Chapter Eighteen



Although the girls assure me I’m totally-definitely-for-sure not a prisoner of any kind, Mateo is still not enthusiastic about the idea of me going out unattended. Vince usually gives me rides to and from school, but now that I’ll have a job, I don’t know if he’ll always be around to escort me. I don’t know how that’ll end up working, but for my first day, Vince gives me a ride.

When we enter the bakery and see a fairly attractive guy behind the front counter, I notice Vince’s arm possessively moves around my waist.

The guy behind the counter smiles at me. “You must be Mia. Francesca said you’d be in.”

“Is she not here?” I ask, confused.

“She had to step out. She’ll be back soon. I’ll be training you today anyway, so if you wanna come on back, we can get started.”

I go to pull away from Vince, but he pulls me into him, kissing me. “I’ll pick you up when I’m done.”

He’s being silly, but I just smile, catching his hand for a squeeze, then dropping it. “Be safe.”

Once Vince leaves, my trainer introduces himself as Mark. “I take it you’re Vince’s old lady,” he says lightly.

“Oh yeah. Heavy emphasis on the old,” I say, nodding.

“So, Mia, you do a lot of baking?”

“If fish sticks count,” I tell him.

Smiling, he heads to the back and grabs a plastic-wrapped package. “All right then, we’ll start you off with assembly. I need to wrap and tie 250 cookies for a wedding—you can speed it up by helping me. These cookies are already dry, but I have a batch I’ll have to decorate tonight. I’ll show you how to flood and decorate them. I assume you’re not going to be here on your own?”

“Oh no, I am firmly an assistant. The cakes I do make come from Betty Crocker.”

“Gotcha.”

After showing me around the bakery, we get to work on the cookies. “Have you been a baker long?” I ask him, tying the cookie bag.

“A few months,” he says. “What about you? Been an old lady long?”

Cracking a smile, I shake my head. “Not at all.”

He messes up a cookie and sets it aside. “Gotta be kind of a rough gig, huh?”

“Rough? Uh, not really, not so far. The food’s good.”

Mark sets a tray aside. “Oh, yeah, I bet. What’s your favorite?”

“That’s hard. We have, like, legit family dinners every night. It’s basically like living in the 50’s, but with iPhones.” I pause to consider. “I guess… Francesca’s chicken and pesto pasta. I’ve never been able to make a batch of pesto that’s good enough to make a second time, but Francesca’s was delicious.”

Nodding like I just earned street cred, he says, “Great pick. I have a pretty good pesto recipe myself. One of these days when you’re working a long enough shift for lunch, we’ll have to have a pesto cook-off, see whose is better.”

“That may be the best idea anyone has ever had,” I state.

Time flies by as we pack up the cookies. Mark’s really easy-going and friendly, which is a nice change of pace from the intense, gun-wielding men I now live with. It’s refreshing, and by the end of my shift, I’m really pleased I took the job.



---



Adrian is pacing.

I’m coming back from the pool when I see him outside Mateo’s study, trying his best to wear a hole in the floor.

“Hey, Adrian,” I greet.

I didn’t expect to, given our bumpy start and his position within the Morelli family, but I quite like Adrian.

Glancing up, he offers a gruff nod and resumes his pacing.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He nods again, not looking up or interrupting his pace.

I’m just about to shrug this off as him being an oddball and go to the kitchen to grab some lunch when the study door opens. Mateo is standing there, and he pushes it open for Elise to walk out. I peer in to see they were alone together. Elise flashes Adrian and me a wordless smile before she slides past us and down the hall.

Adrian stops short, standing in front of Mateo with all the eagerness of a kid on Christmas morning. “Did you talk to her?”

“I did,” Mateo replies, but he’s distracted. Instead of looking at Adrian, or having the conversation he’s obviously eager to start, Mateo’s eyes are wandering over my body.

I remember I’m in a bikini then, and promptly flush. There’s a towel wrinkled up and draped over my arm, but I can’t exactly whip it off and wrap it around myself now without being pretty obvious.

Amusement at my discomfort is written all over his face as he smiles at me. “Enjoying the amenities?”

“I was,” I say, doing my best not to look as awkward as I feel.

“I wanted to ask you how your first week at the bakery was. I have some business to attend to with Adrian first, but we’ll catch up at dinner.” His eyes rake over me one last time, then he turns and ushers Adrian into his office.

Drooping as I roll my eyes at myself, I make a note to order a cover-up before I go to the pool again.



---



“You can take out the bread.”

I grab both bread baskets and make my way for the dining room. It’s Sunday, so the table is at capacity tonight with family members I’ve met, but still don’t know. At least half the time I’m not involved with the conversation anyway, so it doesn’t matter. As Cherie told it to me, I was concerned the family would be more chauvinistic, but as it is, Sunday night dinners just seem like a nostalgic callback to old traditions. I won’t begrudge them that.

When I get back to the kitchen, I grab Vince’s salad. Before I make it out the door, Cherie calls, “Take Mateo’s, too.”

With an “oh” of surprise, I turn back. “I haven’t the last two weeks,” I point out.

She’s stirring with impressive focus, but her gaze flits to mine, wary. “His request.”

Frowning slightly, I ask, “Am I bringing him dinner, too?”

“Yep.”

That’s odd, but I don’t argue. While the women do the cooking and serving, the “married” women only serve their own husbands. At least, that’s how it’s been the last two weeks. The unmarried women deliver the food to the unattached men, usually Francesca since she’s quickest. While I’m obviously not married to Vince, for the past two weeks, I have been considered his spouse in that respect.

It probably doesn’t matter. Less work for Francesca if I pitch in—I thought that at the beginning anyway. I guess I get the logic of only serving one “master,” but… oh, who am I kidding? It’s stupid.

I give up the thought, sprinkling some croutons over a second plate and resuming my path to the dining room. Once I get there and see both men assembled at the table, flanking me, since I’m still in the same seat I sat in that first night, I wonder if order matters. I guess since Vince is mine he should get served first? But Mateo is the head of the family…. I need an informational pamphlet on the etiquette of this shit if they’re going to complicate things.

I go to Vince first, placing his salad down and dropping a little kiss on his cheek. He smiles up at me, until he sees the second plate. A little crease forms between his eyebrows as I step over to drop off Mateo’s.

“Thank you, Mia,” Mateo says.

“Yep.”

Before I can move away, he catches me by the wrist, just a light grasp to get my attention. “Can you bring out dried cranberries for mine?”

“Oh. Yeah, of course. Sorry,” I say, off-handedly.

“It’s okay,” he says easily, dropping my wrist and picking up his fork. “Now you’ll know for next time.”

I blink, at a loss. I glance at Vince, seeing all the light has drained from his face. “She’s serving you now?”

“And you,” Mateo says, like it’s a favor.

“Good thing I have two hands,” I say lightly, not wanting this to be a whole thing.

Mateo smirks, but doesn’t comment.

Skittering back to the kitchen, I enter with a pronounced, “Ugh.” I have to locate the cranberries for Mateo’s salad, and I’m not looking forward to Vince being in a pissy mood.

Deciding to get confirmation, I say to Francesca, “It doesn’t matter that I’m serving both of them, right?”

Appearing not to know what I’m talking about, she murmurs, “Huh?”

“The stupid dinner thing,” I say, rolling my eyes. “They’ve only had me serve Vince before, but now Mateo’s requested I serve him, too. Vince seems annoyed, but it doesn’t matter, right?”

Looking tired, she sighs. “Mateo’s stirring the pot. Just stay focused on Vince. Quietly reassure him, you’ll be fine.”

I’d been hoping for simple agreement, so that’s annoying. “I mean, you serve half the table; what’s the difference?”

“The difference is I’m not spoken for.”

I roll my eyes, in this instance inconvenienced by their eccentricities. Cherie comes up beside me, handing me a little dish of dried cranberries.

“You forgot these for Mateo’s salad,” she informs me.

“I had no idea he wanted them,” I point out, taking the cranberries.

“Francesca took out the last batch, so you can take out your salad and have a seat now.”

When I make it back to the table, Vince still seems surly and Mateo, as usual, is utterly unconcerned. He does make a point to catch up with me, as he said he would, asking how I’m liking the bakery, if I get along with the other employees. I assure him everything is fine, but by the time the salads are finished, I realize Mateo and I have been talking to each other exclusively, and Vince has moved on from wine to something stronger. I was supposed to be the one getting his drink, and I realize I didn’t even notice he’d gotten up.

Shit.

Before I get up to clear our plates away, I offer Vince a private little smile and lightly squeeze his thigh.

He ignores me completely.

Unsettled, I stand and collect the plates from my place, Vince’s and Mateo’s, making a point not to actually interact with Mateo. I’m the first woman back in the kitchen, aside from Cherie, who doesn’t eat dinner with the family.

“Don’t make me go back out there,” I whine, turning on the faucet to rinse off the dishes before setting them in the sink.

“Vince mad?” she guesses.

I nod, rolling my eyes. “Like it’s worth getting mad over.”

Instead of agreeing with me, she shrugs. “Mateo doesn’t have a reputation for keeping his hands to himself.”

That’s a little insulting, and I can’t help my response being a little short. “Well, I do. I’ve never given Vince a reason not to trust me. He shouldn’t let Mateo get to him like that. He makes it so easy. All the man has to do is smile at me, and Vince goes cold.”

Still not taking my side, Cherie shakes her head. “You don’t know Mateo, Mia. Vince does. I understand that you think it’s annoying, but you’re not the one he doesn’t trust.”

“Sure seems that way. It takes two to tango, Cherie.”

Looking at me more seriously than I expect, she responds, “No, it doesn’t.”

I don’t understand that logic and I feel a little hollow inside in regards to this conversation—it’s pointless and insulting. Serving the man dinner—and not even because I want to—is not a legitimate reason for anyone to think Mateo is… what, interested in me? Or that I would even be open to his attentions, if he offered them. Sure, from a physical standpoint he’s an attractive man, and his unchecked power is… interesting. But he’s far too old for me, and Vince’s cousin. And also? I have Vince.

Since Cherie isn’t the ally I expected, I drop it and start dishing out three plates of food. “Does Mateo have any main dish special requests?” I ask, a touch sarcastically.

“Just make sure he has parmesan,” she says, her back to me.



N.B:- please leave comments and reviews. Or I won't be motivated to continue

Chapter Seventeen



Vince’s hand moves along the curve of my bare back, his touch light, almost absent.

I’m tummy down on the bed, my head resting on my arms on top of my soft, fluffy pillow. I like him touching me. I like sharing a bed.

“You’re gonna put me to sleep,” I tell him with a relaxed smile.

Cracking a smile, he says, “It’s after midnight; that’s probably a good thing.”

I sigh as his hand settles along the small of my back, and turn my face to look at him. It reminds me of the night he snuck in to hold me. It’s so strange, at our age, to know he won’t have to sneak anymore.

It’s been two weeks, and the transition hasn’t been as hard as I expected.

Mateo seems to have backed off Vince now, letting us get settled. I’m staying in Vince’s bedroom, not my own, like he told my mother, but that’s proving to be really nice. I’ve still only seen Isabella once in passing, when her actual nanny was hauling her out of the room. Vince got me a few more dresses so I have a variety to choose from for our nightly dinners, and the one on Sundays is actually kind of nice, not as obnoxious as it initially sounded.

It’s bizarre, but I really do feel like I’m becoming part of this family.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep,” I point out. In the time I’ve been here, I’ve noticed Vince generally rises even before I do, and I take a lot more time to get ready for school. I thought sharing a bathroom on the same schedule might prove difficult, but Vince is usually at the gym first thing—the in-house gym—and apparently he showers there.

It does explain the physique I so enjoy, I guess.

“Maybe. I like looking at you in my bed,” he tells me, eyes twinkling. “Seems like a better use of my time than sleeping.”

I grin, stretching my arms out. “Well, when you put it that way…”

His hand doesn’t leave my back but he scoots closer, bringing my body against his. “I know I shouldn’t, but I like having you here.”

At that, I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, easily enough. “I didn’t want it under these circumstances, but I rest easier with you next to me.”

Snuggling my face into his chest, I murmur, “Well, I’m happy to be of service.”

For a few minutes, he just holds me. I find myself getting a little tranquil, ready to drift off, when his quiet words hit me like a bucket of ice water. “I didn’t want to do it, you know.”

I’m quiet, not sure what to say, but I think I know what he’s talking about. I’m tempted to cut him off, to tell him we don’t have to talk about it, but it’s a selfish impulse. We’ve never actually addressed what happened the night of the fire, and to be honest, I never really wanted to. If he needs to talk, though, I don’t want to shut him down.

“Do what?” I finally ask, when he doesn’t go on.

“Your neighbors.”

Damn. I take a breath, searching my brain for what to say in this scenario. “I figured as much.”

“When you saw me outside that night, I didn’t even know what to feel. Part of me was almost relieved. If you would’ve told on me, if I would’ve been caught, at least it would’ve been over.”

I pull back, frowning. “Well, it wouldn’t have been over. You would’ve been in jail, but probably not forever. Even if you were, don’t they… I don’t know, again, my knowledge comes from movies, but you wouldn’t really be ‘out’ of your family, right?”

“Mateo wouldn’t have let me go to jail. He doesn’t trust me.”

I don’t get it at first. I think he’s saying Mateo has enough influence to have kept him out of jail, but then how would he be out of anything?

Then it hits me, and I can practically feel the color drain out of my face. “He… he would’ve killed you?”

“Would’ve had to. I know way too much.”

“But you wouldn’t have talked,” I say, though I don’t know why I believe that. I guess I figure if I wouldn’t talk, surely someone born to this family wouldn’t.

“He wouldn’t have believed that though. They would’ve thrown the book at me, to try to get me to talk about him. He knows that. Wouldn’t have taken the risk.”

“But you’re family,” I point out, baffled.

Meeting my gaze, Vince tells me, “We have to be loyal to him, Mia. He doesn’t have to be loyal to us.”

Scowling, I tell him, “That’s not right. It should go both ways.”

“As long as it doesn’t inconvenience him, it does. But he doesn’t let anyone get in his way.”

I lean back into him, hugging him tightly. I was too afraid to report them anyway, but it scares me to know that if I wouldn’t have been, I might’ve gotten Vince killed.

“I try not to think about it,” he goes on, my head tucked beneath his chin. “But it’s harder at night, when I’m alone. I don’t know how Adrian does this without feeling it.”

I’m still not altogether clear on Adrian’s role in this family, but he seems to be Mateo’s right hand man, and he was there with Vince that night, so he seems pivotal. I want to ask, but it doesn’t seem like the right time.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” I suggest. I don’t know how either, but I try to come up with something comforting. “It’s not supposed to be easy to take a life,” I add, though I’m not sure if that’s helpful. It sounds more like a lecture, now that I think about it. “But what was the alternative? If you wouldn’t have done it, I assume it still would’ve happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So… really, it wouldn’t have made a difference. I assume things would’ve been worse for you, there would’ve been some penalty for disobedience. You only did what you had to do.”

“But I still did it. Me, not someone else. It doesn’t help to know it would’ve happened anyway; I don’t care about those people, I just….”

I want to tell him I understand, but I don’t. I can’t fathom doing what he did, even if I didn’t have a choice.

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to, just to make it,” I tell him, even though it sounds generic to my ears. “It’s okay to feel badly about it—that’s healthy. But… it’s done now. Don’t let the guilt crush you. Learn something from it if you can, but let it go. You’re young, you still have your whole life ahead of you. If you start carrying that kind of baggage already, what hope do you have of a happy life?”

“I don’t think I have a chance at that regardless, Mia.”

“Well, I disagree. Maybe Mateo would be more understanding than you think. Maybe you could tell him you don’t want to do stuff like that anymore—or, if you don’t want to talk to him about it, just… make yourself more useful in a different division.”

“Division?” he asks, amusement finally breaking through his gloom.

“Yeah, department, whatever. I don’t know how this crap works, but another area. Whatever you want to call it. If Mateo’s interested in utility, be more useful doing something else. He won’t waste you on something literally anyone could do if it benefits him to have you doing something else.”

He doesn’t immediately respond, and I wonder if that wasn’t good advice in this scenario. In a company I think it would be, but I guess it could be different in a criminal empire. When he does speak, however, he says, “That’s a good point.”

