Last Words (Morelli Family, #7)

by Sam Mariano

  I watch her open up a message chain and send it, then she opens up an app and starts to post it there.

  “Nope, don’t do that,” I tell her, grabbing her phone. Just in case she thinks she’s being cute, I discard the post myself and hand the phone back to her.

  “Are you my dirty little secret?” she jokes, setting the phone beside her on the couch.

  “I’m serious; don’t put pictures of me online. Remember the cousin who wants to kill me? I’d prefer he doesn’t kill you, too.”

  “Are you sure he wants to kill you?” she asks. “Like, did he specifically say that, or are you just assuming?”

  “I am positive he wants to kill me.”

  “Maybe he just wants you to stay out of Chicago. Isn’t that the point of an exile? Had he wanted you dead, I have to imagine he could have simply killed you.”

  “It’s complicated. Mia didn’t want me dead, so he didn’t kill me. He pretended to. But she couldn’t handle it, so he had to tell her. But that was a long time ago, before the whole kidnapping incident. I wasn’t very nice to her during that ordeal and now he definitely wants me dead. That’s actually one of the reasons I don’t like hanging out at my apartment in the evenings. I assume one of these nights I’m not gonna wake up. At least if I’m alone, no one else goes down with me.”

  There’s no humor on her face when I deliver that little nugget. She looks casually pensive, like she doesn’t agree with me, but doesn’t know how to argue it. “That’s no way to live, Vince,” she finally says.

  I shrug. “I made my own bed.”

  The lightness of the moment dies the kind of death I hope to get—quick and relatively painless. For all her optimism, Carly seems to be mulling over what I’ve said. I don’t want to think about it, so I just try to focus on the damn show. At least the soberness of reminding us both I’ll be dead soon cools my interest in all the goodies Carly’s serving up on a silver platter over here.

  I haven’t gone home with anyone else since Carly started coming around. Some bastard part of me thinks maybe I should, just to push her away. I get much more out of hanging out with Carly at her apartment than I do any of those hook-ups though, so ultimately I can’t bring myself to pull the trigger. It would be the best thing I could do for her. She clearly likes me or she wouldn’t be tolerating my shit, and regardless of her claims that she’s not looking for a relationship either, I know she’s only saying that because I am. If I changed my mind all of a sudden and told her we should try it, she would be game.

  I’ve even considered telling her that just to test out the truth of her statement, but frankly the idea of testing someone who likes me reminds me way too much of Mateo, so I can’t bring myself to do that either.

  Basically, I’m stuck.

  The fact remains, though, if Mateo does find me, being close to Carly puts her in danger. When they do find me, since I’m not on the run, they probably won’t act immediately. They’ll stay a couple of days to get a feel for my routine first, make sure there are no loose ends they don’t know about. Carly constantly being around is going to make her look like my girlfriend. I haven’t made friends here—didn’t see the point this time—so Carly is the only loose end, the only person who might have something to say if I went missing. If they think she is my girlfriend, they won’t know what I’ve told her. I assumed Mateo put cameras at the first apartment he moved me into, but he doesn’t have any way of monitoring me here. If they think there’s even a remote chance I’ve told Carly about my family, and Carly might talk if I turn up dead or missing, they’ll kill her too, just to keep things simple.

  While I’m over here convincing myself to push her away for her own good, Carly’s brain apparently took a different path. “Do you ever think about going back to Chicago?” she asks me.

  I glance her way. “I’m exiled, remember?”

  “I know.” Her tone is calm, her gaze steady. “But you went back before, right? Do you ever think about going back again?”

  The nice thing to say would be no. So I say, “Yes.”

  She swallows. The light in her eyes dims. I feel immensely guilty, but I remain silent. “For Mia?”

  “Not just for Mia. For him. I’d love nothing more than to kill him for all he’s done. He hurts everybody who loves him. He gives no love back—he’s not capable of it. He’s a fucking monster. But he’s a hell of an actor so he’s able to hide it, to make people forget. Mia’s a nice fucking person, she’s loving and forgiving and… she just got taken in by him. She believed his lies and it completely warped her mind. He’s literally brainwashed her,” I state, looking at Carly to see if she thinks I’m crazy.

