Surviving Mateo (Morelli Family, #2)

by Sam Mariano

If I somehow survive this mission, I’m definitely going to have to find a new job.

  Eddie, the sleazeball who lets me keep his books, takes another stroll past the desk they had to put me at. Usually I work in the back by myself, but according to Antonio Castellanos, we have to be better showmen than that. I have to be visible. A bored, sexed up receptionist doing her nails without a care in the world.

  I think they’re overestimating how much effort it takes to catch a man’s interest, but I let them make the plans. I just play the part as directed.

  It’s an elaborate play, too. Eddie’s not the smartest guy in the world, but he does know better than to get mixed up with the mob. Antonio paid him a little visit after me, though, and now here we sit, Eddie shaking in his boots, me fiddling with nail polish, waiting to see if he shows up.

  Mateo Morelli.

  I guess you can’t really request an audience with him, but Eddie did what Antonio asked, and now we all wait to see what happens.

  “I’m glad your fucking husband’s dead,” Eddie tells me, spitting into a cup.

  Eddie has a gross habit of chewing tobacco, even more so when he’s nervous. I try not to look at the cup, thinking about how much tobacco-colored spit must be inside, but it’s impossible. A couple ounces? Gross.

  I don’t take offense to his vicious tone. I’d be pretty pissed at me, too. “I’m sorry.”

  “This is my business,” he states, his eye twitching.

  “I know. Just keep cool. You have the money. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  I have no idea if that’s true. Personally, the plan to take mob money and then be late enough paying it back that they send someone seems like a terrible plan to me—especially for Eddie. But the idea is, instead of a kneecap, they offer me.

  I’ve seen Mateo Morelli, and wife-killing mobster thing aside, he’s handsome and rich; I don’t think the man has a hard time scoring chicks.

  But hey, it’s Antonio’s plan. If it fails, that’s not my fault. Maybe he’ll give up using me for this, since I can’t very well show up as bait twice without looking suspicious.

  As tempting as it is to hope I fail to impress the rival boss, I’m also afraid of what might happen then. Antonio made himself very clear—I get this job done, or else.

  I’m sick just letting my mind skate close to that, so I stop and redirect. I can’t work myself up—not now.

  Finally, a dark Escalade pulls to a stop in front of the shop.

  “Oh, fuck,” Eddie says, moving away from my desk, spitting into his cup again, then putting it on a nearby desk. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “Calm,” I murmur, unscrewing the white lid of a bright red nail polish. “Calm the fuck down, Eddie.”

  “You’re gonna get us all fucking killed,” Eddie hisses.

  “Shut up,” I snap, trying to look at the door without moving my head. Someone’s getting out of the car. I take a steadying breath and slowly paint my thumbnail, like I don’t have a care in the world, when in reality everything is riding on me.

  I glance at my small green purse. Inside there’s a fake lipstick. Looks like any ordinary lipstick, but you take off the cap and pop off the lipstick, it’s actually a vial. I looked at it, at the powder inside. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know how careful I have to be about getting it on my hands. All I know is if I can’t get Mateo Morelli to ingest it at some point tonight, I’m fucked.

  And if I do, I might be fucked, too.

  The door swings open and three men come inside—none of them Mateo Morelli.

  My stomach sinks at the realization.

  He didn’t come.

  We did all this for nothing.

  The guy who steps forward has an intense, serial-killery look about him. He’s not a big guy, medium build, but the entire left side of his face is scarred. He’s wearing a suit, like the rest of them, but the scar disappears into the collar, making me think it probably goes down farther.

  “Eddie,” he says, nodding in greeting.

  “Adrian.” Eddie grabs the cup again, spitting into it.

  The scarred man watches, and I hope he can’t tell how unsteady Eddie’s hands are. I sure can.

  “Why’m I here, Eddie?” Adrian asks.

  I don’t know if this is rhetorical or an actual question, but Eddie hurries over to his desk, drawing an envelope out of the top drawer. “I have your money. I’m so sorry it’s late.”