“See,” I say, a little proud of myself. “Plus, you have this wonderful live-in girlfriend to come home to now. If that’s not a recipe for a happy life, I don’t know what is.”

He pulls back just enough to kiss me, and the look he gives me after looses a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. “You are pretty wonderful,” he agrees.

“You have your moments, too,” I tease.

“We should just stay in this bed and never leave,” he decides.

“Oh, that we could,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck as his body comes down on top of mine. He grabs a condom, moving easily between my legs, and I sigh happily as he pushes inside me for the second time tonight.



---



“Who are you marrying?”

Francesca looks up, startled, as I drop into the seat across from her. Seeing it’s just me, she gives a little laugh, flipping the next page of her Bridal Guide magazine. “No one. Ever. I’m going to die childless and alone.”

“Sounds like fun,” I say, spearing a strawberry and popping it into my mouth.

“All fun, all the time, that’s my life,” she agrees easily, tilting her head as she gazes down at a beautiful white ball gown.

After a few minutes, she flips her magazine closed and passes it across the table in my direction. “You can have it if you want.”

I blink at the magazine in surprise. “Me?”

“You’ll get married before I do,” she says wryly, standing and collecting her breakfast dishes.

“Does everyone in this house know I’m only 18?” I ask, partially in jest, but also legitimately baffled. “Who gets married this young? Also, while Vince and I are… you know, great, I’ve only been officially his girlfriend for two weeks. I think we all need to pump the brakes on our expectations of this relationship.”

With a look verging on haughty, Francesca shakes her head as she heads for the kitchen. “I tried to tell you.”

When she returns, Francesca pauses beside me at the table. “I know you don’t really need the money anymore, but if you wanted something to do, you could help me out at the bakery.”

There are plenty of leisurely activities to do at the house, but it might be nice to actually be around other people once in a while. Not to mention, Francesca and Vince seem to get along, and I should probably nurture relationships with the Morellis he actually likes.

“Sure, I’d like that,” I tell her, nodding my head.

Flashing me a smile, she says, “Great. You can have Vince drop you off after school,” and then she’s off, leaving me to finish my breakfast by myself.

Chapter Sixteen





“Wait, you want me to have dinner with who?”

It’s been weird trying to explain this to my mother, but since I have to leave soon for dinner at Vince’s (and I assume Mateo is expecting a response), it has to be done.

“It’s Vince’s cousin. He’s Vince’s guardian, I guess. Vince doesn’t live with his parents.”

“Who raises him?” she asks, frowning.

That’s a good question, actually. Though, thinking back over the wine and the lack of weirdness about him having his girlfriend sleep over in his bed, it doesn’t seem like they treat him like a kid.

Shaking my head slightly, I say, “Anyway, can you go or not? He wanted me to invite you, and I’ll have to let him know tonight so he can make arrangements.”

“That place is expensive,” she tells me, clearly wondering if I’ve lost my mind.

“He’s paying. They have money.”

“Well, yeah,” she says, since that much is obvious. “Gee, I don’t know, Mia. Is this safe? I always heard that family was bad news.”

Safe was too strong a word to use, considering I’d spent much of the night before lying in bed, remembering how it felt to have Mateo’s gun resting on my forehead. Instead of that, I say, “It’s safe. It’s fine. You’ll like him.”

I expected her to agree, and she doesn’t disappoint. She did have plans with Brax, but the prospect of dolling up to go entertain a mob boss at a restaurant she can’t afford is more excitement than she can resist. Once she agrees, I tell her I need to borrow a dress for dinner tonight, and go to raid her closet.

As soon as I get out of the shower, however, Mom is outside the door, practically bouncing with excitement.

Tucking my towel, I frown at her. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t think you need to borrow a dress,” she says, sing-song.

“What?”

Flashing me an exuberant grin, she takes off down the hall. I follow, warily. On the couch, there’s a Nordstrom shopping bag and two garment bags draped across the back. A note is tied around the handle of the bags, a rich, creamy business card with gold edges. In bold black, it says simply:
Mia, For Dinner


“Open it, open it,” my mom says, more excited than I am.

I roll my eyes at her, but I can’t stifle a smile myself. It’s not often I get presents, and I have a good feeling about these ones. Peeking inside, I find two shoe boxes. I pull out the one on top, labeled Jimmy Choo. My mom is already losing her shit, and I haven’t even taken the lid off to see what they look like.

“Do you know how much those cost?” she demands.

They’re beautiful—a burgundy-purple suede pair of heels.

My mom grabs them, inspecting them like they might be fake. I move on to the second box, but I don’t need to read the name to know what kind they are—the bold red soles of the shiny black pointy toe pumps tells me right away they’re Louboutins. They’re also instantly my favorite, with a fancy criss-cross strap on the front

“I’m wearing these,” I tell her.

“Tonight or tomorrow?”

“Both. To school. To buy groceries. When I die. Forever. I’m never going to take them off.”

Grinning, she takes them and admires them with a series of little gasps as she rotates them, admiring them from every angle.

There’s a dress in each garment bag, one a short, dark blue sequined dress I’ll have to pour myself into, the other a nude fit and flare dress with black lace overlay and a plunging neckline.

“He done good,” my mom announces solemnly.

“Oh yeah,” I say, nodding in agreement.

“You’ve only been dating a month, right? I think he spent more on you right here than Brax’s spent on me ever. Marry this boy.”

I roll my eyes at her, but I can’t hold back a smile, holding up my very own pretty dress.



---



For some reason, instead of sending Vince, they send a town car to pick me up. I can only imagine it’s to impress my mom, and boy, does it work. She stands on the front porch with her eyes popping out of her head, practically salivating as I climb into the backseat in my pretty new dress and sky-high Louboutins.

I allow myself to get excited on the drive over, and by the time I get there, I feel like Cinderella at the ball. The driver even opens my door for me.

Adrian answers the door, Elise trailing behind him. “I was coming!”

Smiling at her affectionately, he says, “You do enough.”

She smiles warmly, lightly touching his arm before she turns to head back to whatever she was doing.

“She’s pretty,” I remark, none too innocently.

For some reason, I don’t expect him to remain soft, and say, “Yeah, she is.” Missing a beat, he asks, “Looking for Vince?”

“I am.” On impulse, because I feel like he’s more human right now, I do a little twirl and point to my shoes. “Like my new outfit?”

“Very pretty,” he says gruffly, with an obligatory nod.

I beam and follow him, but I slow down when he heads for the study.

“Is he with Mateo? I should probably wait.”

“Nah, come on in. We’re not doing anything important.”

There are more of them tonight—Mateo perched on the edge of his desk with a glass of amber liquid, Alec from the night before in one of the arm chairs around the area rug, a third guy I haven’t met—but clearly a Morelli, by the look of him—pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter. Vince is in an arm chair across from Alec, and without more than a moment’s hesitation, I run over and hop in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and showering his face with a bunch of little kisses.

The guy I don’t recognize laughs, saying, “Vince’s girlfriend, I presume?”

“That’s her,” Mateo confirms, voice laced with amusement.

Vince grins at me as I finally pull back, shifting the drink I didn’t notice in his hand. Thankfully he didn’t spill any of it on me. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s that for?”

“You’re the best,” I tell him, simply. “You deserve a million face kisses.”

“For?”

Eyes widening, I lean back and indicate my whole body. “The dresses. And the shoes—oh my God, I’m going to marry these shoes. Thank you so much.”

He hasn’t stopped smiling, but it’s certainly dimmed, and there’s a crease of confusion in his brow. “What are you talking about? What dress? This dress?”

My enthusiasm stops short. The room has gone quiet. Adrian passes behind Vince and I glance at him, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. I glance at the next man I can see, the newcomer, clearly in the dark, but paying attention as the scene unfolds. Then I look at Mateo, and he’s the only one still amused.

Stomach sinking, my smile finally falls.

Raising his glass in my direction, Mateo winks. “You’re welcome.”

The silent tension in the room grows, and I slowly look back at Vince, pasting on a more apologetic smile. “I guess I should’ve asked,” I murmur quietly.

Shaking his head very slightly, he says, “Natural to assume the person you’re sleeping with is the one buying you gifts.”

Instead of having the decency to feel bad for Vince’s discomfort, Mateo tells me, “I’ll take an I.O.U. on the million face kisses, by the way. Seems like we’d be late to dinner otherwise.”

He doesn’t shove me off his lap, like he probably wants to, but Vince does throw back the rest of the liquid in his glass.

I wish I didn’t feel trapped in his lap now. Getting up feels like a rebuff, but sitting here while this awkwardness lingers is pure torture.

Adrian takes Vince’s glass and refills it, bringing it right back.

“Good man,” Vince says, putting a good dent in that one, too.

Another tense minute passes before I give up. Leaning in to give him one last kiss on the cheek, I say, “I’m gonna go see if they need help in the kitchen.”

“The maids have it under control,” Mateo says.

“Then I’m going to pee,” I reply, promptly.

“Bathroom’s broken.”

“Then I’m going to drown myself in the pool.”

Smirking, Mateo says, “Have Elise grab you a towel.”



---



Vince is in a pissy mood for the first part of the night, and he’s a little drunk for the second half. I’m still tense through dinner because of it, while Mateo seems quite content. The newcomer’s name is Joey, and apparently he is another of Mateo’s brothers. Elise comes around, but Mateo ignores her tonight, so Adrian doesn’t join Vince in being pissy.

I feel like I’m going to need a notepad in order to keep track of the politics in this family.

Francesca makes things worse, innocently remarking, “I like your dress, Mia.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” says drunk Vince.

Mateo just grins, taking a sip of his wine.

It’s not like I ever doubted he was an asshole, but… yeah. The worst part is, it was a nice thing to do, buying me the dresses, but now that I’ve inadvertently humiliated Vince in front of half his family, I can’t even bring myself to thank Mateo. He couldn’t have known I would make such a spectacle, but he did know Vince said he would buy me new dresses when it came up the night before.

I’m a little embarrassed I didn’t know my own boyfriend’s handwriting from Mateo’s though. He’s never written me anything, and I’ve never even peeked at his notes in class. Mateo could have also signed his name to the card so I knew who they were from, so it’s hard to imagine there wasn’t a certain calculated edge there.

I won’t let him trick me so easily again.



---



Mateo sends another car to drive me and my mom to the restaurant in the city.

Brax is watching the kids for the first time, and I imagine them all bro-ing out on the couch, watching football and drinking beers. Mom assured me she whipped up some mac and cheese for dinner before she left, so there was no chance the kids would starve.

“This is so exciting,” she tells me, conspiratorially, once we get to the restaurant. It’s a nice evening, so we didn’t bring coats, but there is a bite to the wind. Since we didn’t drive though, we’re dropped off right by the door.

All the way here, she’s drilled me. What are they like? Do they seem like a crime family? How rich are they, anyway?

I don’t know how to describe the strange culture of the Morelli family, so she has to yank even brief responses out of me.

Vince and Mateo are already waiting when we get there. Since I wore the other dress already, I’m in the sequined minidress. It’s sexier than I realized at first sight, and it makes my legs appear to go on for days.

I’m still wearing the Louboutins; I don’t care if they caused trouble, nothing can come between our love.

“Oh, wow,” she murmurs, when she spots them at the table. “That is a handsome man.”

I know she’s talking about Mateo, since she already knew what Vince looked like. I don’t burst her bubble, telling her that he’s also a dick.

“Hi!” she says, approaching the table with way too much excitement. She’s already embarrassing me, and we haven’t even sat down yet.

Mateo stands, offering her a warm smile and shaking her hand as he introduces himself. Vince offers me a tepid smile, his gaze lingering on my dress a little too long. I can’t tell if he’s thinking I look good in it, or thinking about where it came from.

I don’t roll my eyes as Mateo pulls out my mom’s chair for her, but considering she’s already as smitten as a school girl, it’s difficult.

Turns out I didn’t have to spend all that time wracking my brain, trying to figure out what any of us would talk about at this dinner, because Mateo carries us completely. It feels like he and my mom are on a date, with Vince and me awkwardly chaperoning.

Once she’s drained her second martini—and he’s already ordered her a third—Mateo offers my mother the dessert menu and steeples his hands on the table.

“Shelly, I’m so glad we could get together tonight. It’s been a real pleasure meeting you.”

“I know! It has been. You’re nothing like I imagined. I’m so glad we came, too,” she gushes, mooning at him.

“There is one more thing I’d like to discuss with you, though. I wanted to wait until you had a pretty good feel for me, but I think you’re pretty comfortable with me,” he says, with a coaxing, in-joke smile.

My mother laughs, delighted. “Oh yes, I’d say so.”

“That’s good,” he says, finally glancing over at me. “The main reason I wanted us to get together here tonight is because I have a wonderful opportunity for Mia, but I wanted to run it by you first, make sure you’re on board.”

“Oh?” Attempting a more serious tone to match his, she leans on the table. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

“I mentioned my daughter, Isabella?” To illustrate, he has his phone at the ready, and a couple swipes later he’s showing off her picture like an adoring father.

“Oh, she’s just so darling,” my mom says, clutching her heart like she just may die from the cuteness.

“She is,” he says warmly.

I make a note that I’ve still never seen him with said daughter. I’m not convinced she even exists.

“My problem is, she needs a nanny. She has a nanny during the day, when everyone’s in school, but I need someone for the evenings. I need someone live-in. I want Mia.”

Understandably shocked, she says, “You want Mia… to be a live-in nanny?”

“Yes. I pay well, and since I’ll take care of her room and board, I’m sure Mia could send some of it home for you. You’re a single mom, I’m sure it would be nice to have the load lightened a bit.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he extracts a thick white envelope. He places it on the table and slides it across to my mom.

Her eyes widen and she cracks it open, inhaling and exhaling slowly when she sees it’s thick with cash.

“Think of it as a sign-on bonus,” Mateo tells her.

I’m glad my mom is distracted with the money, because I think that’s the only reason she hasn’t noticed my jaw hanging open. Not only has Mateo not asked me about being a nanny to this child I’m not convinced exists, but he actually wants me to live at his house? Full-time?

“Mia will have her own room, of course. Really it’s like a little apartment, just with more supervision. She’ll stay in my sister’s wing.”

“Wing?” my mom echoes, lost.

Flashing one of his charming smiles, Mateo tells her, “We have a very large home.”

“Wow,” she says, frowning as she visibly tries to process. “So she would… live with you? For how long?”

“As long as she wants to work for me. Until she goes off to college? If she goes to a local school, she can stay; we’ll work her schedule around the other nanny.”

“Where’s your daughter’s mother?” she asks, confused.

His lips press firmly together and he leans back in his seat, distraught. “Unfortunately… she abandoned us, a couple of years ago.”

Hand to her heart once more, my mother laments, “Oh, how terrible.”

He nods, accepting her sympathy. “Mia’s very good with her, so I think it’ll be good for Isabella to have her around. And Mia’s nearly finished with high school anyway, so she probably would’ve moved out soon—I believe she mentioned you might be moving in with… Brax?”

Still haven’t met Isabella. Never once mentioned Brax.

Less enthused at the prospect while sitting across from a wealthy single father, she says, “Oh, yeah, well, maybe. I don’t know, we’ll see.” She looks at the envelope again like it’s dessert. It’s gotta be killing her not to count it and see how much is there.

“Well… I think… if it’s okay with Mia, we could probably try that out. I’ll have to pay a sitter to take her place, so I think it would definitely be a good idea for her to send half her pay home,” she says, glancing over at me. “But yeah. I mean, it sounds like a great job. We were talking about her trying to find something to help out—this wasn’t what I had in mind, exactly, but when opportunity knocks…”

Mateo’s grin isn’t even victorious. He knew he’d win, because he came armed with money and bullshit.

And just like that, I’m for all intents and purposes sold to the Morelli family.

Chapter Fifteen



Dinner is, in fact, a whole thing.

A long, gleaming table seats five on each side, with one chair on each end. Place settings have already been put at each one, with two tall candelabras and a round flower arrangement at the center. This room also has a fireplace and a huge, sparkling chandelier.