  Surprisingly understanding, she nods. “That must have been hard to watch.”

  “It was. It was fucking terrible. She’s just easily led and she got swept up by this evil fucking person. It’s like she needs to be saved, you know?”

  Carly nods, processing my words. “Here’s my question. And please don’t take this as me not being on your side here, because I am. I don’t even know these people or care to, I’m just trying to look at this my way. I believe everything happens for a reason. I believe in fate. I believe that every experience we have, good or bad, can serve a purpose in our life. So, my question is, regardless of how evil he is, regardless of whatever lingering feelings you have for this girl, or the circumstances of their union… does she want to be saved?”

  “Well, no. But that’s because he controls her mind.”

  She nods, not agreeing, just accepting my claim. Which, I realize, without knowing Mateo, sounds fucking crazy. “So, what I am hearing is that you feel responsible for Mia. You feel like you need to save her from this man—I’m assuming you’re how she met him?”

  I feel heavier just thinking about it. I nod. “I led him right to her doorstep. Literally.”

  “Okay. Stay with me here, because you may not like what I’m about to suggest. And I may not be right,” she offers, shrugging and absently adjusting the strap of her bra-shirt-thing. “But what if you just considered things through a different mental framework? Maybe instead of feeling responsible for bringing her into some tragic situation, you should consider a different possibility. Personally, I think people come into our lives for a reason. Sometimes people are only meant to be in our lives for a brief time, they’re only there to either transport us from one place to the next, or for us to do that for them. Some relationships, no matter how real they felt at one time, are only meant to be vehicles.”

  “Vehicles,” I repeat, raising my eyebrows.

  She gives me a cute smile. “Like I said, stay with me while I try to explain. What if the whole reason you met Mia was to bring her to Mateo?” She pauses, watching me like I might explode. Then, when I don’t, she continues. “And what if you were never supposed to keep Mia? Maybe you held on past the point of your relationship’s natural expiration and it turned toxic. Not that it’s your fault,” she adds, quickly. “Your feelings were totally valid and real. But what if Mia was just a vehicle for you? Maybe it was her job to get you away from an environment that sounds like it was toxic for you. What if the only reason you and Mia were ever in each other’s lives was so everything that has happened could happen?”

  My instinct is to reject every word she’s saying. I’m not of the belief that every fucked up thing that happens in life is for a reason—sometimes shit just happens.

  Carly continues, “And while I think your hatred for this man is probably completely justified, if the fixation on him hurts you… maybe it’s healthier to let it go and move on. Make a happy life for yourself and don’t worry about the people who only hurt you. Make a life with people who let you be happy.”

  I can’t help smiling a little wryly at that last part. “You wouldn’t happen to have anyone in mind, would you?”

  Carly rolls her eyes at me, shoving me in the arm. “I’m not talking about me. This has nothing to do with me. I’ve noticed you don’t seem to have friends or any kind of ro
ots here. Does that make you happy? Is that how you want to spend the rest of your life?”

  “You keep saying that like I’ve got much of it left. You don’t get it, Carly. I understand why you don’t get it, you’re not from my world, but trust me—I am living on borrowed time here. I don’t get to start over now. He already gave me a chance to do that and I blew it.”

  “Okay, then why hasn’t he found you?” she shoots back. “This guy runs Chicago, right? He’s an evil genius who can practice mind control and exile people from a city like he actually fucking owns it, right? So how is it a man this powerful can’t find you? You live out in the open, you’re using your real name, you have a lease and a job. You aren’t hiding. So, if this man wants you dead, why are you sitting on my couch, eating my popcorn?”

  That’s the part I can’t figure out. That’s the exact question I keep coming back to, over and over again. We’re creeping up on Christmas here. We’re creeping up on nine goddamn months since I took Mia and he still hasn’t found me? It doesn’t make sense.

  Her tone shifts, becomes lighter again, and she leans back into my side, grabbing a handful of popcorn like she hasn’t just been playing counselor. “Tell me something. If you didn’t have a death sentence hanging over your head and you did have a second chance to start a new life away from your crazy family, what would you want to do with it? What do you want your life to look like?”

