Surviving Mateo (Morelli Family, #2)

by Sam Mariano

  “That would be wonderful. After everything she’s been through, I don’t know if she’ll even want one, but maybe doing something as normal as picking out a bedtime story would be good for her.”

  I don’t point out he’s directly responsible for everything she’s been through. Mateo rises, moving around his desk and offering a hand.

  A bit cautiously, I take his hand and stand. It reminds me of earlier that night, back at the reception desk, when a similar movement made me feel dizzy with attraction. I don’t know if it’s the sedative they gave me or the weight of reality, but now I feel nothing. Mateo takes my drink glass and places it behind him on the edge of his desk, then releases my hand and plants both of his on my hips.

  Given everything, I refuse to let my stupid, idiot body respond to him. It’s more or less closed for business anyway, malfunctioning due to high trauma and drug-induced exhaustion.

  “I’ve gone easy on you. Things could be much worse,” he informs me, as if reading my mind.

  I bow my head slightly. “I know. Thank you.”

  ---

  “Hurry up, I’ve got other stuff to do today.”

  I glance back toward Adrian’s voice in the hall, pulling open Lily’s dresser drawer and emptying the contents of our life into a cardboard box.

  “I’m trying,” I call back. “I only have her summer clothes out. Should I dig out her winter stuff?”

  Adrian pops his head in, watching what I’m doing. “You don’t have to do any of this. Mateo will buy your daughter new clothes. Just get the stuff you can’t live without and let’s get out of here.”

  I cast a nervous glance at the window. “Shouldn’t you be keeping watch or something?”

  “Why would I be keeping watch?”

  “That’s why you’re here, right?” I ask, giving up on the rest of the drawers and going for her bedtime stories.

  “No, I’m here to keep an eye on you,” he states.

  “Well, I’m not going to be a problem, so why don’t you go make sure no one else is?”

  He doesn’t respond, and when I turn back around, he’s gone.

  A few minutes later, impulsively shoving a framed photo of me, Lily, and Rodney into the box, I lug the last of my things downstairs.

  As much as I wanted to get Lily’s things, I’m terrified to actually be here. Antonio Castellanos obviously knows I failed my mission last night, and I can just imagine him ambushing us now.

  “Okay, let’s get out of here,” I tell Adrian.

  He takes the box from me and loads it in the car, then with one last look at my house, I climb into the back of Mateo’s car.

  He’s not with me. He’s attending to business, whatever that means, but I sort of wish he was. It’s probably absurdly illogical, but even though he’s a monster in his own right, I’d feel safer if he was with me.

  Once Adrian is back in the car and we’re safely away from my house, he looks at me in the rearview mirror. “What are you so worried about?”

  “I think I have a lot to worry about,” I point out.

  “You’re not worried about Mateo,” he says dismissively. “I’m Mateo’s guy; you were afraid of something else.”

  I wasn’t as subtle as I wanted to be, but I’m not so good at deception. Gotta get better at that.

  Looking out the window instead of at Adrian, I share just enough of the truth. “My husband owed a lot of people money.”

  “Like who?” he asks, his tone even, not suspicious, more like he wants to take complete inventory of the problems so he can resolve them.

  “I don’t know. It’s not like he kept me in the loop, I just… with him gone, I don’t know if those debts disappear, or if the loan sharks smell blood in the water and come to collect.”

  “I take it he gambled a lot?” Adrian asks.

  I nod, my spirits dipping. “Yeah. Rodney was a sinking ship, and I was the idiot with a bucket trying to dump out enough water to keep us afloat. But I couldn’t keep up. Every time I’d repair a hole, he’d create three more. I begged him to get help, if not for me, for Lily, and he just… refused.” I shake my head, remembering our many fights about it. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to leave him.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  I shrug, watching out the window. “Didn’t want him to sink.”

  “Even though you didn’t love him?”

  I nod, not even denying it. “Even though I didn’t love him.”

  When I look at him again, Adrian’s nodding, watching the road as he tells me, “You might do all right with Mateo after all.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Based on that story?”

  He smirks, glancing at me. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, good,” I mutter.

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about that guy’s bullshit anymore,” he tells me. “Your existence has been absorbed by Mateo Morelli. Anyone your husband owed money to is likely to let it go before they bring it to him. And if they do, respectfully, he’ll take care of it. Regardless, it’s not your problem anymore.”

  I don’t know how to accept that. I’m tempted to feel relief, but I’ve never had someone ease my burdens before—it’s always the other way around.

  “Why would he do that for me?” I finally ask, still watching out the window. “Especially after last night. He should throw me to the wolves, not protect me from them.”

  Adrian doesn’t answer at first, but then he says, “I think he likes you.”

  I scoff, nodding my head. “Right. Well, he’s taken pulling on my pigtails a little far. I mean, this part’s nice, but since he just tried to set my daughter on fire last night, I feel like the signals are a little mixed.”

  “He didn’t try.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He didn’t try. He threatened. If he tried, he would’ve done it.”

  “And you’re okay working for a man who would murder a toddler?” I ask sharply.

  “I don’t have a choice either,” he states.