We seem to be the last to get there. Mateo, unsurprisingly, sits at the head of the table. On the opposite end is Adrian, who glances up at me as we enter, but quickly becomes distracted by a young blond woman leaning over to fill his water glass. A man I don’t recognize sits at the first chair on Adrian’s left beside Francesca. There are three empty seats next to her, but the other side of the table is completely empty. Vince heads for the seats on the empty side, closest to Adrian, but Mateo speaks up.

Indicating the two seats to his left, he says, “These two are your seats.”

“No one else is coming?” Vince asks.

“Not tonight.” Then, to me, Mateo explains, “On Sundays there are more people. During the week, it varies.”

Vince goes to take the seat nearest Mateo, but Mateo shakes his head. Vince’s jaw locks, but he pulls the chair out and gestures for me to sit anyway, then he takes the seat to my left so I’m essentially sandwiched between them. Fun.

The blonde girl makes it to Mateo’s glass, and I notice when he glances up at her and smiles, she begins to glow, smiling more than I can imagine Mateo’s attention ever making a person smile.

At the other end of the table, Adrian slams his seat back and stands, startling everyone.

“Bathroom,” he says shortly, before storming out.

I glance over at Vince for explanation, but he just gives a subtle head-shake.

Unconcerned, Mateo addresses the two at the other end of the table. “Francesca, Alec, this is Vince’s girlfriend, Mia.”

“Hi, Mia,” Francesca says, offering a faint smile.

The man just acknowledges me with a nod, looking up at the blonde as she fills my water glass, then Vince’s. “Can you bring me a beer when you get done with that?”

“Of course,” she says, taking her water pitcher and disappearing through a doorway.

“That’s Elise,” Vince tells me. “She’s a maid here.”

“You have a maid,” I remark, not sure why I’m surprised. Someone would have to keep such an enormous house clean.

“Two, actually. Maria’s in the kitchen, but once the food comes out I’m sure you’ll meet her, too.”

Mateo takes a sip of his water, his eyes on me. “You look very nice in Francesca’s dress, Mia. I think you should keep it.”

I feel my cheeks flush. “Oh, thank you. I couldn’t—”

“Francesca doesn’t mind. Do you, Francesca?” he asks, without looking her way.

“No, I have plenty,” she tells me.

I have to look away from Mateo, because he won’t stop looking at me and I’m afraid my face is going to catch on fire. I look at the intricate blue lace design on the runner at the center of the table instead.

“There,” Mateo says easily. “Now you have something to wear to dinner.”

An edge to his voice, Vince says, “I will get her a couple of dresses for dinners.”

Mateo merely smiles.

Vince is still agitated, though, and I don’t know why he’s letting something so minor get to him. Out of all the bullshit that’s happened today, a relaxing dinner seems better than one fraught with little fights I don’t even understand.

“Were you able to reach your mother?” Mateo asks me.

“I didn’t talk to her, but I left a message about staying at Lena’s. It shouldn’t be an issue. Normally I’d have to babysit my siblings, but as luck would have it, I didn’t tonight or in the morning. I do have to watch them after school tomorrow though.”

“Until when?”

“Um… I—four, I think.”

“Good. You can make it back for dinner.”

A little uncomfortable, I say, “For just dinner, sure. I don’t think she’d let me stay the night again. I really very rarely spend the night at my friend’s house, so… she won’t accept that excuse indefinitely.”

Elise is back with a large bottle of wine. She starts pouring at Mateo’s seat, then pours some for me and Vince, despite neither of us being old enough to drink.

“I want you to set up a dinner with your mother,” he tells me, grabbing the wine glass and taking a sip.

“With…you?”

He nods. “Me, you, Vince. I want to meet her. I’ll tell you the place, we’ll work out a time this week.”

“This week?” I ask, eyes widening. “She’s only even met Vince one time, and barely.”

“Does she know who he is?”

I pause, awkwardness creeping up over me as I shake my head. No, weirdly enough, I did not tell my mother that the guy I was sort of seeing was from a mob family.

I can’t tell whether or not that news pleases him. “Friday night works best for me.”

I know she works until two this Friday, but I don’t know if she’s doing anything after. I guess she might be willing to cancel her plans for a dinner with Mateo Morelli. “I’ll ask.”

Adrian comes back and settles in at the side of the table opposite Mateo, I wonder about the order of things here. Vince said the core people were all Morellis, so I assume Adrian is, but he doesn’t resemble Mateo. Alec does—a watered down, less attractive version with a slightly bigger nose, but you can tell he’s a Morelli. Francesca has the same coloring, the pitch-black hair and chocolate brown eyes. She’s really very pretty, and like me, she’s wearing a black dress tonight.

Adrian, though, has smaller eyes, a different nose, hair a little lighter than chestnut—none of the same coloring. Only half his face is scarred, and I wonder if he’d look as intense without it.

Until Elise approaches him again to deliver his salad, then his whole demeanor softens.

I make a note to ask Vince about that whole situation later.

I’m surprised when Cherie comes through the doors next, holding two baskets of bread. She places one at each end of the table, then leaves again, coming back with two little dishes of dipping oil.

I frown, confused. Once she slips away again, I turn to Vince. “Is Cherie a maid?”

“Uh, sort of,” he says. “Her mom’s a maid. Maria. Cherie helps out.”

“So, she lives here?”

“In the servants’ quarters,” he says with a nod, reaching for his wine to take a sip.

“There are servants’ quarters?” I question, watching him with wide eyes. Now that he’s had a drink, I think I might, too. I thought maybe Elise poured it by mistake, but Mateo doesn’t seem to care.

Biting back a smile, Vince says, “I’ll take you on a tour after dinner.”

“I have so much to learn,” I say, under my breath.

“That’s an understatement,” Adrian murmurs.



---



After dinner, Vince gives me the tour, as promised. There’s an indoor pool for when it’s too cold to swim in the one outside, a gym, an obscene number of suites for family members to live in, a library, a movie theater room, and so many other rooms that many of them are practically empty. When we get to the servants’ quarters, it gets homier. I wasn’t sure what to expect of a servants’ quarter, but it’s basically a house within a house. There’s a separate hallway behind the kitchen leading to it, and like a house, it has a living room, dining room, and kitchen all in an open space. Down a hall there are four bedrooms and two bathrooms, all occupied.

“Who all lives here?” I ask him.

“Marie, Cherie, Elise, and Mateo’s nanny, Ju.”

“Mateo’s nanny?”

Nodding, he tells me, “He has a daughter, Isabella.”

“She wasn’t at dinner,” I say with a frown.

“She takes dinner with the nanny.”

“Well, I didn’t even realize he was married. His wife wasn’t at dinner?”

“He’s not. They were never married, but Beth isn’t around anymore.”

I wonder why, but I don’t ask. He goes to lead me out, but I glance back, noticing a staircase. “What’s upstairs?”

“Mateo’s dad.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “He keeps his dad with the servants? Isn’t he the actual boss of the family?”

“Until he dies,” Vince verifies. “There’s no love lost there. Mateo’s… Mateo, but his dad was a real lunatic. He didn’t even want anything to do with this life when he was younger, but he ended up married to a woman who didn’t love him and she eventually cheated on him, got pregnant, no one knew who the dad was—I guess the whole situation sort of made him… cruel. I could tell you horror stories about what he did to her and Mateo’s mom, but I’ll spare you. Suffice it to say, they’re both dead, and Mateo’s mom killed herself just to get away from him.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, feeling an unexpected swell of sympathy for Mateo. “How old was he?”

“Five. And he found her.”

My stomach starts to feel ill just trying to picture what that must have been like for such a young child. Sadness washes over me, sort of ruining me for the tour.

“Why don’t we do the grounds outside tomorrow after dinner?” I suggest, knowing that’s next. “I actually do have some homework before bed, and I’d kind of just like to chill out for a little bit. It’s been a long day.”

He tucks me into his side, dropping a kiss on top of my head. “Yeah, it has.”



---



Funnily enough, Vince and I spend our first full night together not having sex. After I finish my homework, we cuddle on the couch and watch some TV. When he loses interest, he starts pestering me until we’re kissing and touching, but it’s less sexual and more comforting just to be with each other.

I obviously didn’t bring anything to sleep in, so he gives me one of his T-shirts for tonight.

When we turn off the lights and climb into bed, I curl up in his arms and we talk until I drift to sleep.

Waking up the next morning is a little jarring, because I’m not used to waking up in strange places. Vince is already in the shower, and when he gets out, he tells me there’ll be breakfast waiting downstairs.

Breakfast is usually a Pop-Tart, a bowl of cereal, or a cup of yogurt, depending on how much time I have. Breakfast at Vince’s house is eggs with bacon, home fries, toast, and little bowls of fruit. Also orange juice poured from a crystal decanter. It’s a hard life.

Mateo’s not around, but Cherie is at the table this time, studying some handwritten notes while she eats. She doesn’t even look up when I come in.

“Vince didn’t leave already, did he?” I ask, since I expected him at the table.

Finally looking up, she says, “Oh, no, not yet. He’s in with Mateo.” After another minute of studying her notes, she finally stuffs them back inside a folder. “How was your first night as a mob wife?” she asks, lightly.

I laugh shortly, caught off guard. “I wouldn’t call myself a mob wife, but last night was nice. Much nicer than the early parts of the day,” I add, derisively.

“Yeah. I’m glad it more or less worked out for you, though. I don’t know all the details, but I know Vince was really worried about Mateo ever finding out about you.”

I stab a quartered strawberry, not offering anything more on that since my life sort of depends on my discretion.

Chapter Fourteen





Cherie escorts me to Francesca’s room. She asks Vince what happened, and since I don’t feel like listening to his grim retelling of events, I go out to retrieve my backpack.

My mom didn’t answer her phone, but I left a message that I was over at Lena’s and she wanted me to spend the night, so she’d give me a ride to school in the morning.

Sitting in the floor of Vince’s palatial home, I think about how having dinner with his family was something I desperately wanted a few days earlier. But in my daydreams of that event, Vince was happy I was there. Right now, I don’t think he’s happy I’m here at all.

Burden.

The word rises unbidden to my mind, but I push it away. I’m not a burden. Vince likes me. He wanted to be able to date me, he just didn’t want… well, this.

Everyone is just worked up right now. It’s been a crazy hour, but today will pass, the dust will settle, and everything will be okay.

Confident, I rise, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I hesitate outside the door of the study, seeing Cherie comforting Vince with a sympathetic expression and a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

I need to figure out what her deal is. I decide to ask, once I’m alone with her.

Eventually, I’m spotted hovering outside, so Cherie flashes Vince one last smile and comes out to see me.

“I guess I’m supposed to help you find something to wear for dinner.”

“I guess so,” I say, looking down at my T-shirt and jeans. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“No, of course not. It’s just, the Morellis don’t wear jeans to dinner.”

I frown, but she’s already walking, so I follow along.

“I can show you Vince’s room, too, if you want to drop off your bag. Vince said you’re going to be staying with him.”

“Tonight, yeah. Which is weird, isn’t it? I mean, we’re teenagers, and they’re just okay with us sleeping in the same bed?”

“Mateo doesn’t care,” she says, simply. “He’s not Vince’s dad, and… he wouldn’t care anyway.”

“Seems weird.”

“It won’t, eventually.”

It’s so weird how everyone seems to accept without question there was some mandate, locking me into this family, and apparently I missed it?

By the time we make it to the wing housing Francesca, I decide that I could have a sufficient workout routine if I just walked through this whole house twice a day. At the end of the long hall, there’s another hallway to the left, and a hallway to the right. Directly ahead, an enormous painting hangs on the wall. Apparently Francesca is on the left hall, because that’s where Cherie turns.

“The room across the hall is empty,” Cherie tells me. “If they don’t keep you with Vince permanently, you may get that one. Then you and Francesca will be neighbors,” she says brightly.

Neighbors is a good way to put it. This house really is more like an apartment complex, judging by the size of it. “I don’t think I need my own bedroom,” I say, glancing over my shoulder as I follow Cherie. “Do all the family members live here?” I ask.

“Not all of them. Francesca, Adrian, Mateo, Vince, Alec—Mateo’s dad, too, but he’s sickly…” She’s walking ahead of me, but she slows down until we’re side by side so she can say lowly, “and an old bastard. You probably won’t even meet him. Mateo pretty much has him tucked away, just waiting for him to die.”

My eyes widen, but she goes on, still quiet. “There are cameras throughout the house, by the way. You won’t always be able to tell where they are. Some are obvious, some aren’t. They do record audio.”

“Cameras? Like, surveillance?”

She nods, then speaks at a normal tone. “And here’s Francesca’s room.”

When she opens the door, I see an opulent room of whites and pinks. Like every other room I’ve seen so far, it’s huge. It doesn’t even look like a bedroom when we first walk in—there’s a sofa in front of a fireplace with bookcases flanking it and a side table, like a living room. A television is mounted on the wall. Beyond that, though, is a wall with an open arch, and that leads into Francesca’s sleeping area. There’s another door at the back of the room. It’s only cracked open, but it looks like a bathroom.

“And over here,” Francesca says, walking around the bed, opening a door I didn’t notice between the bed and the bathroom, “is the closet.”

I should expect it at this point, but it’s a walk-in. A huge walk-in, larger than my bedroom at home, with a floor-to-ceiling mirror as soon as you walk in, and a fancy upholstered bench—pale pink, of course—right in the center. Racks and racks of clothing, handbags and shoes fill the room, and I can’t even deal.

“What is this place? How rich is this family?”

“Super rich,” she tells me. “Mateo’s actually a really good business man, and he’s been systematically buying up his side of the city. Most of his money now is actually legit, from what I hear.”

“Why not get out of the crime stuff then?”

She shrugs. “No idea. Anyway, sit, I’ll pick you a dress.”

I sit there awestruck, looking around at all of Francesca’s possessions, remembering her telling me she would sell her soul not to be a part of this family. Maybe she has an inaccurate idea of what the rest of the world is like, because from the cushy fucking seat I’m sitting in, being born to this family seems more like a blessing than a curse.

I mean, crime boss head of the family or not. Look at all these shoes!

Cherie plucks a dress off the rack and brings it over to me. “High neck. Try this one.”

I feel a little weird undressing right in front of her, but she doesn’t leave, and she doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest as she waits to zip me up.

Once it’s fastened, I admire my reflection for a moment while Cherie pops over to the shoes. She picked out a black lace sheath dress, and while the neckline is high, it’s super pretty.

“What’s your shoe size?” she asks, picking up a pair of suede turquoise heels.

“Usually 8.”

“Perfect,” she says, bringing them over. “Do you need pantyhose?”

“I think I’m okay,” I tell her, stepping into the heels.

“Do you have makeup with you? You could use some lipstick.”

I don’t, so our next stop is Francesca’s vanity in the bathroom. Cherie navigates the drawers like a pro, and before long she picks a shade and applies it before I can argue.

Flashing me a smile as she puts it away, she says, “Perfect. You look very pretty.”

“Are we going out somewhere to dinner?” I ask.

“Nope. This is just how Mateo likes things.”

I frown a little at that, but I don’t say anything.

Cherie starts to head back to the walk-in closet, but she slows to a stop near the door, and instead, she closes us both inside and turns back to me. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Of course,” I say, open to anything that might help me.

“It’s going to be an enormous adjustment, becoming a part of this family. I can see right now you don’t realize that, and there’s no reason you would, but as someone who’s grown up here, let me tell you… Everything you think you know about the world is wrong inside of these walls. This is Mateo’s kingdom. He rules it, and the men in this family rule over the women.”

I must look horrified, because her expression grows firmer.

“Balk all you want internally, but you’re better off if you don’t. Play nice with Mateo, and keep Vince happy. Survival is your new motivator. If you have to dress up for dinner so Mateo can admire his collection of dolls, just do it. If you possess any strong feminist values, let them go. You’ll be much happier if you submit. The world outside, the world you’re used to, is not your world anymore. Vince is your man, Mateo is your boss, and this is your home—but it’s their home, first. The more you fight, the less comfortable you’ll be. You will not always be treated with respect, you will damn sure not be treated like an equal, and on Sundays? The women of this house make dinner. Don’t make any other plans, because it’s mandatory. Vince is a good guy, probably the best in this family, but he was raised here, so he won’t be perfect. Right now, he’s feeling a bit burdened. If I were you, I’d try to make him more comfortable with the fact that he’s sort of stuck with you now. This life will be whatever you make it, and if you go in realistic, you’ll be able to make more out of it. If you fight at every turn, you’ll be miserable. I can’t imagine coming into this life from the outside, and if you ever need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. Preferably at school, or in a bathroom, because that’s the only place there are no cameras. Be very careful, because Mateo’s paranoia is not exaggerated.”