  My lips curve up faintly. “Are we baring our souls now? Have we reached that point in our non-relationship?”

  “Yep,” she says confidently. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

  I slide her a look at that comment, but she only smiles and winks in response. “I don’t know,” I tell her, honestly. “I haven’t really thought too much about it. Wasn’t a realistic possibility.”

  “Let’s say it is. I’m a secret fairy godmother, I can grant you a pardon from your cousin’s retribution and you can build a new life. Paint me a picture. Do you live in this apartment? Do you buy a house? Do you get a dog?”

  “Mia hated dogs,” I remark.

  Her nose wrinkles up. “Who hates dogs? Is she a serial killer?”

  I can’t help smiling. “They shed all over the place. Plus, she has a thing for expensive shoes and dogs tend to chew things.”

  Her bun bobs as she nods her head, “Okay, so first order of business is we’re getting you a dog. Big dog? Mid-size? I can see you with a lab or a German Sheppard. You should name him Bandit or Rebel.”

  “I like Bandit,” I admit.

  “Okay, we’re getting you a puppy named Bandit. He probably needs a backyard, huh? Are you a condo guy or a house guy?”

  “Probably a house guy. More room to have people over for cook-outs. I’m sure Bandit likes cook-outs. Steals hamburgers off the table.”

  Carly grins. “That sounds like Bandit. He’s such a rascal. What about your job, do you like your job?”

  “I do, but I hate working for other people. I’d rather own it myself.”

  She nods her approval. “Open your own bar. What’s it called?”

  “Wild Aces.”

  “I love that,” she tells me. “See, this is shaping up to be a nice life. Assuming you get over your allergy to relationships, maybe you’ll even meet yourself a nice lady, one who likes dogs and handsome bar owners. Do you want any kids?”

  “Maybe. You?”

  “One or two,” she verifies, nodding. “If I have to stay in Connecticut, I’d also like to move Laurel here. Don’t know if she’d want to move before she graduated though, she would have to transfer. My grandparents are dead so Laurel’s the only family I have left. I think it would be nice to build my own little family here.”

  I’ve literally never even considered the picture Carly is painting for me. I mean, I have—but only if it included Mia. This is exactly what I thought I could have with Mia, a normal life, away from Mateo. I’ve never even entertained the possibility of having it with anyone else, though. No one else made me feel the way Mia did.

  Carly kinda does.

  Carly’s kinda awesome.

  Chapter Eight

  Vince

  “I have an idea, but you’re going to think it’s crazy.”

  I reluctantly open one eye and squint up at the cheerful blonde disturbance, dressed and ready for the day as she takes a seat on the edge of her bed. We stayed up way too late watching crap TV last night, so I just crashed at her place. It was her idea, I was too tired to argue, and now here we are.

  Her blonde hair is pulled up in a high pony tail and she’s wearing tight jeans that make her ass look incredible with an off-white, super soft sweater. She’s always wearing sweaters that make you want to touch her.

  “If the idea is I sleep some more, I’m on board,” I tell her, rolling over with my back to her so I can pull a pillow on top of my head and block out the light.

  “Nope, that’s not my idea.” Since I rolled over and put a bunch of space there, Carly climbs over and straddles my back. Her bedroom is hot as hell so I peeled my shirt off before I went to bed. Now she runs her hands over the tattoos she’s never seen before, her train of thought redirected. “Ooh, I like these.”

  “Yeah?” I murmur.

  “Mmhmm, they’re sexy. Do they mean something, or do you just like them?”

  I sigh heavily, since she’s not going to let me sleep. “They mean things.”

  Running the tip of her index finger across my left shoulder blade, she reads, “This one says ‘worth it.’ What’s that mean?”

  “You won’t like it,” I warn her.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  Sighing again, I explain, “When Mateo kills me, I may not see it coming. I wanted to get the last word in, so I put a last ‘fuck you’ on my body. It means, basically, I’m not sorry for all the shit I did to make him want to kill me, that it was all worth it if it made him that angry.”