  I frown at that, but before I can ask questions he probably wouldn’t answer, Adrian says, “Do yourself a favor. Don’t hold that against him.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what to feel about anything. He told me he may not be nice to me.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  “But it seems like he’s being nice to me. But then there was the crate, which… was unforgivable.”

  “Would’ve been unforgiveable,” Adrian corrects.

  Shaking my head, I say, “I could never do something like that. It’s not human. What if he would’ve dropped the match? You say it was only a threat, but it was a dangerous threat.”

  “He had to make sure you got it. You did try to kill him,” Adrian reminds me.

  “I didn’t try. I had the shit in my purse, yes, but I didn’t do anything with it. I wasn’t going to. Once I met him… I liked him.”

  “Good. Then keep liking him,” he advises.

  “I don’t know,” I murmur. “I’m still attracted to him physically, but I’m not that sort of woman.”

  “What sort?” he asks.

  “The sort who could ever care for a man who would put my daughter’s life at risk,” I state.

  “Her life wasn’t at risk,” Adrian says, shaking his head.

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

  Adrian is quiet for several minutes, and I think he’s dropped it until he asks, “Do you remember the smell?”

  Frowning, I look at him in the rearview mirror. “What smell?”

  “Gasoline. It’s a strong smell, right? You draped yourself across the crate—the stench of the gasoline must’ve been so strong you could taste it, right? Would’ve been all over your clothes, your body.”

  “I don’t…” I trail off, shaking my head, my mind replaying the horror of last night. He’s right, of course—get a drop of gasoline on your shoe when you’re pumping gas and you’ll smell it the whole way home, so I sho
uld’ve smelled it.

  But I didn’t.

  Staring at him in the rearview mirror, I wait, wordlessly. When his gaze meets mine, he says simply, “Water.”

  “Water?” I repeat, dumbly.

  Nodding, he says, “I told her to pretend she was a mermaid, trapped by the evil sea witch. Mommy was going to come save her.”

  My mind is completely blank with confusion, and then disbelief. “They doused the crate… with water?”

  Smiling slightly, Adrian says, “Don’t ever tell him I told you that.”

  “But why?” I shift in my seat, sitting forward as far as my seatbelt will allow. “Why…?”

  “He got his point across just as effectively without any of the risk,” Adrian states. “Mateo’s a showman. He had to perform for you.”

  “He wouldn’t have really done it?” I ask, feeling a million pounds lighter.

  “I didn’t say that,” Adrian says, carefully. “But he had no intention of hurting your daughter last night. He was pissed off and he wanted to scare the shit out of you, but… he didn’t actually want to hurt you. Like I said, I think he likes you. If you like him too… no point letting that get in the way.”

  “Well, I don’t think he likes me now. He thinks I almost killed him.”

  “It happens. You’re not the first person to try. Never try again,” he warns, glancing back at me. “You won’t survive betraying him again, I promise you that, but… Mateo could use a little sunshine in his life.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m Little Miss Sunshine, let me tell you,” I state.

  “He was really disappointed last night,” he tells me. “Normally someone tries to kill him, he doesn’t even blink—he expects it. But he was genuinely disappointed to find out you were just playing him.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Why are you telling me all this?”

  Adrian glances at me a few times, then he says, “He went to an awful lot of trouble to make sure the woman who planned to assassinate him moved into his house. Not his smartest move, and Mateo is many things, but never stupid. Almost never. Occasionally, the right kind of woman comes along and throws a wrench in his gears.”

  “He only met me last night,” I point out. “I mean, we had a nice date, but considering all that came after it? I can’t imagine much tenderness remains for either one of us.”

  He shrugs, turning his attention back to the road. “Just telling you what I observed. Sometimes people just fit, you know?”

  Indicating myself, I ask with no small amount of disbelief, “You think we might fit?”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  Chapter Seven

  After Adrian brings me back to the Morelli mansion, it’s time to start work. I’m feeling a lot better about my circumstances now that I’ve talked to Adrian. There are still some obvious down sides, but I’m committed to making the best of things.

  The maid named Maria shows me around the massive home, explaining how they rotate cleaning schedules. Apparently I’m the third maid, but Elise might be leaving soon.

  “Mateo wants you to work his wing, so you’ll be responsible for him. Nobody in this house can make a bed to save their life, so after he rises, if you’re not responsible for breakfast that day, you come up, you clean, you make his bed—make everything perfect for him. More important in his wing than the others. I wouldn’t have started you here, but…” Her gaze moves over my body, then she rolls her eyes and continues on.

  “How do I know if I’m responsible for breakfast? How do I know what to make? And how much?”

  “You can do breakfast with me tomorrow. I will show you.”

  She goes on to explain we make breakfast and dinner every day except for Sunday—unless we’re specifically requested for some task, Sunday is our one day off every week.

  “Yeah, he mentioned something about a Sunday dinner,” I remember.

  “Someone still helps out on Sunday, keep dinner going while the women eat, but my daughter usually does it.”

  That catches my interest. “Your daughter lives here with you, too? How old is she?”

  “Cherie, 17. You will meet her.”

  “You just have the one daughter then? Have you worked here long?”