Opening the bathroom door without giving me a chance to respond, she says, “You look very pretty. Now I’ll show you to Vince’s room, so you can drop off your things.”



---



Vince is in his bedroom when we get there. Like Francesca’s, there’s a sitting area when you first walk in, but there’s no wall between that and the rest of the room. Vince’s bed is enormous—I guess a king, but it looks even bigger. His room is decorated in reds and blacks with pops of silver. Beyond the bed, he has a desk with a laptop and various items scattered across the top. In the far left corner, a black upholstered chair that faces the bed. Where Francesca’s walk-in closet was, Vince has a bathroom.

Cherie leaves right away to give us some privacy. Vince was lying back on his bed, staring at the ceiling when we came in, but now he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

“These bedrooms are like apartments,” I tell him, managing a smile.

He still looks down in the dumps. With Cherie’s words fresh in my mind, I walk over to the bed, kick off my shoes and climb up behind him. Leaning in, I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

“Yeah, they’re not small,” he agrees, lightly touching my wrist.

“I’m sorry it’s been a rough day,” I tell him.

Laughing lightly, he looks at me over his shoulder. “It’s been far rougher for you.”

“Yeah, but I think we’re gonna be okay,” I say, wanting to stay positive. “I think the worst is over.”

“I think that’s inaccurate, but I’ll let you believe it as long as you’re able.”

I duck my head around his shoulder, kissing him on the cheek. “We get to sleep in the same bed tonight, and you don’t even have to break into my house to accomplish it,” I tease him.

“Look at you with the silver linings,” he says lightly. Then, reaching behind him, he topples me over his shoulder until I fall into his lap. He cradles me with his arm, winks, and leans in to kiss me. I wrap a hand around his neck to draw nearer, and at the same time, I feel his hand slide up my thigh. Wasting no time with teasing, he slides his fingers inside the fabric of my panties and pushes a finger inside me.

“Vince,” I say on a gasp. I spread my legs for him, but not as wide as I’d like, because of the dress.

“At least now,” He leans down, capturing my lips as his fingers tease the bundle of nerves between my legs. “I can do this anytime I want.”

“You sure can,” I agree, back arching as he sends a spike of pleasure right through me.

Chapter Thirteen





The ride to Vince’s house is silent and brief. I guess I expected Adrian to probe—ask questions I didn’t know how to answer, try to trip me up before I have a chance to talk to Vince. He doesn’t. He just listens to classic rock and drives like he isn’t escorting me to my own doom.

When we pull up outside the black wrought iron gates, I am floored. Obviously I knew Vince didn’t worry about money, but the sprawling edifice behind the gates is more Parisian opera hall than house. Two stories of white stone sit back off the road, pretty as a picture with a royal blue roof. Three stone steps lead to the front door, thick white columns holding up a beautiful balcony overhead. In front of the enormous house there’s a circular driveway of gray-white brick, and a large fountain at the center. Mateo’s Escalade has stopped at the front of the fountain, and Adrian pulls up behind it.

“Vince lives here?” I can’t help asking.

“Yep,” Adrian verifies.

“It’s like a castle,” I say, still in awe.

“Might as well be,” he mutters, shoving open the door and climbing out.

I don’t ask what that means, too awestruck to care.

Up ahead, Vince and Mateo ascend the three steps, while I linger in the driveway, gaping at everything. Off the right is a covered patio, and I see a pool through the columns.

“Come on,” Adrian says, a hand on my back nudging me forward.

I can’t believe this is a house—people actually live here. Not even just people, but Vince.

As soon as we enter the house, I’m blown away again. The biggest chandelier I’ve ever seen hangs from the second story, with twin curved staircases. The tan and white tile floor gleams, and I feel like I’ve stepped into a luxury real estate pamphlet.

“This way,” Adrian tells me, heading left past the staircase.

We don’t make it far, as Adrian leads me to the first gleaming oak door on the right side of the wide hall.

“This place is bananas,” I tell him, in case he missed it.

He cracks a smile, but it quickly dissipates as we enter the room where Mateo and Vince are waiting.

Another huge, beautiful room, this one clearly the study. Floor to ceiling wood, with built-in shelves full of leather-bound books. There are four puffy red leather chairs that look like they belong in a gentleman’s club flanking an area rug in front of the fire place, and to the far right, an imposing desk, presumably Mateo’s.

“How was the ride?” Mateo asks Adrian.

“Quiet. Until she saw your house,” he adds, his tone lightly mocking. “Apparently it’s like a castle.”

Both Morelli men look at me, but I just shrug. “I could fit my whole house in your foyer.”

Mateo’s gaze lingers on mine, reminding me I’m not here for the tour. I can’t imagine anyone being barbaric enough to commit a murder in such a beautiful room, but my nerves jolt when he speaks to me. “Come here.”

My gaze jumps fleetingly to Vince, but I don’t take long obeying. He points to the ground when I don’t come close enough, but I frown in confusion, looking down at the red area rug.

“On your knees. On the rug, just in case.”

“What—what do you mean?”

“Get. On. Your. Knees,” he says slowly, staring at me. “Were those directions easier to follow?”

I look to Vince again, but he doesn’t speak. His face is a mask of dread, which doesn’t give me much hope.

Swallowing, I drop to my knees at the center of the area rug and look up at Mateo.

Mateo nods once, then takes a menacing step toward me. “All right, Mia. I don’t have a lot of time to figure out what to do with you. You live with your mother, you’re in high school—people will notice you missing. For the sake of expedience, I’m going to lay out the rules for you. Once. No sobbing, no complaining or questioning—just listen and obey. I don’t like repeating myself, and I rarely do things I don’t like to do.”

I wait for further instructions, but I somehow don’t expect him to pull a Glock out of his jacket and point it directly at my forehead.

“Oh, please, no,” I whimper, dropping back on my heels.

“The first thing we’re going to do is see how honest you are. Vince assures me you’re a goddamn saint, so let’s find out, hm? Sit forward. You don’t have to be afraid if you’re honest.”

I can hardly manage breathing, but somehow I get back up to my knees.

“You’re going to tell me your story,” Mateo states, bringing the cold, hard barrel of the gun to rest against my forehead. “The first time I hear a lie, I pull the trigger.”

Blood surges through me, and for a split second, everything feels faint, and I fear I’ll pass out. “But… how will you know if it’s a lie?”

“Well, see, Vince told me his version of events in the car. So this really works both ways—if you lie to me, you die. If he lied to me and you tell the truth, you die. Either way, we all learn not to lie to me.”

“Oh, my God,” I whisper, bile rising up my throat.

“Start at the beginning.”

Mind racing, horrified tears gathering in my eyes, I hope to God Vince was honest. “I… I was outside my house to make a phone call to a guy from school. I noticed something strange next door, and realized it was fire. I didn’t have time to call for help, because I saw someone coming out of the house.” Raising a shaky hand, I indicate Adrian. “Him.” I swallow, my eyes moving up to the gun, struggling to focus. “Um… and then a second person came out, and I recognized Vince from school. I… I…” I stop, not wanting to admit the next part. Closing my eyes, swallowing convulsively, I force myself to go on. “I crouched in the bushes so he wouldn’t see me, and I tried to take a video on my phone. I fell, and he saw me, and I ran.”

“A video of him leaving the house?” Mateo asks, to verify.

“Yes. It was stupid, I didn’t… It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Yes. Go on.”

“I dropped my phone and… I had heard rumors about Vince’s family, so I was afraid. I didn’t go back for the phone until the next day, and it was gone. Vince took it. He erased the video, and broke into my house. He threatened me and gave back my phone. My mom came home so I hid him in my bedroom until I could leave. I assured him he could trust me, that I wouldn’t tell, and I meant it.”

Mateo is unmoved by the last line, but he hasn’t shot me yet, so I continue to summarize my time with Vince up to this point. Occasionally he asks questions. I don’t know how detailed I’m supposed to be about things unrelated to what I saw, but I figure it’s no time to hold back.

“You had sex?” Mateo questions, when we get to that part.

My face already had to be red from the stress of the situation, but I imagine the color somehow deepens. “Yes. After that is when he broke up with me.” I’m sweating bullets, having skipped the part about being warned away by some random dude Francesca must have hired.

“And why did he break up with you?”

I’m not looking forward to this one either, but I stare at his hand, wrapped around the grip, and say, “Because he was afraid if we stayed together, you would notice me. He was afraid if you noticed me, you might look into me, and if you did… you would realize what I must have witnessed.”

Glancing back at Vince, he says, “See, she even calls herself a witness.”

“But I would never tell anyone,” I add. “I didn’t and I wouldn’t. Vince was right to trust me. It doesn’t matter what I saw, no one will ever know. I even… I didn’t believe Vince, I didn’t think we should hide what I saw.”

Mateo’s head cocks to the side, but he seems interested enough that I go on.

“Vince was afraid you would…well, do this, I guess. But I wanted to bring it to you. I thought the crime was in the cover-up. I wanted to tell you what I saw, so there was nothing to hide. I wanted you to know I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Why would you care?” he asks, frowning slightly.

“I just… I just wanted to be with Vince. I thought if I showed you I was trustworthy, maybe you would be okay with that. Vince didn’t seem to agree. I guess… he was probably right on this one.”

“No,” Mateo says, shaking his head. “You were. This would have gone differently if you were telling me something I didn’t know. As it is, I had to find out about you myself. Confessing once you’re already caught doesn’t mean much.”

“I understand that,” I say quietly.

He draws the gun away from my head, but doesn’t put it away. I sag with relief, drawing in a shuddering breath and bracing my hands on the floor, sending up a silent prayer of thanks.

“I like your instincts, though,” he adds. Turning his attention to the scarred man, he asks, “What’s your opinion on this, Adrian?”

My gaze flashes to him, but Adrian isn’t looking at me. “I haven’t really talked to her enough to form a firm one, but my instinct is we trust Vince’s judgment on this one. He dumped her and she still didn’t talk.”

Mateo nods. “And kind of pushed her into the relationship to begin with, sounds like.”

I open my mouth to voice my objection to that, but, realizing immediately this isn’t a battle I want to pick, I settle on a scowl that no one sees anyway, since they’re too busy deciding my fate amongst themselves.

Now Mateo turns to Vince. “Are you committed to her?”

I expect an enthusiastic yes, seeing as my life’s on the line, but Vince’s guards are up even higher than that first night he accosted me in my kitchen. He gives Mateo a measured, wordless nod that does little to reassure me.

“All right,” Mateo says, surprisingly amiable as he tucks his gun away in his jacket again. “Never say I didn’t do anything for you. As long as you want her and she doesn’t give me reason to change my mind, I’ll let the girl live.”

Relief washes over me like a tidal wave, but I’m confused by Vince’s lack of response. Lack of positive response, anyway. He’s still holding Mateo’s gaze, still not speaking, and there’s this bitter little smile on his face that I can’t figure out.

Mateo turns his back on Vince, addressing Adrian. “Do you have her phone?”

The other man nods. “I took it apart. It’s in Vince’s car.”

“Can you fix it?” he asks, following Adrian out of the study.

“Of course.”

As their voices fade with distance, I push myself up off the floor. My legs still feel a little weak, and my nerves are absolutely fried, but I’m alive and no longer in any danger. Vince still hasn’t moved. I’m a little disappointed he’s not happier that I’m not going to die.

“It’s good news,” I tell him, smiling tentatively. “He’s not going to hurt me.”

“He didn’t say that,” Vince says easily, speaking for the first time since we arrived here.

I frown, replaying the moment that just happened over again. “He said he wouldn’t kill me unless I gave him reason, which obviously I won’t. He said we could be together—he’s fine with it.”

Nodding again, with something that looks like a smile but isn’t, he corrects me. “He said as long as I want you, he’ll let you live. He just tied your life to our relationship, Mia. I’m 18, and I may as well have just married you.”

My stomach feels all weird at that, and not the good weird. I like Vince, I like Vince a lot, but I’ve known him for less than a month. “What?”

He shakes his head, still visibly aggravated, but he finally reaches out and pulls me in for a hug. “I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this shit. I knew better. This is my fault.”

I hug him, but not as tight as I thought I would. Struggling to wrap my head around our different interpretations of the same scene, I say, “Maybe we should ask for clarification. I think maybe he didn’t mean it the way you think he did.”

“I know Mateo, Mia,” he tells me evenly. “That was a performance. There was no chance he’d let us off the hook and let you go; he just chose a different method of punishment for both of us and wrapped it up in a nice package. He doesn’t want you to live, but you don’t pose an immediate threat, so he made keeping you alive my responsibility. He’s punishing me, and he’s using you to do it.”

“I know I’m usually the one overthinking things, but… I think it’s you this time. You’re 18, why would he want to saddle you with me already?”

“Because I tried to keep a goddamn secret from him.”

Adrian’s back a second later, fiddling with my phone. He brings it over to me, and as it transfers into my hand, he looks at Vince. “Sorry, man.”

Vince shrugs one shoulder. “Could’ve gone worse, I guess.”

Frowning, I say, “It’s good news.”

Adrian spares me a sympathetic glance before walking out of the study, just as Mateo’s coming back in. My relief is starting to fade. Vince could be paranoid, but it seems like Adrian doesn’t view this as a victory either.

Mateo comes closer to us, his eyes moving over my body. Without meeting my gaze, he says, “Call your mother. Tell her you’re staying the night at a friend’s house. I’m going to call someone to take you to Francesca’s room; you should be about the same size, so you can borrow something of hers to wear for dinner.”

“I’m staying for dinner?” I ask, pleasantly surprised.

“You’ll stay the night. I have a lot of arrangements to make. I prefer to keep you under my roof while I get it all sorted. You can stay with Vince, or I can put you in a guarded room. Extra precaution, you understand. You’re free to roam the house, as long as you have an escort.”

I blink, trying to keep pace with what the hell he’s talking about. “A guarded…?”

“She’ll stay with me,” Vince states.

“Perfect. Cherie brought your backpack in, so if you have any homework to attend to, it’s in the foyer.”

Frowning in confusion, I say, “Cherie’s here?”

“Of course. Someone will show you around.”

The way he’s delivering all this information like I’m supposed to understand it, I feel a little stupid that I don’t. “Um, what if my mom doesn’t want me to stay over at a friend’s house tonight?”

Shrugging like he’s never been asked a dumber question in his life, Mateo says, “Handle it.”

That doesn’t answer my question, exactly, but I nod anyway. “Okay.”

Flashing me a smile, Mateo holds my gaze. “Welcome to my home, Mia.”

His words are friendly, but I pick up a weird vibe. Doing my best to ignore it, I muster a smile in return. “Thank you, Mr. Morelli.”

Chapter Twelve



It feels surreal.

I’ve heard the monster’s name so many times, those closest to him trying to drive home the threat he presents, that I can’t imagine the legend of Mateo Morelli having a physical presence. He’s more myth than man to me, and as many times as they’ve expressed their paranoid fears about him, I’ve never experienced it.

Not until I watch Cherie shrink as the soft clap of footsteps along my driveway moves closer. I don’t know what happens when he gets to me, and I’m terrified to find out.

Cherie clutches her phone, backing up against the open car door, but staying by me, like a momma bear with her cub.

The man comes to a stop beside the car, and for several seconds, I don’t think anyone dares even breathe.

“Go home, Cherie.”

His voice sends fear slicing through me—smooth and deep, possessing the seamless confidence exclusive to a man no one says no to.

Cherie swallows audibly. I want to turn and see what he looks like, but I’m too afraid to move.

“I can’t do that, Mateo,” she says, but if I can hear the fear in her voice, I know he can.

She’s going to abandon me here with him. She won’t have a choice. Maybe she’s a good friend to Vince, maybe she even knows his family better than I do, but she’s not going to stand up to this intimidating man to save my neck—not for long.