  Carly snorts. “Of course it does. You’re so crazy. I’m going to predict someday it will mean something different for you. Someday this same tattoo will mean all the shit you went through with them was worth it, because now you have Bandit, a house with friends to come to your cook-outs, and probably a really cool girlfriend who makes bomb-ass spaghetti sauce.”

  I grin, burying my face in the pillow.

  Carly moves along, trailing her soft hand across my other shoulder blade. “What about this one?”

  That one is two playing cards, a bloody king of hearts with a blood-spattered Ace of hearts on top of it. “More symbolic bullshit,” I tell her. “Aces beat kings.”

  “Gotcha. Your bar name, Wild Aces, that have a little bit to do with this?”

  “Maybe.”

  Now her hand moves to the center of my back and she rubs the black M with twisted, thorny vines wrapped around the letter. “And this one?”

  “The curse of being born a Morelli,” I tell her, simply.

  Now she runs her hands down my back, then leans down and flattens herself against me. The soft fabric of her sweater feels nice against my bare back, and even though we don’t kiss, she brushes her lips against each one of my tattoos, like she’s healing them.

  “They’re not terribly cheerful, but I like them anyway,” she informs me, once she’s done kissing them all better.

  I reach behind me and grab her around the waist, tugging her onto the bed beside me and pulling her close. She looks surprised, but pleasantly, and she snuggles into it.

  “I have one, too. Wanna see?”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “You have a tattoo? Look at you being a little badass.”

  She waves me off. “It’s not a badass tattoo. I just got it during a hard time—same as it sounds like you did—to remind me what I was doing it all for.”

  I don’t know why I’m surprised when she unzips her pants, bridges her hips on the bed, and tugs her jeans down. I should have known this damn temptress would have her tattoo in some place I shouldn’t be looking.

  Sure enough, there on her
hip bone is a cute little quarter moon. Or it might be a C, for Carly. If it’s a C, it looks like a quarter moon with little lines around the closed part of the C to make it look like it’s shining.

  “Is it supposed to be a moon?”

  Carly nods her head, looking down at it. “It’s for Laurel. When she was little, her favorite book was Good Night Moon. We shared a bedroom and I would read it to her every night, even when she got too old for it. Moons were kind of always our thing after that. We got matching quarter moon necklaces when we were younger; I wear mine almost all the time.” As if to prove her claim, she peels down the high neck of her sweater and flashes me a simple gold moon necklace. “If I ever get to have a baby, I want to decorate the nursery in moons and stars and read him or her Good Night Moon. It’s a nice tradition and it makes me happy.”

  She gazes up at me with those big blue eyes, her perfect lips curved up in a faint smile. She could point out that the permanent marks I made on myself are angry and spiteful, while hers are hopeful and reminiscent of better times. She could point out that despite being a year younger than me, she clearly has a much better handle on how to deal with life. She could at least be annoyed that every mark I’ve put on my body in some way relates to an ex.

  But she doesn’t. She gazes up at me like I’m the greatest thing she’s ever seen, and it’s all I can do not to close the distance between us and kiss her.

  It doesn’t help that she didn’t bother to zip her jeans back up. She pulled them back up on her hips, but didn’t zip them, so I get a peek at the scrap of pale pink lace of her panties.

  “Why do you like me?” I ask her.

  “Why wouldn’t I like you?” she asks, absently resting her hand on my stomach, then tracing the ridges of my abdominal muscles. “I’m going to avoid pointing out that you have this body, this face, and that head of hair since it’s all kind of superficial, but you know what you’ve got going on here. The important thing is, you’re just as attractive on the inside, you just don’t want anyone to know. You’ve got this rebel without a cause thing going on and you push people away, but only because you’re sick of being hurt. You’re grumpy sometimes, but you still help me out every time I’m in a jam. I can tell you have it in you to be really devoted; I mean, you kidnapped your ex-girlfriend. If that’s not serious devotion, I don’t know what is. You’re smart—you know how to pick locks, which is some combination of scary and sexy that I’m really into. You watch Smallville with me every single night even though you hate it. You’re honest and upfront about how you feel and what you want when you could easily be an asshole and just use your looks to your advantage. You—”