  Adrian waits wordlessly for Eddie to bring him the envelope. Eddie looks reluctant to approach, but since none of the men move to take it, he has no choice. It’s painful to watch him approach the one called Adrian, each step more reluctant, like he’s walking toward a lake of fire instead of a man.

  Adrian takes the envelope, tucking it into his left breast pocket. Then, with absolutely no warning, he pulls back and punches Eddie in the face so fast that I rear back, gasping.

  Eddie’s stumbles back, actually falling on his ass with the unexpected force of it. Adrian takes a step forward and Eddie skitters back like a crab, then he holds up a hand. “Wait, wait! I—I have something for him.”

  “A gift, yeah,” Adrian says, dismissively. “Mateo doesn’t do gifts.”

  Jabbing his finger in my direction, he says, “Please. I thought he’d get more out of her than you probably get from beating the shit out of me.”

  Adrian scowls, his gaze jumping to me, taking a quick appraisal. “Your gift is a person?”

  “I just... I thought….”

  Adrian looks disgusted, which I find impressive, given he’s clearly a gangster. “You fucking people,” he mutters, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

  A guy behind Adrian with dark hair, brown eyes and a big nose leans in toward Adrian. “You want me to get him?”

  “I guess,” Adrian answers, sounding less than impressed.

  I can’t quite believe it. Adrian approaches me and I’m a little less comfortable as he looks me over. Since I was supposed to be all sexed up, I’m wearing the shortest black skirt I’ve ever owned, and a snug white tank top, with green bra straps peeking out. “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Meg,” I offer, glancing up at him. “Meg Milano.”

  He nods, looking at my desk, the arranged nail polishes, the messy stacks of paper, the multi-line phone. “You work here, Meg Milano?”

  I nod my head. “Yeah.”

  “Answer the phones?”

  I nod again.

  “So, why’re you still here?”

  I frown, not understanding.

  “Shop closed a few hours ago,” he points out.

  My heart slams against my rib cage, but I try to keep cool. “Eddie asked me to stay. For… well, this.”

  “So you could whore yourself out to Mateo Morelli? He at least pay you extra for that?”

  I flinch, and it’s not even playacting. That’s a little harsh, man.

  When I don’t answer, Adrian steps away.

  I don’t think he likes me.

  The larger-nosed man opens the door again, and suddenly all the noise is sucked out of the room as Mateo Morelli walks through the doors.

  Chapter Three

  My stomach feels all funny at the sight of him. I don’t think it’s his looks—I already knew he was handsome, but this man has a presence, a power that radiates off his body. With each soft clap of his shoe against the cheap tile floor, my heart beats a little faster.

  He’s dressed all in black—black suit, black shirt, black tie, black shoes, and there’s something sinister and sexy about it.

  He pauses in front of Eddie, still on the floor, probably afraid to get up. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but he continues to Adrian. Since I’m the only woman in the room, Mateo’s brown eyes snap to me while Adrian leans in to speak in his ear.

  I feel a little like I can’t breathe, but I hold his gaze. This is a lot fucking scarier than I imagined it would be.

  When Adrian pulls back, Mateo approaches my desk.

 
“Hi,” I say, watching his gaze drop to my legs and make another slow, appraising journey up and down my body.

  “Hi,” he replies simply.

  “I’m Meg,” I add.

  “I heard. And you’re my surprise?” he asks, a touch mockingly.

  A chill moves over me, unsure whether he’s teasing flirtatiously or making fun of me. Maybe Antonio got it all wrong and I’m not his type.

  Without time to rethink my strategy, I make a little show of checking him out right back and offer a teasing smile of my own. “And here I thought you were mine.”

  A slow smile from him sends relief moving through me. Nodding his head toward the door, he says, “Go out to the car. We’ll get a drink.”

  I’m hesitant to stand, since he’s still so close to my chair, but I guess brushing up against him isn’t the worst thing I’ll do tonight. Slowly gathering my items and shoving them into my purse, I look back to him, waiting for him to move, but he doesn’t. So I stand, my body coming up so close to his that I can feel his heat.