My breath hitches as he steps closer and I feel glued to my seat, like my legs couldn’t move if they wanted to. The testaments I’ve heard about him come rushing back and no amount of optimism can deny the reality that Mateo Morelli is standing in my driveway, knowing it’s my driveway, mere feet away from the house where Vince killed two people.

Oh, God.

They’re going to kill me.

I want to get out of the car. Not to run, there would be no point, but to appeal to him. He’s here, he’s caught me—throwing myself at his mercy is my only remaining option.

“Vince is blowing up my phone.” That’s a different voice, quieter, not Mateo’s. Again, I want to look, but I feel safer if he knows I haven’t seen his face. I know that logic doesn’t hold here—he’s not some mystery assailant; he won’t let me go because I can’t identify him—but I’m in survival mode here, just trying to find a way out of this exchange that doesn’t end with my dismembered body being dumped in a large body of water.

“He’s on his way,” Cherie says, not moving. “He… Just, please, wait for him to get here. I can’t leave until he gets here.”

“Sure you can,” Mateo replies, smoothly.

“I won’t leave her with you,” she tells him.

“How heroic,” he says, not trying to hide his amusement.

There’s more movement but I still don’t look. My head may as well be glued to the headrest, for all the movement I’m capable of.

Someone walks in front of my car. It’s a man, but it’s not Mateo. I recognize his shaggy hair as he turns to look in at me, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s because he was the other man who came out of the house with Vince that night.

It feels like my chest is going to cave in as he stares at me through the windshield. He doesn’t move, and he’s calm enough that it scares the shit out of me.

You’re only that calm if you know you have nothing to worry about.

I try to find my voice, knowing I need to start speaking for myself while I can.

“Cherie, let me out,” I say, my voice unsteady.

Her eyes widen and she glances at me like I’m experiencing a psychotic break. “No.”

The door is open, but she’s standing right in my way. To protect me, but also to keep me inside. I glance over at the unlocked driver’s side door, aware that either one of them could just slide into that one if they really wanted to. Her human barrier thing is sweet, but I’m not stupid; she’s not in their way any longer than they allow her to be.

“See, she wants to meet me,” Mateo says lightly.

Dread runs through me and I realize for the first time, no, I really don’t want to meet him.

His amusement at the scariest moment of my whole entire life has finally convinced me. Vince and Francesca were right, and I am a fucking idiot.

He ducks his head to glance in at me, but I can’t look. Can’t move. Before I see more than a vague blur of him, he’s straightening again.

“Move aside, Cherie.”

His amusement is fading, impatience moving in.

“Please,” she says softly, not moving. “Vince will never forgive me.”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Mateo says reasonably. “I won’t do anything that can’t be undone until he gets here and has a chance to explain himself.”

My stomach sinks, hearing him word it like that, and that does it—that breaks my phantom paralysis. I turn, pushing one leg out of the car, then the other. Cherie doesn’t move, so I can’t stand, but I finally get my first glimpse of Mateo Morelli in real life.

I’ve seen pictures, but they don’t do him justice. I guess his age to be somewhere around 30, but I’m not sure. He feels much older than me. Towering over me in my driveway, the dark-haired, dark-eyed Morelli can easily be identified as a relative of Vince’s, and yet, they feel nothing alike. A mantle of power hangs from the broad shoulders of this man, worn with the comfortable familiarity only attained by never having known anything else. This isn’t a man who had to climb to power—it’s his birthright, and if you want even a shred of it for yourself, you’d better be prepared to fight.

My blue eyes tentatively meet his gaze. I wish I felt confident, as I had all the times I insisted to other people he would probably be more understanding than they thought. “What do you mean, explain himself?” I question. “Vince didn’t do anything wrong.”

Instead of answering me, he smiles a slow, predatory smile. “She speaks.”

In a flash, he’s reaching into the car and grabbing me by the arm. A fearful cry slips out of me as he yanks me from the car, and Cherie gasps, skittering out of the way. Once I’ve cleared the door, he slams me against the closed door of the backseat.

“Hello, Mia,” he says calmly.

My breath hitches, staring into a pair of brown eyes so unlike Vince’s. Where Vince’s have that attractive spark of warmth, the emptiness in this man’s eyes chills me to the bone.

That’s the scene when Vince’s car flies around the corner, coming to a sudden, squealing stop in the middle of the road. He launches out of the car and headstoward us.

“Get away from her,” he calls out.

Mateo moves his body closer to mine. I try to lean away, but with my back against the car, there’s nowhere to go. Vince’s footsteps slow and he looks at me, more fearfully than I’ve ever seen him look.

I realize then, he might not be able to control this situation any better than Cherie.

Mateo’s still grasping my arm, and it’s definitely going to bruise. I look away from Vince, at Mateo, trying to come up with a plan, fast.

We all stand there for a wordless moment; opponents, not friends. Vince moves closer, but stops when he realizes Mateo advances on me more with each step he takes. His warm, hard body presses against mine, so close I’m certain he can feel my heart thundering inside my chest cavity. Vince stops, so consumed with dread that I can’t even imagine what he’s thinking.

And then Mateo’s free hand moves slowly, threateningly down my side to my hip. My blood turns to ice in my veins and I can’t breathe. Confusion and terror band together and render me completely useless, a glorified hood ornament. He doesn’t pay any attention to me while he does it—his eyes are on Vince. My horror grows when he smiles, as if he likes what he sees.

Oh, God. What is this?

Practically vibrating with resentment, Vince takes a step back.

Mateo’s smile doesn’t change, but something sparks in his eyes, something… deceptively pleasant. “That’s better.”

I get the feeling this is all a game to him. A parlor game, a way to pass the time. He comes out the victor in every tournament, so this… this goes on as long as it amuses him.

He obviously likes submission, so I let my arm go slack in his grip. It gets his attention, since up until then, I’ve been straining to pull away.

“Now that the gang’s all here, why don’t we take this somewhere more private?” he suggests, as if I have any say in the matter.

I nod, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t need my permission, but I give it anyway, preferring at least the pretense that I’m in some kind of control here.

He drops my arm, taking a step back. My hand automatically rises to give it a little rub, which Vince notices but doesn’t remark upon.

The other man approaches me, and I look at him, wondering what happened to his face. He has burn scars along the left side and down his neck, disappearing into his shirt. They wouldn’t have healed like that if they were from the fire next door; not to mention, he hadn’t seemed injured.

“Give Adrian your car keys,” Mateo says as he passes Vince. “You’re riding with me.”

Vince finally gets close to me, and as soon as he does, I throw myself into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells me again, holding me tight. “I’m so sorry, Mia.”

“Please don’t let them hurt me,” I murmur against him, trying to hold back tears.

“I’m gonna do everything I can,” he promises, placing a kiss on my forehead.

“Are you sure they’re gonna take us to the same place?” I ask, not at all trusting this Adrian guy.

“Yeah, we’re just gonna go home so we can sort this out. Adrian won’t act unless Mateo tells him to. Isn’t that right, Adrian?”

“Sure is,” Adrian says, easily.

Vince lets me go, but I want to hold on. I wish I could ride with him, but I know they’d never allow that.

Once Adrian gets Vince’s car keys, Vince gives me one more hug, promising he’ll see me soon, and heads toward the black Escalade Mateo already climbed inside. Adrian takes hold of my arm lightly.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” he warns, tugging me toward Vince’s car. “Mateo wants to hear what Vince has to say first, but you draw attention, I’ll drop you right here.”

I feel like we probably already drew whatever attention we were going to, but I don’t say that. I nod and climb in the passenger side seat of Vince’s car.

Adrian drops into Vince’s seat, shoving the key in the ignition and firing it up. Before he puts it in drive, he holds out his hand, saying simply, “Phone.”

It takes me a second to remember I have mine in my pocket, but I take it out and hand it over without question.

Adrian pops something into the side and slides out a tiny chip, then he dismantles it completely, removing the battery and throwing all the pieces into the back seat.

As if this is his every day, he turns on the radio, pushes a button a few times to change songs, and puts the car in drive.

I look out the window as we pass my house, and I’m sick at the thought that this could be the last time I ever see it.

Chapter Eleven



Now that it’s over, I know I should go home. Crawl into my bed, listen to sad songs, and spend the rest of the day mourning the relationship we never even got to have.

Instead, I go to the bakery.

Francesca starts to smile when she hears the jingle of the door bells, but her pleasure stalls when she spots me—probably especially because it’s clear from the state of my face that I’ve pretty much cried the whole way here.

“Mia,” she says, in that trailing off way like she’s not sure what to say.

“Why did you have to do that?” I ask, figuring she can piece together what I’m talking about. “If you didn’t want to risk it, you didn’t have to hire me.”

Francesca sighs, glancing over her shoulder, but no one else is around. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Mia. I just… I know my brother, and I wanted to see if there were any skeletons in your closet, anything he might take issue with. I didn’t expect to find anything.”

“I didn’t do anything to wrong your family in any way. I did the opposite of that—I kept quiet, despite human decency. I kept my mouth shut; I could’ve hurt Vince anytime I wanted to, for literally any number of infractions. Do you know how many times he broke into my house? Twice. I couldn’t have been better, and still I lose?”

She truly does look sympathetic, but inexplicably, her sympathy makes me feel worse. If she’d only been trying to come between us, if I had someone to blame, someone’s bad intentions… but she shouldn’t look so sympathetic. She broke us up.

“I know it seems so unfair,” she says, coming around the counter so she can stand closer to me. “I know it’s hard, and you’re so young, and you shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. I truly didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The helplessness is the worst of it. I feel like a puppet on a dark stage, dancing for an invisible audience. “Why won’t anybody consider that maybe your brother would see how good I’ve been, and he would be okay with me and Vince?”

Concern flickers through her sympathy, not the sad kind, but the kind laced with fear. “Because he wouldn’t, Mia. You’re not wrong—you did do everything right. But I promise you, even in the best of scenarios, this is not your happily ever after. Even if Mateo saw how good you’ve been, even if he didn’t…. hurt you… You’re too young to get trapped in this life.”

“But it wouldn’t be trapped if I chose it.”

“It wouldn’t be worth it,” she states, implacable. “Take it from a woman born to this family, Mia. I would sell my soul to get away from it—and it would be far worse for you.”

Chills move over me, not just at her words, but at how sincere she seems as she says them. I swallow, not sure how to respond to that.

Patting me on the shoulder, she offers me a sad grimace. “You want to take a cupcake?”

I shake my head no, certain I couldn’t eat right now if I tried.

Francesca walks back around the counter and pulls out a small handbag. A moment later she holds out a fifty dollar bill. “Take what I would’ve paid you today, for your trouble.”

I want to leave it there, on principle, but I’m too damn poor. I feel nothing as she hands it to me, but I push out a wooden, “Thanks.”

“I wish you the best,” she tells me. “I know Vince really liked you.”

That only makes it worse. If I could at least blame him, maybe I’d feel better. Maybe I would be angrier, bitter instead of sad. He took my virginity and then ditched me—what a bastard.

But no.

We both have to be sad, because everyone thinks his cousin is the big, bad fucking wolf.



---



Tuesday drags by in a depressing crawl. Vince gets to our class together early enough to reclaim his old seat, and when a confused Cody drops into the seat next to me instead, I have to fight back tears.

It’s like we never even happened.

I have to pick up both kids after school, so I’m holding onto Casey’s hand as we wait in the hallway at Allan’s school. My tired eyes scan the parents for the investigator again, but of course he isn’t there.

Once I have them both and we’re on our way home, I realize I’m too exhausted to cook. I know it’s unwise, but I put a dent in my $50, ordering a sausage pizza from the place Vince took me to.

I have to pick all the meat off and still listen to Allan complain about any potential sausage residue, but the worst part is, I can’t even eat it. I pick at the sausage with a lump in my throat, thinking of Vince, already missing him.

Bedtime brings the relief of silence, the cover of night, but I can only lie there, wishing Vince would sneak into my room again. I’d welcome him, even now, even after dumping me, even if it didn’t mean anything. Even if it was just one more night.

Those fantasies lead to more tears and no more sleep, so come Wednesday morning, I’m a puffy eyed zombie.

I take a long shower and try to mask my sadness with makeup, but I’m so tired that I feel nauseated. I have to get some sleep tonight. I can’t go three days with only a few interrupted hours to keep me going.

The whole morning, I debate skipping the class I have with Vince, but the part of me that still wants to see him overrules it. I was too sad to deal yesterday, but today I want to see how he looks. Of course I don’t want to be forgettable, but I hope he doesn’t feel as hopelessly sad as I still do.

It seems like he has enough sadness without me adding to it.

I approach our mutual class with the same tired anticipation as a reluctant junkie approaching my dealer. I’m disappointed when he’s not there yet, but he arrives before Cody and sits away from me again. I understand he wanted to end things between us, but I don’t see why he can’t even sit next to me anymore.

When class ends, he’s out the door before I am, and he doesn’t even look at me.

Maybe it is easier for him.

After that class, I completely bomb my French test. Studying in the courtyard during lunch didn’t do any good, because I haven’t done the reading for the past two nights. I have an A in that class anyway, so I guess I can afford it, but I’m still not looking forward to getting that grade back.

The school day finally ends. I don’t have to pick up my siblings today, and I’m so glad. My body feels like it weighs 800 pounds, which is really not helping me bounce back from this break-up. I need sleep so my stupid brain can start to function again. I might actually try to take a nap, since the house should be quiet and empty when I get there.

I wish I had the car today. I’m too tired to walk all the way home. Technically, I could probably ask Lena for a ride, but things have been so weird between us lately that I don’t.

I nearly make it to the end of the school’s sidewalk when a blue car slows to a stop beside me. I don’t even look, figuring they’re slowing down for the stop sign, until the window rolls down and I hear, “Get in.”

Frowning, I look over to see Cherie in the driver’s seat.

“What?” I ask, not sure I’m understanding.

“I’ll give you a ride home.”

I want to tell her no thanks, but I’m too tired. Sliding into the passenger seat, I give her my address and sag against the door. “Thanks,” I murmur.

“Vince wanted to get you a car, but he didn’t have time,” she tells me.

Pain twists in my gut, but I don’t respond.

I expect her to say something on the short drive to my house, to address our break-up, since she obviously knows about it. But she doesn’t. She leaves me alone, turning the radio on at a low volume and humming along as she drives.

She pulls into my driveway, looking at the charred house beside it. I can’t tell if she knows anything about how it happened.

Flashing me an almost smile, she says, “If you ever need a ride, just let me know. I know we don’t have to be friends now, but…”

That’s honestly so nice of her, and I’ve been such a bitch to this poor girl. I realize if Vince does end up with her, I can’t even pissed about it. She’s kind, and he deserves that.

Impulsively, and more because I need one than because she does, I lean over and hug her. “Thanks, Cherie.”

She’s understandably surprised, but she offers a smile as I open the door and climb out.

Fishing my keys out of my bag, I climb the porch steps.

A car door flies open behind me. “Mia,” Cherie calls out.

I turn back to see what she wants, but when my eyes land on her, her face is a mask of fear as she runs for me, a phone to her ear.

“What?” I ask, perplexed.

She knocks into me, grabbing me, standing way too close—for a second, I get the very confused feeling she’s going to kiss me. “Get back in my car, Mia.”

I can’t grasp what’s happening, but I look back at her car.

Into the phone, she says gravely, “You need to get here right now.”

Fear surges through me and I consider bolting, running into my house. “Who is that?” I ask.

I try to pull away from her but she grabs me, hustling me back to her car. She’s small, but surprisingly strong.

“Cherie, what are you doing?” I demand as she throws open the car door.

“Adrian’s here,” she says, like that’s supposed to mean something to me.

“What?” I ask, confused. She shoves me into the car, but doesn’t leave my side to get back in the driver’s side. “Cherie, what the hell?”

She isn’t looking at me. I realize then she wasn’t talking to me, either, but to the person on the phone.

“Who’s Adrian?” I ask, wishing I knew what the hell was going on. Is Cherie a good guy or a bad guy?

“I’ll do what I can,” she says into the phone. “Hurry, Vince.”

Relief pours through me when she says his name, and a spike of exhilaration hits when I realize he must be coming here.