  Brusquely tossing a stack of white sheets on top of the utility cart she pushes, she says, “No, I have a husband and two grown sons back in Mexico.”

  That surprises me. “Oh. Wow, that must be… very hard. Do you go visit them often?”

  “No,” she says, turning to give me a look that feels lecturing, though I’m not sure what I’ve said to make her mad. “This isn’t as bad a place to work under the younger Mateo like it was with the older one, least not for me, since I’m an old woman. Might be different for you. This isn’t a job, you don’t get vacation. My husband sold me to Mateo’s father. I’ve been here 20 years. I’ll die here.” She shrugs. “No point feeling sorry for yourself.”

  I can’t keep my jaw from falling open as she summarily dismisses me.

  “Elise will be doing dinner tonight. You can help her.” Then, glancing at my jeans and gray T-shirt, clearly unimpressed, she adds, “Ask her to borrow a uniform first.”

  ---

  I want to feed Lily lunch, but I don’t know how to do anything. By the time I even find the nanny, she’s already fed my daughter as well as Mateo’s.

  “Momma!” Lily says, running over to hug me.

  Mateo’s daughter remains in the floor with a mountain of Barbie dolls, but she has her father’s brown eyes, and they watch me hug Lily.

  Once Lily’s done, she runs back over to continue playing. I follow her, crouching down in the floor and offering the Mateo’s little girl a warm smile. “I’m Meg, Lily’s mom.”

  “I’m Isabella,” she tells me, still watching me with her intense little stare. “Me and Lily are just playing Barbies.”

  “That’s very nice,” I say, grabbing one of the dolls and smoothing back its hair. “Lily really likes playing Barbies. How old are you?”

  “Five. I’m gonna go to school soon,” she informs me, grabbing a Barbie doll with glasses. “This one’s the teacher. I was showing Lily about school.”

  “Yeah,” Lily agrees, settling back into her spot and grabbing one of the smaller dolls. “These girls go to her school.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re playing nice,” I tell Lily, gently rubbing her back.

  “Uh huh,” she says, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Mommy has to work through dinner, so I won’t be able to eat with you.”

  “Oh, I already had some dinner. Me and Isabella did that,” Lily informs me, apparently unconcerned. “Ju made us rice. It was really yummy.”

  They catch me up on the goings on in Barbieville for a few more minutes, then I make my way over to the nanny. “Thank you so much for watching Lily. She’s been going through a lot of changes lately, and… I’m sure it helps to have a friend.”

  “They get along well,” she informs me. “Isabella likes having another child around. For too long, it’s only her. Her father is very protective.”

  “Yes, I’ve gathered that,” I say, offering a faint smile. “Well, I have to help clean up after dinner, but I think that should be it, then I’ll come get her.”

  Waving me off, she says, “No worries. I can put her to bed if you’re busy.”

  “Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I appreciate that, but I want to put her to bed.”

  She nods her agreement, but somehow doesn’t look convinced.

  ---

  I finally meet Cherie at dinner. She’s in the kitchen with Elise, plating salads and lining them up along the counter like it’s a conveyer belt.

  “Someone needs to take these out,” she says, putting down the last one.

  I feel a bit useless, so I rush to grab them.

  “Mateo’s first,” Cherie says, handing me some cranberries.

  “I can carry three,” I tell her, having been a waitress a time or two in my life.

  �
��That’s fine, just give Mateo his first,” she advises.

  I haven’t actually seen Mateo since last night in his study, so I’m not sure what to expect. I carry three salads out, but make sure to give him his first. His gaze lingers on me, but his face is unreadable. He doesn’t thank me, and I move on to deliver the next two salads.

  I’m just about to head back into the kitchen, but Mateo summons me with a simple, “Meg.”

  I stop by his side, watching him prepare his salad. “Yes?”

  He spears a big forkful, but instead of taking a bite, he holds it up for me.

  I blink, thinking he can’t be serious. “You want me to take a bite of your food?”

  “Better safe than sorry,” he states, not even betraying a hint of amusement.

  “Wow,” I say, rolling my eyes, but smiling. “Okay.” Then I go ahead and take a bite of his salad, remaining there so he can see I’ve swallowed. Then I open my mouth, just to be cheeky.

  Now he smiles, turning his attention back to his plate and spearing a bite for himself.

  Sighing, I place a hand on his shoulder before heading back to the kitchen.

  There are appetizers to go with the salads tonight, so I bring those out next. They’re for each side of the table to share, so I don’t bother waiting around to taste those for him.

  There’s a break between dishes, but Cherie brought home some groceries, so she sends me to the pantry to put them away and see where everything is. By the time I’m done with that, she’s already plating the main course.

  “You should go clear the salad plates to make room,” she tells me.

  When I get back to the dining room to clear plates, I see Elise refilling drinks. They really run this like a well-oiled machine. I can’t imagine being served dinner like this every night. Even at restaurants, I always tidy up the table and stack plates and cups to make as little work as possible for the waitress—and she’s getting a 25% tip.

  I’m a little unexcited that dinner is a salmon dish, because I don’t care for salmon at all, and I have a feeling Mateo’s going to make me sample this before he takes a bite, too. Maybe I can just nibble on the sides.