  He’s not unaffected. His right hand comes around to the small of my back, pulling me against him, his beautiful brown eyes alight with interest. A little gasp escapes me, super uncool of me, but… wow. I feel a little drunk already, and I haven’t had more than ginger ale to soothe my stomach all day.

  Suddenly releasing me, he takes a step back. I feel unsteady, but I manage to put one foot in front of the other and walk past the assembled men and through the doors.

  Damn, I had accepted the possibility of having sex with him as an unsavory side job, but I didn’t count on being so attracted to him. Maybe it won’t be such a sacrifice, after all.

  I don’t expect Adrian to follow me to the car, but he does. At first I think just to be weirdly chivalrous and open the door, but he lingers once I’m inside.

  “You armed?” he asks.

  My eyes widen. “No.”

  Holding out his hand, he says, “Give me your purse.”

  Terror steals the breath from my body. I clutch my purse, heart sinking, but if I say no he’ll take it anyway, and won’t that be suspicious?

  “My purse?” I ask, going for clueless.

  “Gotta check it,” he tells me.

  I manage to look a little insulted, forcing out an uncomfortable laugh as I hand over my purse, feeling less and less like I’m going to survive this night by the second.

  “Phone?” he asks.

  “In the purse,” I say, still confused.

  He takes that out first. Pulling something from his pocket, he inserts it into the side and pops out a tiny plastic card, then he takes my phone apart in a matter of seconds. I gape, confused, as he dumps the pieces back into my purse.

  Glancing up at my confused horror, he says, “I’ll put it back together before you leave. Can’t have it while you’re with Mateo.”

  “I can’t have a phone? This seems a little… much, don’t you think?” I ask, frowning. “We’re gonna grab a drink, not run off to Vegas.”

  Flicking me a glance as he searches my bag, he says, “Mateo’s very careful.”

  “I see that,” I murmur, stomach twisting in knots as he draws out the lipstick Antonio gave me. I expect him to drop it back in the bag, since it’s obviously a harmless cosmetic, but instead he takes the cap off, checking that there’s real lipstick inside.

  “Have you ever seen Despicable Me?” I suddenly ask.

  He looks at me like I’ve just grown another head. “No?”

  “It’s a kid’s movie. Not the first one, but the second one. There’s a girl spy and she has a… lipstick taser. I was going to make a joke, but you wouldn’t have understood, so… this was a pointless interaction.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Adrian shakes his head, but then he pops the cap back on my lipstick, replacing it in my bag, and searches for another minute before handing it back to me.

  “She’s good,” he says, taking a step back.

  Mateo climbs in and suddenly the backseat feels much smaller—which surprises me, because this is a really spacious car. Far above the class of car I could ever afford, but I can see why someone with enough money would buy one.

  It’s super awkward for a minute. I haven’t been on a date in something like four years, and that was with Rodney, not Mateo Morelli.

  “So, you do this often?” Mateo asks lightly.

  “Wine and dine gangsters? Oh yeah, all the time. Half the gangsters on the Eastern Seaboard have me on their wishlists. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me; I’m kind of a big deal.”

  “I figured,” he says, nodding as he plays along. “All big deals carry $12 purses.”

  Laughing at the insult, I say, “What, because I don’t flaunt it you don’t believe I’m a big deal, Mr. Escalade? Maybe you’re just overcompensating.”

  “Oh, I’m not,” he returns, not even offended. “I can show you, if you want.”

  I nod, casually glancing out the window. “Maybe later.”

  “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” he informs me. “You’ll have to let me know how I rank—you know, amongst the other gangsters you entertain.”

  “I’m working on a listicle for Buzzfeed, I’ll be sure and send you a link once it’s finished.”

  Laughing lightly, he looks over at me and says, “I like you.”

  “And they say you’re a hard man to please,” I say, with a teasing wink.

  “You’re single?” he asks.

  I imagine that question should’ve come before planning to fuck me, but I guess not. “Newly.”

  “Hm. His loss.”

  Cracking a smile, I say, “No kidding. He didn’t enjoy my humor anyway.”