It drains immediately when I realize there’s only one reason he would have to.

“Mateo?”

Cherie meets my gaze, with far more trepidation than I’m comfortable with.

Then she nods. “Mateo’s here.”

Chapter Ten



Most Mondays aren’t much to look forward to, but as I stand in the hall crowded with parents waiting for their kids, I wish Allan would hurry the hell up so I can drop him off and hustle over to the bakery for my first day of work.

I can’t help smiling, wondering what it will be like. Aside from babysitting—which I’ve seldom been paid for—this will be my first job ever. And I’ll get a chance to develop at least a working relationship with one of Vince’s family members.

As I rock forward on my toes, I somehow bump into the man next to me.

“Oh, sorry,” he says.

I flash a wordless smile, unconcerned. I glance down the hall again. I know class hasn’t let out yet, but it will any minute.

I feel the man’s eyes still on me, and I glance back at him. I cut my eyes away quickly, since he catches me looking, but out of the corner of my eyes, I see him still watching me.

I frown at him that time.

He glances to his left, then his right, casually, but I notice. Then he leans slightly closer to me. “Mia?”

My heart about stops. I’ve picked the kids up many times before and I recognize many of the parents here—but not him. He’s tall with nice blue eyes, a Clark Kent jawline, and dark hair. He has a trustworthy face, but he shouldn’t know my name, so I don’t trust it.

I decide to move away from him.

Shouldering past people with the occasional ‘excuse me,’ I make way to a less crowded part of the hall.

Only, Clark Kent follows me.

He doesn’t look Italian, but Vince’s words about them having associates they aren’t related to flash across my mind and I’m about three seconds from fleeing the school without my brother.

I back up, fixing to turn and run down the hall, but the stranger anticipates my move and reaches a strong hand out, grasping me by the wrist.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he states firmly, his gaze serious.

My heart hammers inside my chest and I yank my arm. He doesn’t immediately release me, but then he does, glancing around to make sure no one noticed. Apparently satisfied that no soccer mom is quietly calling the police, he comes to stand beside me again.

“I’m a friend, not a foe,” he says.

“Who are you?” I ask, trying to still my shaky hands.

“My name’s Ethan. I’m a private investigator.”

I frown at that, confused. “A private investigator?”

“The Morellis didn’t send me,” he reiterates. “I suspect if they sent someone for you, there would be less talking and more bleeding.”

Well, that’s reassuring. “What do you want?” I ask him.

“To warn you. I took this assignment because it was supposed to be on the up and up, but you won’t see me again after today. I’m not getting tangled up in this mob bullshit again,” he says, with enough derision that I can finally accept he’s not here on behalf of Mateo Morelli.

“Warn me about what?”

“I’ve been on your case for two days, and I already understand how Vince met you.” He pauses, letting that land. “If Mateo takes an interest in looking into you, how long do you think it will take before he figures out where you live?”

I look at him, suspecting I know where he’s going with this, but looking for verification.

Looking regretful, he says, “And how long after that do you think it will take before he sends someone to tie up this loose end?”

“But I’m not…. I wouldn’t…I’m not a loose end.”

“He won’t believe that.”

“But it’s true!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Shoving his hands into his pocket with a neutral expression, he looks like we’re discussing the weather. “This is the only warning you’re going to get, and if you’re smart, you’ll heed it. End it with Vince immediately. He’s not like the older ones; he won’t punish you for leaving him—at this point, at least. Walk away, don’t look back. Don’t go to the bakery after you leave here, don’t get entangled with them at all. Give Mateo Morelli no reason to look twice at you, because if he does…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It won’t end well for you.”

He glances at me one last time, then he makes like he’s walking to a different part of the hall, but slips out the exit doors instead.

What the Bleep just happened?

I pull out my phone, hands still shaking. Vince finally gave me his phone number after we had sex, and as I dial the number for the first time, I can’t believe this is why.

“Hey, you,” he greets, almost brightly.

“Vince? I need to talk to you. Can you meet me somewhere?”

“Right now?” he asks, understandably surprised.

“I have to drop Allan off at my house first, but could you meet me right after that?”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can it wait?”

I hesitate, glancing at the doors the man left through. “I don’t think it can.”



---



My heart feels pulled in a hundred different directions when I see Vince emerge from his car, slamming the door shut. He spots me immediately and heads my way, a look of concern on his handsome face.

Hands shoved into his pockets, he asks, “What’s going on?”

I told him nothing on the phone, paranoid that somehow someone would hear. Logically, I realize it’s usually the feds who would listen in on a tap, not the bad guys, but I’m too nervous to take even a single chance at this point.

“There was a man at Allan’s school today.”

Vince scowls. “What do you mean, a man?”

“A man. A private investigator. He was looking into me.”

Vince’s face goes white, and my fear morphs into something darker.

I’m quick to assure him, “He wasn’t—your cousin didn’t send him. He wasn’t from your family.”

“How do you know?” he asks, still pale.

“He—I don’t know for sure who sent him, but he said he was a friend, not a foe, and—and he warned me. From what I’ve heard, I don’t think Mateo would warn me away.” I pause, glancing down at my feet, then back to him. “Especially because he figured out what I know. Based on where I live, and….”

“He knows you saw me,” he reiterates, but more to himself than me.

“Not Mateo—this guy. But he pointed out that if he could make that connection in two days… so could Mateo, if it occurred to him to look.”

“Son of a bitch. Who would sic a PI on you? That doesn’t make sense.”

Obviously, I’ve thought about that pretty thoroughly since that moment happened. I duck my head, unsure how this is going to go over. “There’s only one, maybe two things I can think of. The other day after school, your friend Cherie approached me. And she took me for cupcakes.”

Vince’s eyes close, a look of fury passing over his features.

I go on, anyway. “I didn’t see any guys, but I met Francesca. And she asked for my name, and… the timeline would make sense. If he’s been looking into me for two days…that was three days ago.”

“Francesca wouldn’t sell me out to Mateo,” he says, shaking his head.

“I don’t think she did,” I say quickly. “But I don’t know what you’ve told her about me. I know she referred to me as ‘Vince’s Mia’ when Cherie introduced me, and she seemed about as paranoid regarding Mateo as you, so maybe she just wanted to see what would turn up?”

Eyes closed, Vince turns away from me, cursing at the wind. I know it’s a crazy thing to absorb, so I try to give him time. I still feel like I’m going a little crazy with worry, and the paranoia is already wearing on me. I can’t imagine having to live like this, the way Vince seems to.

He doesn’t turn back around though, and after a few minutes, I approach him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He still doesn’t turn, so I lean my face against his back.

“What do we do?” I ask, quietly.

His silence stretches on, seemingly forever, before he finally turns back to face me. When he does, the look on his face makes me sick to my stomach.

“We can’t see each other anymore.”

Shaking my head in denial, I say, “No. No, that can’t… that can’t be the only way.”

“It is. I never should’ve gotten involved with you to begin with. I put you at risk, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you because of me.”

Clutching the front of his shirt, I shake my head again. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. Listen, what if we got ahead of this? It seems like right now the worst part is the waiting game—will he somehow notice me, or won’t he? If he does, sure, we’re probably screwed, so why don’t we take that possibility off the table? What if we take it to him? What if we stop waiting?”

“No,” Vince says, looking at me like I just suggested we summon the devil to offer him a cup of tea. “No, Mia. Trust me… That is not an option.”

“But why? Isn’t it more suspicious if we try to cover it up? Isn’t honesty the best policy? I want to be with you, I’m not going to tell. I’d be hurting myself as much as you at this point, and if we just explained that to him—”

“He won’t believe it, Mia.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I demand, stomping my foot in frustration.

“Because we know him. You don’t. You can’t fix this, Mia. Mateo doesn’t believe in loyalty, he doesn’t trust people—he doesn’t trust people he’s related to, he sure as Bleep isn’t going to trust some random high school girl!”

I balk at being labeled so dismissively, but I don’t bother mentioning it. “But we have to try!”

“No, we don’t,” he says, defeated. “There is no trying. There are no second chances. I take this to him, I tell him you were a witness, that’s it. There’s no taking that back.”

“But maybe he would surprise you. Maybe he would—”

“He wouldn’t.”

Frustrated by his obstinacy, I argue, “You can’t know what he’ll do.”

He shakes his head. “I know the odds, and I won’t take that chance. I won’t gamble with your life.”

I shake my head, refusing to accept that. “This can’t be… This isn’t fair.”

He sighs, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close. I throw both arms around him, clinging to him like I can change his mind through sheer force. “I’m so sorry, Mia,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against my forehead.

I don’t want him to be sorry. I want him to be braver. Nobody wants to believe me, but I just can’t imagine someone being so unbending, so unreasonable. What if he’s wrong about how his cousin would react? What if it would be okay?

So many thoughts are swirling through my head, stitched together with sadness. It seemed like just a minute ago I was wrapped in his arms in my bed, my skin against his, our bodies entwined. I knew it probably wouldn’t last forever, but I thought it would last longer than this.

Vince pulls back, but it takes a few minutes. The look on his face hurts my heart and infuriates the part of me that wants to keep fighting, confident this is a fight we could win. We’ll never know if it would’ve worked, because he’s too damn afraid.

“So this is it?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself. “I don’t get to see you again?”

“We’ll pass each other in the halls,” he says, with a sad attempt at a smile.

Despondency wallops me and I shake my head. “I don’t want this.”

He nods. “I know.” After a brief pause that I hope he’s going to follow up with a flicker of doubt, something I can work with, he leans in and brushes his lips against mine in a soft, chaste kiss. Ironic, considering I just threw my virginity at him a couple nights ago.

“Goodbye, Mia.”

I don’t move as he heads to his car, still hanging onto a flimsy hope he’ll change his mind. I wait, each second, for his steps to slow, for him to stop. I wait for him to look back at me over his shoulder, realize he’ll do anything to hold onto me, and head back. Slow at first, then he’ll jog. I’ll meet him halfway and he’ll wrap his arms around me, pulling me close. He’ll assure me we’ll figure this out, but he’s not ready to give up on me, not yet.

But it doesn’t happen. Everything feels heavier as he opens the car door and slides in, and the last of my hopes fall away when he fires up the engine and drives off, leaving me standing in the middle of some random sidewalk, all by myself.

Chapter Nine



Lena has her party, and I don’t go.

Instead, I go to the movies with Vince. My mom wasn’t pleased, since she wanted me to babysit so she could go to the boyfriend’s house, but she ended up having to take the kids with her since I told her I wouldn’t be home.

Which means we have my house to ourselves after the movie.

Vince waits on the porch next to me as I fish my key out, jingling it in front of him. “These are keys. This is how you’re supposed to enter a house.”

He smirks, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. I shiver as his lips brush the nape of my neck.

No longer a smartass, I get the door open as quickly as I can and stumble inside, turning in his arms so I can look at him. He backs me up against the wall, raising my hands over my head as his lips work their way down my neck again.

God, I love this.

“Door,” I murmur weakly, since it’s still hanging wide open.

Without stopping, he kicks his leg out behind him and it slams shut.

I smile, but then I’m lost to the sensations of his hands skimming their way down my body. “We should go to your bedroom,” he murmurs against me.

I’m still afraid we’re moving way too fast, and I don’t think going to the bedroom is a good way to slow down, but I don’t have sufficient reason to say so. We have been in that bedroom together before, even alone in the bed, and we haven’t actually had sex yet. Surely we can make it a third time.

We should probably discuss sex at some point—at least make sure he has a condom, in the event we decide not to stop one of these times.

Not right now though, I decide, as he hauls me toward my bedroom door.

“I want you, Mia,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss me again.

Hearing him say that is like its own brand of euphoria. “I want you, too,” I tell him.

It’s true—I just don’t want to want him as much as I do, this quickly.

He steps toward me, backing me up until my legs hit the edge of my bed. Grasping my chin in one hand, he runs a thumb across my lower lip, holding my gaze as he does.

“Kiss me,” he demands.

I don’t hesitate. Lurching forward, I brush my lips against his, my hands finding their way around his back to pull him close. He takes over the kiss, hands roaming, one down to my hip, the other on my back. He catches the zipper on my dress and tugs it down until my back is mostly exposed and the fabric gapes open at my shoulders. His eyes rake over me, taking me in, and I revel in the warmth in his gaze. It’s not just lust; I see more there.

Releasing his hold on me, he takes the gaping edges of the fabric and slides it off my shoulders, down over my arms, and the dress falls to the floor. I try not to feel self-conscious that I’m standing there in nothing but a lacy black bra and a pair of (not matching) black panties, but there’s no time for that, because then he’s reaching around my back again, unhooking the clasp.

I let out a shaky breath as he tugs that down my arms, too. As he tugs it off, drops it to the ground, and just looks at me.

It’s not fair that he’s still fully dressed, so I grab at the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it upward. He takes the hint, reaching behind his neck and tugging it off. He drops it in the floor along with my clothes, but he’s not as self-conscious about it.

“Have you…had sex before?” I ask, feeling my face warm as I ask.

He nods.

I figured, but I still feel awkward hearing it. “I haven’t.”

A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I know.”

Instead of discussing it further, he kisses me. It feels different skin to skin, somehow even more intimate as my breasts press against his warm skin. My nerve endings come alive as his fingertips skim my bare sides, and the throbbing between my legs begins anew.

He pulls away a moment later, unfastening the button of his jeans. I swallow hard as he slips out of them, and I climb on the bed, sitting back on my heels, uncertain.

Then Vince is on the bed with me, and I’m relieved we were too busy kissing to turn the light on. He takes my hands and tugs me close, and then he kisses me again. He keeps holding one of my hands, but he drops the other and lets his hand drift down between my legs. My knees spread a little wider as he breaches my entrance, and I gasp against his mouth when he suddenly rubs my unprepared clit. Pleasure shoots through me, and it runs over me like a steady stream as he continues to play with me, never breaking our kiss.

It’s pandemonium in my body as I try to keep pace kissing him, but I keep breaking away, closing my eyes, riding the wave of pleasure moving through my body. Everything tightens and I can’t do it anymore; I can’t focus on kissing, and he doesn’t make me. He uses his free hand to gently push me back and I follow his lead, lying down and spreading my legs for him.

It hits hard and I cry out, my body arching up off the bed as ecstasy shoots through me.

I collapse against the bed, breathing heavy. Vince moves between my legs, tugging my panties all the way off. He’s still in his boxers, but the way his eyes are devouring me, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to be.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask.

Relief shows on his face before he can wipe it away, and I can’t help but smile as he hops off the bed to retrieve it.

I allow myself a moment of anxiety while he prepares. I’m still not sure I’m ready, but I don’t know if I ever will be with him. There’s no point tormenting both of us for some arbitrary period of time, knowing he may never be able to offer me the security I would want to actually do this. If I’m going to do it anyway, and I’m pretty sure I am, it may as well be now.

Climbing back on the bed, he moves between my legs. His hands run over the outside of my thighs and he looks me in the eye. “You’re sure?”

I nod, as sure as I probably ever will be.

He leans down and kisses me again, his hand moving between my legs again. This time he isn’t there to toy with me for pleasure, but to prepare my body for invasion. The kisses help ease my nerves—just light, sweet kisses. Eventually they change, become more demanding. He draws me into the excitement as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, filling me with a hit of that yearning I felt the first time.

He withdraws his fingers and a moment later I feel the head of his dick push against me. I suck in a breath and let it out, too distracted to keep kissing. I grasp his shoulders as he comes down on top of me, easing inside of me. I shift, already uncomfortable, and he pauses.

“You okay?” he asks, low and husky.

“Mmhmm,” I murmur, but I’m tense as hell.

“Relax,” he whispers, not moving any deeper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I try to relax, but it’s not an easy thing to do. A few steady breaths later and he pushes a little more of himself inside me. Experimentally, I wrap my legs around him, opening up my hips a little more. He slides an inch deeper and there’s pain, but I bury my face in his shoulder so he won’t see if he pulls back to look at me. “It’s okay,” I murmur, despite the noises I can’t stop making. Instead of pushing any harder, he pulls back. I think he’s going to stop, but then he pushes back in, that time pushing all the way inside of me.

