They could’ve heard the scuffle. They could hear…whatever is about to happen next.
“When does your mother get home?” Vince asks, like he’s paying a social call.
“Soon.”
What, he expected me to tell him he had the house to himself for a while?
Cocking his head to the side, he regards me with a seemingly solemn expression. “Let’s not start off with lies, huh?”
My face flushes, despite the ridiculousness of him expecting literally anything from me. “I’m not—I don’t know when she’ll be home. She’s off work already, but she went to her boyfriend’s house after. She really could be home any time. And she doesn’t know anything,” I add quickly.
Eyebrows rising, he says, “Well, at least we don’t have to pretend you don’t know why I’m here.”
I hug myself, running my hands up and down my arms. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even see anything, really.”
“That so?” he asks, reaching into his pocket and extracting a thin, rectangular object.
My stomach rolls over as he offers up my cell phone.
“You can have it back,” he states, regarding my discomfort with amusement. “Obviously I had to delete the video you took—you know, of that thing you didn’t really see.”
I don’t even reach for my phone, and I definitely can’t meet his gaze. “All I saw was you walking out of a house.”
“That seems like a boring thing to record. Those cute little videos of your siblings, those seem worthwhile…” Pausing, he jerks a thumb in the direction of the hall and pulls a frown. “I imagine they’re sleeping right in there, huh?”
I narrow my eyes at him, but words fail me. The unspoken threat lingers, just because of who he is. “You don’t have to make veiled threats. I’m not going to say anything. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even call in the fire. I didn’t want to get involved,” I say quietly, my eyes dropping to the floor.
Vince soaks that in, then leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “Why were you out there in the first place?”
The truth feels too embarrassing, but I don’t have a lie prepared and I’m no good at coming up with them on the fly. “I was making a phone call.”
Lifting a disbelieving eyebrow, he questions, “In your backyard?”
“We have thin walls. I didn’t want anyone to hear the call. It was stupid.”
“Ah.” A knowing nod. “Boyfriend? It’s not that tool bag, Bradford, is it?”
My face burns.
Vince utters a noise of disgust. “Guy’s an idiot. You could do better.”
Before I can think better of it, I retort, “Yeah, well, there just aren’t enough mobbed up arsonists to go around.”
His brown eyes narrow and he pushes off the counter, taking a step toward me.
I automatically step back, my eyes not moving from his. I am floored by my own idiocy. That was such a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to say, but I force a wavering smile. “What, you can’t take a joke?”
“It’s an odd joke, considering you didn’t see anything,” he reminds me.
Bile threatens to rise up my throat and I curse myself a hundred times. I’m talking to someone who has committed criminal acts, not bantering with a hot guy at school. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I didn’t.” My voice sounds weak as he continues to advance on me, taking two steps forward to my one step back and eventually his arm shoots out, grabbing me by the wrist. I squeak, literally squeak, and then his hands are on my shoulders, swinging and pushing until the counter’s pressed against my back. It’s suddenly harder to draw air into my lungs. Vince stands so close I can feel the body heat roll off his chest.
Even though it couldn’t possibly do any good, I implement my four-year-old sister’s favorite hiding technique and close my eyes.
“See,” Vince says, his voice still low and even, “when you say a thing like that, it makes it seem like you’re lying to me.”
“It was a stupid thing to say. It slipped out.”
“Exactly.” His fingers brush my chin and I jump, my eyes popping open and quickly meeting his. “If something like that happened to slip out again, say in front of someone else—”
“It wouldn’t,” I insist. His fingers are still trailing along the curve of my neck. I catch a shaky breath, distracted by the weirdly pleasant sensation. His hands continue their journey and before I realize what he’s doing, his hands, positioned around my neck, begin to squeeze.
I gasp, my wide eyes jumping to his in horror. My hands fly to his wrists as his fingers tighten uncomfortably, but not painfully. My throat feels strangely fragile beneath just the strength of his fingers.
“My father, like most of the men in my family, uses fear to motivate people to do his bidding. Violence. Threats. Personally, it doesn’t do much for me to terrify a woman. Not usually,” he amends, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. “I have to admit, I haven’t hated you watching over your shoulder for me since that night. Could be I’m a sick fuck just like the rest of them. Latent gene, maybe. But I’m also your fucking angel of mercy right now. If you watched any other member of my family walk out of that house the other night, you’d be dead already.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the burn of tears threatening to seep out.