  “I’m glad you dumped him then.”

  “I didn’t; he died.”

  I don’t know why I said that. As soon as the words are out, I recall who I’m talking to, and what Antonio said about him having been the one to issue the hit. Shit. That’s supposed to be my back-up story—if I get caught, I’m not allowed to drop Castellanos, I’m supposed to be an avenging widow. Here I am spilling half my cover a minute into the car ride.

  I’m never going to be James Bond at this rate.

  “Oof, that was dark,” I mutter on an uneasy laugh. “We don’t have to talk about that. What about you? A nice criminal like you, single? That’s crazy.”

  “Well, you know what they say about me being a hard man to please,” he says, easily enough, but his eyes remain on me. “What happened to your boyfriend?”

  “He was in a bad part of town. Got shot.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Shit happens,” I reply, looking out the window, trying to find a way out of this conversation. “What bar are we going to?”

  “I don’t know.” Glancing at the man driving, he asks, “Adrian, we’re heading to a bar, right?”

  “Yup,” Adrian says.

  Nodding, Mateo looks at me. “The one he drives us to.”

  I crack a smile. “Fair enough. You don’t drive?”

  “Not usually.”

  “You must be a bad driver,” I decide.

  Smiling as he watches me, he says, “That must be it.”

  I’m starting to get a little uneasy as I watch out the door, thinking of the parts of my phone in my purse. What if they don’t take me to a bar? They could be taking me anywhere, and no one will ever know where I went. What will happen to Lily without me? My mother isn’t stable, so she’d probably end up with Rodney’s mother. God, I do not want that woman raising my child. I don’t even have anyone I would trust with Lily. All she has is me, and despite doing my best in life and trying to avert every crisis her father brought on us, here I am, in the back of Mateo Morelli’s Escalade.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  Only then do I realize I’m shaking my head.

  “Just… thinking.”

  “About?”

  Glancing over at him, I ask, “You have kids?”

  He nods. “One. Little girl. You?”
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  I don’t think I should tell him, but I’ll never see him again after tonight anyway, so I do. “Same.”

  Surprise registers on his handsome face. “Really? With the dead boyfriend?”

  My chest is starting to tighten with anxiety, and I’m the one who keeps bringing this shit up. Rubbing my chest a little absently, I glance over at him. “Sorry. I don’t want to talk about this.”

  He nods, backing off easily enough. “Okay.”

  A few minutes later we really do pull up to a bar, much to my relief. Mateo comes around and opens the door for me, which is far more gentlemanly than I expected.

  When he escorts me inside, under neon blue lights, I’m a little delighted to see it’s an upscale establishment with a live piano player and two gleaming bars, one on each side of the piano, with a little floor for dancing in front of it. I’m further delighted that the pianist is already playing Sinatra. I don’t know where we are, I’ve certainly never been here, but I want to live here.

  “Wow,” I murmur, so pleased that I actually… frown. It’s like he knows me. Rodney knew me for five years, and on our last anniversary he brought me and Lily to Applebee’s. This place was made for me. All I need is one of the servers to bring me a fedora, and I’m all set.

  “Yeah?” Mateo murmurs, close to my ear, his hands landing on my hips.

  “This is my new favorite place.” Leaning back into him, I ask, “You don’t own a fedora, do you? ‘Cause I think you could rock a fedora.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  Mateo takes me over to the empty end of the right bar, where the piano will be at our back. I know I’m not supposed to actually be into this, but man, I wouldn’t hate getting on the dance floor with him.

  “This place is awesome,” I state.

  “Yeah, I haven’t been here before, but I’ve been wanting to check it out,” he tells me, hand on my back as I climb up on the bar stool.

  “Well, I’m glad you waited for me,” I tease. “You know those ‘what would you do on your ideal first date?’ questions that people ask when they’re trying to find a new person to fuck? This. This is what I would do. And if the pianist plays Sinatra all night long, we’re hitting dream date status.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged,” he tells me, touching my shoulder briefly before walking over to talk to the pianist.