“Ouch, goddamn it,” I say through clenched teeth, making truly ugly faces against his shoulder. I’m really glad he can’t see them.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell him, despite my body’s insistence otherwise.

He tries to go easy on me, moving slowly for a few minutes, but it’s still uncomfortably tight when he pushes inside me. Eventually my body adjusts to the invasion, and I realize it’s starting to feel better. Noticing, he picks up the pace, and then it starts to feel even better than before.

When he really gets going, my breath hitches. I try to find a perfect rhythm with him, but I’m a little off. It’s okay, it still feels great, and I can tell he agrees. I love the look on his face, the pleasure, knowing he’s getting it from me. From my body.

I feel that pressure starting to build, promising me a pleasurable payout, but I don’t quite make it, because he gets there first. A guttural groan escapes him and his body goes rigid. I try to clench him with my feminine muscles and he groans again before collapsing against me.

I wrap my arms around him and let him settle into the crook of my neck, sated. I don’t even mind the weight of his body crushing mine. I feel like I swallowed sunshine, all warm and toasty and… lovey. I know it’s just afterglow, but I don’t care; I’m going to enjoy it.

Eventually, he rolls off me, reaching for the box of tissues on my nightstand. Once he’s cleaned up, he rolls back over and pulls me into his arms. It feels like heaven.

Lying in his arms, watching the rise and fall of his chest, I’ve never felt so at peace.

“You okay?” he asks me.

Smiling up at him, I assure him, “I’m great.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to give me a soft little kiss.

I wish we could stay like this forever. I know we can’t, but looking into his eyes, I vow to enjoy every second I can. Maybe it won’t last forever, maybe it won’t be normal, but whatever it is, it’ll be ours. Right now, that seems like enough.

I don’t know why I let her drive—why I don’t just ask for the address and meet her there. She talks my ear off for twenty minutes, and then finally we pull into a little brick bakery with a green awning.

“Here it is!” she says brightly. She must be so tired of talking to me, carrying the conversation more or less by herself, but you can’t tell it from her cheerful demeanor as she hops out of the car and heads inside.

I try to stop thinking about this girl in Vince’s life, the one he allows access to all the things he tells me I can’t have, because for better or worse, I’m about to meet one of his relatives.

A ring of bells hangs on the door, chiming as Cherie opens it and heads inside. A dark-haired woman, probably in her late twenties, looks up and smiles, obviously recognizing Cherie.

“Oreo cupcake?”

“You know it,” Cherie says, stepping off to the side and giving me an encouraging look as I come up to stand beside her. “This is my friend, Mia. I don’t know what kind she wants, but you can put that on my tab, too.”

The woman scoffs, rolling her eyes as she bends to retrieve a cupcake from the glass display case. “Tab. Right.”

Cherie grins, and I can almost see why Vince is going to leave me for her. She’s goddamn delightful.

Francesca slides a cupcake on a paper plate across for Cherie, then offers me a smile. “And what kind would you like, Cherie’s friend?”

“Actually,” Cherie puts in slyly, “she’s Vince’s friend.”

Francesca gaze snaps to Cherie instead of me. “Vince’s Mia?”

I’m stunned at that, and my jaw inches open. Why does she say that like she… knows of me?

Cherie bobs her head, appearing quite pleased with herself.

“I thought he wasn’t going to introduce her?” Francesca questions, still at Cherie, not at me.

“He’s not—not to everyone else,” she says, her smile dropping. She holds up a hand, as if to slow Francesca down. “And it goes without saying, don’t mention this to anyone. But Vince said she was feeling weird about not being able to meet anyone in his life, and I thought… hey, we’re a part of his life!”

I have no idea how I feel about Vince apparently spilling all our business to other people when he won’t even share it all with me, but I’m still reeling from the fact that his aunt-or-cousin Francesca recognized me as Vince’s by name.

“So, Vince told you about me?” I ask her, trying to get my bearings.

Smiling thinly, she nods. “A bit.”

“And you’re…”

“Francesca,” she says, offering her hand.

I shake her hand with more warmth than I shook Cherie’s. “Vince’s…aunt?”

“Cousin,” she amends. “Mateo’s sister. We’re all cousins.”

“Oh.”

“Mateo doesn’t come around here,” she adds, setting my mind at ease. “He doesn’t care for sweets all that much.”

Clearing her throat, Cherie says, “Actually, that brings me to another point. Vince tells me that Mia is looking for a part-time job. I remembered you saying you wanted to hire someone else to pick up a couple shifts a week. I thought maybe you could help each other out.”

Francesca starts shaking her head even before Cherie finishes. “Mateo combs through all the applications.”

Cherie scowls, then rolls her eyes.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her be less than pleasant. Does anyone like this Mateo person?

Watching me a little more closely than I’m comfortable with, Francesca asks, “How badly do you need a job?”

“Well, pretty badly. But it’s fine—I know Vince doesn’t want me to meet your brother. I don’t even know if he wanted this, and I don’t want to push it. Plus I have very limited availability, only like Mondays and Saturdays, so I’m probably not… It probably isn’t worth the risk.”

“I could hire you under the table, if you’re comfortable with that. No paper trail, no application, nothing he could see. I don’t really need any extra help on Mondays, but I could use someone on Saturdays.”

“Really? Wow, that would be great.”

Francesca smiles. “Good. Can you come by Monday for training?”

“I can, yeah. After school?”

She nods, grabbing a pencil. “What’s your full name?”

“Uh, Mia Mitchell.”

She jots it down on a piece of wax paper. “Mia isn’t short for anything?”

“Nope.”

“And you go to Vince’s school?”

“Yep.”

She jots down something else, then drops the pencil, folding the paper up and putting it in her pocket. “All right. Did you want a cupcake?”

As stressed out as I was when I came in here, I’m actually smiling now. Not only am I going to have a little extra income to make life easier, but Vince actually told someone about me. For all that he tells me I have to be invisible to his family, I’m actually not.

“Oreo, please.”

Chapter Eight



“Your boyfriend was talking to some other chick before school—they looked cozy.”

I look up as Lena’s tray smacks the cafeteria table, noting she looks both smug and bitchy. “Excuse me?”

“Just thought I’d tell you,” she states.

“What girl?” I ask, frowning slightly.

“A really pretty one. Think Minka Kelly. I don’t have any classes with her, so I don’t know.” Affecting a fake look of surprise, she says, “I guess I won’t have to make out with him after all!”

I roll my eyes, wishing she’d just let it go. We’re talking again, but she’s still making the odd snide comment. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, and I’m not apologizing this time just to keep the peace.

I ignore her comment, glancing around the cafeteria. “Is she here? Point her out to me.”

She rolls her eyes, picking up one half of her turkey wrap. “I don’t know, I didn’t look.”

I wrinkle up my nose, picking at the crust of my peanut butter and jelly. “Great. Well, thanks for that.”

Sighing heavily, she says, “Jesus. I’ll find out.”

“He’s not even my boyfriend,” I mutter. Our lack of label hasn’t come up again the few times we’ve hung out lately, but I don’t imagine he’s changed his mind.

“You obviously want him to be,” she says, unimpressed. “You have such shit taste in men, Mia.”

“You don’t even know him,” I point out.

“Nor do I want to,” she replies, popping the top off her green tea. “Blaine’s into you; you should go out with Blaine.”

Wrinkling my nose up, I say, “Blaine’s too polo team.”

“He’s not on the polo team. We don’t have a polo team. I mean, water polo, but…”

“He’s on the rowing team. He’s too…all-American, polo shirt wearing, Harvard-going…”

Nodding in fake agreement, she says, “Yeah, guys with actual futures are the worst. You’re right. Good call. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“He’s just not my type.”

She rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed with whatever my type is. “You should get a prison pen pal, then you can meet someone more your type.”

“Why don’t we talk about something else,” I suggest, growing bored of her criticism.

“Look, I just don’t want to see you get hurt—figuratively or literally. If they go all Taken on your ass, you don’t have Liam Neeson to bail you out.”

“Hey, Liam Neeson could be my dad, we don’t know,” I joke.

Shaking her head at me like I’m the novelty of her life, she says, “How did I ever find you?”



---



The one night I’m not having trouble sleeping, I’m jostled awake by the weight of a body curling up beside me.

I don’t immediately wake up—at least, not without a fight. It’s dark, I’m bleary, and a glance at my alarm clock shows me it’s just after 3am.

I sigh, rolling over. Allan must’ve had a bad dream, and Mom must not be home.

Only it isn’t Allan. It’s Vince. In my bed, at 3am.

My eyes go wide, still burning from sleep, but… well, I don’t understand what the hell is going on.

“Vince?” I murmur.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

I blink, rolling over and double checking the clock. Yep, 3am. I turn back to Vince, frowning in confusion. “Um… what are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see you,” he says quietly.

I want to say he could’ve called, but he still hasn’t given me his phone number. I asked. He said no. Still, I’m not sure how he arrived at “I know, I’ll break into her house again and crawl into her bed while she sleeps.”

“You’re such a creeper,” I say lightly, reaching out and brushing my hand along his cheek.

He cracks a smile, but my mood dips when I realize he looks sad.

Curling closer to him, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just scoots closer, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against him. We don’t speak for a long time, he just holds me, and I do my best to hold him back. My mind works harder than it needs to, guessing what might be wrong. The night of the fire slips to the front of my mind, and I wonder if he could have done something like that again. I don’t want to know if he did, but I’ll listen if he needs to tell me.

A wave of fierce protectiveness rolls over me and I hug him tighter.

After I squeeze him, it seems to bring him to life. His grip loosens enough for him to lean back and look down at me, but instead of speaking, he leans in and kisses me. Unprepared, I gasp against his mouth, and he wastes no time, deepening the kiss. Arousal stirs within me again, and I’m hyper aware we’re in my bed. I can’t afford to turn into a lust-monster at 3am in my own bed. This time it’s his hand that slides up my shirt, and because I’m in bed and wasn’t expecting company, I’m braless. His hand comes up to palm my breast, startling me, then his lips leave mine and begin a trail down the sensitive skin of my neck instead.

“Oh,” I murmur, failing in my attempt to stifle a moan as gooseflesh rises up all over my body. “Vince.” I brace a hand on his shoulder, the other on his side, and somehow he’s already on top of me. I don’t try to move him off, but I open my mouth to tell him we need to keep a lid on things—I don’t get to, though, as his mouth is on mine again, sweeping the thoughts clear out of my head. The weight of him against my pelvis has me throbbing between my legs, and we’ve barely even kissed.

“We need to—” I try again to tell him we need to hit the brakes, but he’s kissing me again, and then my hands are in his hair, his hands under my shirt, thumbs brushing nipples, and the common sense is gone. Sensation takes over, each caress of his hand feeding my need.

When his hand slips inside the waistband of my pajama pants, I don’t try to stop him. My knees fall apart, anticipating his touch. When his finger pushes inside me, I let my head fall back, closing my eyes. Surrendering my body, without knowing where it will lead. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

It’s harder than I expect to stay quiet while he pleasures me, but when I come, his mouth covers mine, muffling the cry I can’t keep in.

Sated, vulnerable, I curl up in his arms afterward. He lets me, embracing me snugly again, but now I can feel a certain bulge that I imagine is probably uncomfortable for him. Squeezing my hand down between our bodies, I rub him through his jeans, enjoying the sounds of his moans for a minute. Then I ease out of his grip, sliding down his body.

He looks down at me. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” I tell him quietly, tugging his jeans down until I can get between his legs. A moment later, I’m brushing my hair back over my shoulder and leaning down to take him into my mouth.

Before long, he’s groaning, coming in my mouth. He didn’t warn me, but I don’t mind. I swallow, creeping back up until I’m snuggled up next to him again.

He kisses me on the forehead and holds me tight, resting his chin on top of my head.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Mm hmm,” I murmur back. I wait a few seconds before adding, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just want to hold you for a little longer.”

I smile, closing my eyes. That’s sweet. “I really like you,” I murmur against his chest.

I feel a little laugh burst out of him, then he says, “Yeah, I really like you, too.”



---



The loathsome blaring of my alarm is the next thing to wake me, and I’m decidedly less pleased about that disturbance.

Jerking awake, I realize I have no recollection of Vince leaving. I look at the spot beside me in bed, but it’s empty. No Vince.

The whole time I’m showering, doing hair, getting dressed, applying make-up, I’m thinking of the night before. I don’t know what it’s going to be like to see him in broad daylight, remembering his fingers inside of me the night before, bringing me to sheet-clutching orgasm in my own bed.

That was unexpected. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed it didn’t go any further than it did, but I’m still a little baffled that it happened at all. He never explained why he came over, beyond wanting to hold me. I guess it’s a good reason, but I maintain he should give me a way of getting in touch with him instead of breaking in when he wants to see me.

Then I get to school, and this time I’m the one who sees Vince with the Minka Kelly girl. Vince has more of an olive complexion himself, but she’s darker—Mexican? I can’t tell from this angle, but I can tell she’s gorgeous… and grinning at him, lightly smacking him on the arm. He smiles back, ducking his head, and they head into school together.

I can’t get my feet to move. My brain tells me to follow, to approach him, to say hello. She’s probably just a friend, and he won’t be weird, he’ll just introduce me, and that will be that.

But my body isn’t liking the chances, apparently. It stays put, staring at the doors they just walked through. Together.

I don’t see him again until English, and I can feel myself being weird. I’m relieved when he doesn’t get to class until just before the bell, but I find myself wondering why. Could he have the class before with her? Maybe all his early classes are with her, and that’s why they’re so chummy? Do they go on not-dates? Does he show up in her bedroom in the middle of the night when he isn’t in mine?

I torture myself with these thoughts until I’m so stressed out, my stomach actually aches.

I want to ask again if I’m the only girl he’s involved with, but I don’t want to seem insecure and I don’t even know if he would tell the truth. My mother has confronted more than a couple cheating boyfriends in her time, and only one actually admitted to it before being caught outright.

And he isn’t even my damn boyfriend.

Suddenly my feelings about the night before are sorted—I’m definitely more relieved that things didn’t go any further. I don’t even know what I was thinking, wanting someone who isn’t even officially mine.

After class, as if nothing is wrong, Vince gives me a warm smile. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” I say, but with much less affection.

“How are you this morning?”

“Good.”

He nods, seeming to retreat. I guess I can’t blame him, since I’m being shorter than I want to be, but he hasn’t been stuck inside my head all morning.

Out of the blue I ask, “When do I get to meet your friends?”

His eyebrows rise in surprise. “My friends?”

I go for casual and give him a little shrug. “Yeah. You never talk about your friends. You know who mine are—we haven’t hung out with them yet, but you know who they are.”

Smiling slightly, he says, “I don’t want to hang out with your friends.”

Well, they don’t want to hang out with him either, but I don’t say that. “But you never mention yours.”

“I don’t really have friends here,” he tells me.

“I just… I don’t get to meet your family, I don’t get to meet your friends…”

He slows down, wariness transforming his expression. “What’s going on? Is this about last night?”

I feel so lame, but I can’t help feeling weird about missing out on all the normal stuff, about how little he can actually offer me. “No, it’s just… You won’t even give me your phone number, Vince. You get to do whatever you want, and I get…”

I don’t say ‘nothing,’ but I may as well have. The word hangs, unspoken, in the air between us.

He sighs, looking past me. “I told you that from the start. I told you I didn’t have much to offer,” Vince reminds me.

And I didn’t want to get involved, I want to remind him. I want to revisit how I resisted—but I ultimately gave in, because there’s this sadness in him that I feel like I should tend to.

Finally he asks, “What do you need from me, Mia?”

But I don’t know what to tell him. I need more than he can give, and yet even as that thought emerges, I shove it away. I’m not ready to give up on this. It might be foolish, it will definitely hurt more the longer I hang on, but… I’m just not.

“I don’t know,” I say, looking down at the ground instead of at him.

He sighs, and I’m surprised when he wraps an arm around me, giving me a loose hug right here in the middle of the hallway. “I don’t want to make you sad.”

“You don’t make me sad,” I tell him. “Your circumstances, maybe.”

“Yeah, me too,” he mutters.

“Promise me something,” I tell him, swallowing my doubts. “If you start seeing someone else, you have to tell me. Don’t make a fool out of me because I’m trying to make all these exceptions for you.”