“But it was me. And I don’t want to hurt you, but my ass comes before yours,” he states, one e
yebrow shooting up even as his eyes drop pointedly to where my ass is pressed against the counter, “no matter how nice that ass is.”
Before I can attempt a response, the sound of someone trying to twist the door knob open startles us both.
Vince drops his hands, his gaze jerking to the door.
Turning back to me, eyes full of threats, he says, “Your room.”
I grab his wrist, running down the hall as my mom pushes her key into the lock.
We make it inside, but sometimes Mom comes to my room to check in. My room’s tiny, barely enough space to get around the full-sized bed, and my closet is minuscule—and shared, since the room my siblings share doesn’t have one.
“Will she come in here?” he asks, his gaze lingering on the door.
“She might,” I whisper back. “I guess…the floor on that side.” I point to the other side of my bed.
Shooting me a dark look, he says, “If you try to signal her or say a goddamn word, Mia…”
“I wouldn’t.” Mainly because that wouldn’t reassure the nice gangster that I wouldn’t rat him out, but I don’t add that.
Keeping the light off, I climb into bed, yanking my covers up over me. I watch, transfixed, as Vince Morelli lowers himself to the floor, like a real-life monster beneath my bed.
Chapter Four
The door creaks open and light spills in. “You up?”
I debate faking her out, but she flips on the light.
I force a squint, pushing up on my elbows. “Well, I was trying to sleep.”
My mom’s a tall lady with dirty blonde hair and a weakness for insensible shoes. She falls on the pretty side of average, but years of putting through one disaster after the next have left their mark.
She holds onto the doorjamb as she yanks her purple heels off and shakes her head. “Men are such assholes.”
Oh good, she wants to vent.
“I agree, but could we maybe talk about this tomorrow? I was just about—”
“I have to work in the morning,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “Jen called off, of course. I’m gonna need you to drop off the kids before school.”
I fail to stifle a sigh of annoyance. We’re down to sharing a car, which is a real headache. “Well, in that case I definitely need to get to sleep.”
She rolls her eyes, exaggerating her disappointment. “Fine, I guess girl talk can wait.”
“Goodnight.”
“One last thing. I’m definitely not going to be working Mondays after the next schedule. I was thinking, since now I have set hours Saturday mornings and Mondays off, maybe you could start looking into getting something part-time like we talked about? Save up for another car.”
“Fine,” I say, admittedly a little shortly. “I’ll see if I can find something.”
Apparently, I’m not psyched enough, so she tries to sell me on it. “It would be your car.”
It would be a family car, not mine, but I don’t argue. I can’t even get an hour to myself, let alone a car.
“Brax got suspended from work or he wouldn’t even be able to pick me up tomorrow; we’d be really screwed then.”
“He’s picking you up?” Also, what did she expect from a guy named Brax?
“We’re going out.”
“So I’m babysitting.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answers anyway. “If you don’t mind. We really need to spend some time together.”
I nod, lips pressed firmly together.
“If things keep going the way they have been, we might not need to re-up this lease,” she said, as if it’s a tempting possibility.
Literally the only thing I want to do less than move in with Brax is have this conversation with Vince Morelli hunched on the floor beside my bed.
Since I’m not being cooperative, she huffs and turns off the light. “You’re no fun. Goodnight.”
As soon as she’s gone, I pull the blanket up to cover my face. I consider, just for a moment, how ridiculous my life is. A minute ago, some criminal mobster I go to school with had his hands around my neck, threatening strangulation, and now my mom wants me to find a job with no experience that would be cool with very specific availability—but don’t worry, if things keep going well (despite men apparently being assholes?) we can move in with my new “daddy”—who is seven years older than me.
I feel Vince standing by my bedside, but I don’t remove my cover.
“You know what, if you wanna kill me, go ahead and do it now. At least then I’ll get some sleep.”
The bed sags and creaks and my eyes widen, but he can’t see. I feel him warm against my side, and then he’s tugging my blanket—and then he’s under it with me, turning his head in my direction.
“So, that was your mom, huh?”
“That was her.”
“Don’t like the boyfriend?” he surmises.
“It would be more normal if he dated me—and I get the feeling he’s had that thought a time or two. Cohabitation is not a good idea.”
“You need a new car,” he states.
“I need a new life,” I return.
“You might be in luck. I’ve never met a woman who got entangled with a Morelli and didn’t end up with a new life out of it, though I can’t say that’s always a good thing.”
That time I’m the one raising my eyebrows. “Are we entangled?”
“I have a feeling we’re gonna be.”
It’s quiet for about half a minute, then I say, “I’m not going to say anything to anyone. Honest. I have enough of my own problems; I don’t need to add a mob beef to the list.”
“I hope you’re telling the truth. Not just for my sake, but for yours,” he adds. “You should think of this like you’re covering your own ass just as much as mine.”
“I probably am,” I mutter. “If I would’ve made the call instead of cowering in my bedroom that night, they might still be alive.”
It must’ve been clear in the way I said it that it’s been weighing on my mind, because Vince considers it for a minute, but not with the cold, hard look he’d worn earlier. After a minute, his tone gentler than I expect, he says, “They wouldn’t. There’s nothing you could have done.”
I let it sink in for a second, but the relief I expected doesn’t come.
It’s probably verification that the guy lying in my bed right now is a murderer, but that doesn’t hit the way I expect it to, either.
“Now what?” I ask quietly.
“Well, looks like you’re gonna have to share the covers.”
Alarmed, my eyes widen. “What? You can’t stay!”
He’s already smiling, enjoying messing with me.
“Oh.” I blush.
Luckily it doesn’t take too long to figure out how we’ll sneak him out. My mother goes in to take a shower, and once the water turns on, we’re clear to creep down the hall.
I open the door to let him outside, but he hangs back, glancing down the hall we just came from. His gaze travels back to me, still unsure.
“You can trust me,” I tell him.
Nodding, holding my gaze he says, “I hope so.”
With that, he finally walks out.
---
“Can we get garlic bread?”
I look over at my little brother, taking a third sample cup from the little ‘try me’ stand in the grocery store bakery. “No. Allan, no more cake samples. You’re only supposed to take one.”
“I want cake,” my baby sister announces, reaching her hand out toward it. I roll my eyes as Allan grabs another one and hands it to her, flashing me an innocent look.
“It wasn’t for me,” he defends. “Why can’t we get garlic bread? Garlic bread is so good.”
“We are only here for a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce. That is it.”
“Then why’d we get a cart?” he demands, not unreasonably.
“For Casey—she likes to ride.”
“No fair, I want to ride. Make her take turns.”
I pull t
he cart to a sudden halt and take a deep breath. “We are not fighting over who rides in the cart. We’re not. Can we please just go get the food for dinner so we can go home?”
“I don’t wanna go home,” Allan complains as he redirects toward the pasta aisle.
I start moving again as he meanders along, telling me how boring home is. I can’t really argue that point. Without cable, there are only so many options for television, and even I‘m sick of the same kid shows over and over. “Maybe you guys can play with your Legos,” I suggest. “Or color a picture to hang on the refrigerator. You’ve got stuff to do.”
“It’s all boring,” he informs me.
“Just grab the spaghetti,” I tell him, slowing to a stop in front of the wall of pasta boxes.
“Spaghetti, huh?”
My heart drops out my chest cavity as I recognize Vince’s voice, spinning around to find him standing right there in the aisle with me.
“Kid’s right,” he says, smirking at my discomfort. “That is kind of boring.”
My heart continues to skitter around my chest as I glance behind him, checking that he’s alone. He notices, and his smile wilts as he seems to consider it.
“Just me,” he says, less amused.
Like that makes much of a difference. I don’t say that though. Uncertainty rules me as I try to figure out how I’m supposed to react to him suddenly showing up wherever I am. That seems paranoid, but earlier in class, instead of giving the seat next to me back to its rightful owner, Vince sat there again.
“Okay, can we get some garlic bread now?” Allan asks, not noticing my sudden discomfort.
Instead of answering my brother, I tentatively meet Vince’s eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping.”
There’s no reason to assume he isn’t—everyone needs groceries, after all—but I don’t believe him. I nod anyway, turning back to my cart and pushing it to the edge of the aisle without a word.
Wheeling the cart into the narrow space between the registers, I take both items from the cart and place them on the belt. Then, as is natural from that angle, I glance behind me.