Vince scowls, but I can’t tell why. “I wouldn’t do that, Mia.”

I nod, feeling a little less anxious.

He catches my chin lightly and tilts it up until I’m gazing into his earnest brown eyes. “I’m not interested in anyone but you. That’s not what any of this is about. You know that, don’t you?”

“It’s what I believe,” I say. But that’s not the same thing as knowing.

He frowns a little, brushing his lips across my forehead before pulling away. “We should start walking or we’re gonna be late again.”

I nod, slowly making my way down the hall with him beside me.



---

It’s a long day. I’m worn out from Vince and Lena and my own stupid brain—I’m just depleted. What I want most in the world is to go home and fall into bed, sleeping peacefully for four or five days. What I want least in the world is what actually happens.

“Hey! Hey, are you Mia?”

I slow down at the sound of my name, turning around to see who’s chasing me.

And it’s Minka Kelly.

I’m able to pretend for zero seconds that I’m pleased to see her. “Yeah.”

“Hi,” she says, grinning at me. God, she’s so pretty.

“Hi,” I reply, not smiling back.

“You’re Vince’s friend, right?”

Hearing her refer to me as Vince’s friend is maybe the only thing that could piss me off more than I already am at the world today. “Yeah. I’m Vince’s friend,” I say flatly.

Her smile dims slightly, then she grimaces a little. “Sorry, he told me you guys were having a rough day.”

My stomach twists up into a knot, and it takes a Herculean effort to remain there instead of turning and literally running away.

“Do you like cupcakes?” she asks.

I stare at her wordlessly.

“Vince thinks we should be friends,” she says, trying again. “Sorry, I know it must be weird to be accosted by a stranger, but he asked me to.”

I don’t know how to feel about that, but my stomach is still knotted. I did ask to meet his friends. Maybe this is his way of trying.

Thrusting her hand in my direction, she says, “I’m Cherie.”

I shake her hand, but warily. “Mia.”

“Right,” she says, smiling again. “Anyway, Vince’s…” She pauses, her eyes rolling up as she appears to think. “Aunt? Cousin? There are so many Morellis to keep track of. Francesca’s his cousin. Anyway, she runs this bakery. I thought I’d buy you a cupcake and introduce you.”

My eyes widen of their own volition. I don’t know if I’m more surprised that this girl has met his family (but I can’t?) or that she wants to introduce me to them. My mouth starts to open to tell her that Vince doesn’t want me to meet his family members, but I don’t know how I can tell her that when it’s clear she has.

“The Oreo cupcake’s my favorite,” she adds, trying to bust down the wall of silence.

I already feel like I hate her, but I can’t deny she’s charming. Her friendliness might be infectious, if not for how deeply and profoundly jealous I am of her.

“Have you met Mateo?” I ask, since it’s all I can think about.

Wrinkling her nose up in displeasure, she says, “Of course. We’re not going to meet him. You don’t want to meet him. But Francesca’s fine.”

My options are either burst into tears, or go get a cupcake.

So I nod, following this goddamn girl to get a cupcake.

Chapter Seven



I manage to end the not-date with my virginity intact, and even though I know logically that’s not much of an accomplishment, it feels like one.

I didn’t let him kiss me.

He wanted to, I could see it, but I was too afraid. Too much about him acts as a siren’s call to me already, and I couldn’t risk it.

As I hurry inside the house by myself, shutting the door behind me and leaning heavily against it, it doesn’t feel like a win. I wanted a kiss. It was a weird not-date, nothing like I’ve been on before, but there’s something so raw about Vince, so unexpectedly forthcoming.

I want him. Physically I can accept that—I’m human, and he’s a damn good-looking guy—but I’m terrified of wanting him on any other level.

It’s a bad situation, and I need to get out of it.

But also… I don’t know if I want to.

I spend yet another night losing sleep over Vince Morelli. It occurs to me around three in the morning that we should probably exchange phone numbers. The way things are going now, the only way I get to hear from him is in school or if he decides to show up.

Monday morning rolls around and I feel weirdly excited to go to school. I’m tired, having slept like crap all weekend, but I’m eager to see Vince.

“Guess who’s going to Costa Rica, baby.”

I shove my after lunch books into my locker and look over at Lena as she beams at me. “Me? Say it’s me and I’ll be your best friend forever.”

“No.”

I roll my eyes, closing my locker door. “Well, good for you,” I say flatly.

“No, not me! My mom and dad—they’re going away for the weekend, and we are having a party.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not helping you with that.”

“You have to. Why are we even best friends if you’re not going to help me throw a party? I mean, literally all you have to do is pick up some bags of chips or some shit. I’ll get the alcohol.”

“I don’t have any spare money to buy chips.”

“I’ll give you the money,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We haven’t gotten drunk together since Macedonia’s graduation party over the summer—and that barely counts, since your weak ass got drunk on two beers.”

“It was my first time!” I defend.

“Whatever. I don’t even care what you say, you’re coming. We’re going to get stupid and sing in front of our peers, and take awesome selfies. It’s already done. You have no say.”

“I’m probably going to have to babysit,” I point out.

“Tell your mom to get a sitter for once in her damn life; they’re not your kids, Jesus Christ.”

We can’t afford a sitter, but I don’t say that. Foolishly, it occurs to me that I could probably bring Vince to that. “Is it going to be a big group, or just a small get-together?”

“Medium-ish,” she says. “I don’t really want everyone to stay over, and I’m not inviting anyone with super uptight parents. Don’t need that drama.”

Hesitantly, I ask, “Would you care if I invited somebody?”

She stops, turning to me with interested eyes. “Jace?”

“No,” I say, a little too adamantly. “Are you inviting Jace?”

“Probably. I thought you’d be pleased?”

“Uh uh,” I say, shaking my head. “Jace is old news. No more Jace.”

She sounds surprised. “Really? Huh. That didn’t last very long. Why don’t you tell me this stuff? That’s literally what I’m here for.”

“It’s super new and casual at the moment. I don’t want to make a big thing of it. But… it might be fun if he could come.”

“Who?”

I try not to grimace as I say, “Vince Morelli?”

The smile drops right off my best friend’s face. “Vince Morelli?”

I nod, almost apologetically.

“You want me to invite the mob kid to my house? For real?” She reaches out her hand and feels my forehead. “Weird, you’re not burning up with fucking delusional fever.”

“I know he’s not part of our usual crowd, but…”

“The fucking governor’s son is going to be there, Mia, and you want me to invite Goodfellas?”

It’s not like Lena’s bluntness is news, but she’s starting to piss me off. “You don’t have to be mean.”

Staring at me, she asks, “Are you sleeping with him?”

“Not—” I halt, flushing, realizing I almost said ‘not yet’ instead of ‘no’. “Just forget it.”

“Ew, you are!” she says, gaping.

I make a face. “I’m not. But ew? Come on.”

“His family does heinous shit, Mia. The package might look pretty on the outside, but Jesus Christ. My dad says they do, like, human trafficking. That’s third world bullshit, right there. There’s no way in hell I could invite him, Mia. Even if my dad wouldn’t lose literally all of his shit if he found out, I wouldn’t do that.”

“It’s not like he would know,” I mutter, but at this point, I’m out of steam on this argument. Even if she gave in and agreed to invite him, I would be too afraid she’d make Vince feel unwelcome now.

“No,” she says, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head.

“Well, I’m not on board for a party anyway,” I tell her with a quick shrug. “If you want to hang out, I can hang out, but I can’t get away for a whole night with drinking and… the governor’s son’s kind of a twatwaffle anyway, so…”

“You won’t come to my party because I don’t want to invite Vince Morelli,” she says, staring at me in disbelief.

“It’s not because of that,” I say, trying to brush it off.

“Bullshit. Hoes before bros, bitch. What are you doing?”

“I’m always the one that makes sacrifices,” I snap. I don’t mean to say it, even if it’s true. “I’m always the one who comes to the group hangout even though you invited the chick who made out with Jensen when we were dating, or totally overlooks the fact that—knowing how much I liked him, you made out with Jace at the Fourth of July cookout, or—actually, can people just stop making out with every guy I’m interested in? Hey, maybe you can go make out with Vince now, or did I finally pick someone too beneath you?”

Lena’s jaw hangs open, disbelieving that her passive bestie is the one being a bitch for once.

“You need to take some fucking Midol,” she informs me, before ditching me to head to her first class alone.



---





Unsurprisingly, after that stupid fight with Lena, my day drags ass. I do finally perk up when I get to my class with Vince, even if he gets there just before the bell again.

At least when class is over, he doesn’t rush out again. I walk out with him.

“You look tired,” he observes.

“Thanks,” I return, dryly. He’s not wrong though.

Flicking a glance in my direction, he asks, “Wanna get out of here?”

I blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Cocking his head to the side, he says, “Let’s bail.”

“You want to ditch?”

“We can get some pizza before you have to pick up the kids.”

That’s an offer too tempting to refuse, and since I did alienate my lunch companion this morning, I spent lunch studying instead of eating.

“Will we get in trouble?” I ask.

In response, Vince rolls his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, sitting across from Vince as we split an enormous sausage pizza, I feel confident we made the right decision.

Picking a piece of sausage off and preparing to toss it in my mouth, I say, “Man, I never get toppings.”

Eyes wide, he says, “Why?”

Chewing and swallowing the piece of sausage, I say, “Kids. They just like cheese. Or pepperoni, so they can pick it off and still only eat the cheese.”

“Makes sense,” he says, breaking off a second piece of pizza. A gooey gob of cheese stretches until it finally breaks, and he piles it on top before taking a bite.

“This place is good,” I say, taking a drink from the red tinted plastic cup.

“You’ve never been here?”

I shake my head no. “We thought about trying it a couple times, but never did.”

Truth is, they just never have any good enough specials. There’s another pizza place nearby where you can get the same size pizza for less than half the price.

“How long have you lived here?” he asks, glancing at me across the table.

“Three years. I mean, we still lived in Chicago before that, but we were in the metro area. Before that, we lived in Boston—my mom’s actually from there. And then we lived way the hell outside of Chicago for a little while. My mom moved us in with her boyfriend and his sister and her three kids. It was terrible. Luckily the stress of living in a hell house broke that relationship down in a matter of months, but then my mom met this guy, Frank, and they started seeing each other. Frank lived in this neighborhood, and he wanted my mom to move closer—or so she said, because they were going to live together. Now, I don’t want to shock you to death here, but it’s outside of what we can afford—literally double what we were paying for our last place, but it was totally fine, because she and Frank were going to be together and Frank made a comfortable living.”

“But that never happened,” he surmised, nodding.

“It didn’t, because Frank? Married. So, we were stuck in a year and a half lease, living in a rental house we couldn’t afford, and now here we are.”

“Why did you guys stay after the year and a half?”

I throw my hands up in a dramatic shrug. “She said she didn’t want to uproot us again. I didn’t complain, because I like living in a house instead of an apartment, but the stress of living so far above our means is… not awesome. We have to pay so much for rent and utilities that, as you saw at the grocery store, we don’t have money to live.”

“That sucks,” he says, sympathetically.

“It does. And our lease is going to be up here soon, but I don’t think she’s going to renew again. Her boyfriend now lives in the city, and I don’t know how she thinks to cram all of us in his two-bedroom apartment, but it seems like that’s her new plan.”

“He have kids?”

“No. He’s young.” I shake my head, fatigued just thinking about my mother’s relationships.

“Bet you’ll be glad to go to college, get away from it all,” he says.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to afford it. Lena’s going to Boston College; she wanted me to go there with her, but there’s no way. I’m going to take a year off, get a job, get everything sorted. Then we’ll see.”

“They have scholarships,” he pointed out.

I shrug, not really wanting to talk about it. “What about you? Are you going off to college, or staying local?”

“No college,” he says, looking at the pizza instead of me.

Frowning, I ask, “Why?” It’s not like his family can’t afford it.

His lips tug up in a tiny, humorless smile. “Don’t need it in my line of work.”

Ah, well… sure. I swallow, watching him as he continues to avoid my gaze. “Is it… um… I mean, obviously I only know what I’ve seen in the movies and TV shows, but you couldn’t just opt out, if you wanted?”

Shaking his head slightly, he says, “No. Mateo would have to let me out, and he never would.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s an asshole.”

I nod, glancing down at my pizza. “Who’s Mateo again? He’s the boss? Or…?”

“Yeah, more or less. His dad’s still the head of the family from a patriarchal sense, but Mateo’s the de facto head.”

“Is it like The Sopranos?” I ask, immediately feeling dumb when he smirks at me.

“No.” He laughs a little, dropping his pizza on the plate. “Actually, my family’s not exactly what you’re thinking. We’re not part of the original Sicilian mafia. Al Capone, all that stuff you’ve seen—that’s not really us.”

“Oh. It’s not? But I thought…”

“No. My family started it here—not in Italy, I’ve never been there, I probably never will. We aren’t them, it’s just… we’re an Italian crime family that goes back four generations—what are people gonna call us, you know?”

“So you’re not…?” I’m frowning, confused. “What’s the difference?”

“We just do things our own way. We’re like self-made bad guys, I guess. Think of the actual mob like old money, and my family like new money. Outsiders might just have one name for us, but to us, there’s a distinction. Like, in the actual mafia, it’s not as blood-obsessed as my family. We have people—soldiers, associates—who aren’t related to us, but the core people? All family. With only one exception, all blood related. Our family has broods of children—my father’s one of seven. It’s patriarchal—Mateo’s dad was the boss before him, his dad was the boss before him, his dad was the boss before him. Mateo doesn’t have a son yet, but when he does…”

“Next boss,” I conclude.

He nods once. “Unless something happened to interrupt the line, of course. If someone ever successfully assassinates Mateo, things might change.”

“Jeeze,” I say, eyes wide. “No love lost?”

“Hm?”

I smile slightly. “It’s just weird to hear someone speak so casually of a family member potentially being assassinated.”

“They’re all bastards,” he says, lowly. “Every man in my family. Mateo’s line’s the worst though. His dad’s a sick Bleep, and Mateo didn’t turn out much better.”

“What about your dad?” I ask, playing with my straw.

“Sick Bleep. If the last name is Morelli and they possess a penis, just assume they’re sick bleeps.”

I crack a smile. “You’re not a sick Bleep.”

“We’ll see,” he says, as if it doesn’t really matter. Picking up his pizza, he says, “Anyway, we shouldn’t really be talking about this.”

“I like getting to know things about your life,” I tell him.

Nodding slightly, he says, “I understand that, but I don’t want to involve you in that stuff. I want to keep you separate.”

“I won’t say anything to anyone,” I tell him, plucking another piece of sausage off my pizza. “It must be exhausting, worrying about keeping your whole life secret and segmented like that. You don’t have to do that with me.”

I look up and catch him watching me, a fond gleam in his eye that instantly unleashes a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I offer a shy smile in response, then I ruin it by popping another sausage into my mouth.

Chapter Six



I don’t expect to see Vince again after that kiss, so when I find him waiting by my car after school, it’s a hell of a surprise. Not exactly a welcome one, either. Given the lust-monster he turned me into earlier, I want to keep a little distance from him.

He pushes off the car when he sees me, offering something like a smile.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” I say, hugging my books close.

“You kind of ran off earlier,” he points out, by way of explanation. “I wasn’t trying to follow you.”

“I figured.” I pause. “I mean, if you were, you probably shouldn’t wait by my car and announce yourself. It’s not very stealthy.”

“Good note,” he acknowledges.

I nod, glancing into my driver’s side window. “I can’t really stay and chat. I have to pick up Casey.”

“I know. I’ll keep it short.” Shoving a hand into his right pocket, he glances down at our shoes, then back at me. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“That does usually follow Friday, yes.”

“Your mom’s off, so… I figured you wouldn’t have to watch the kids.”

“It’s weird that you know that,” I point out.

Smirking, he ignores my commentary. “Why don’t you come out with me? We can grab dinner or a movie or something.”

My heart stalls, then drops like a rock. “You mean a date?”

He makes a face that’s not altogether flattering, considering we were lip-locked earlier today. “We don’t have to label it.”

Oh, good, a label-hater. Glancing off in the distance, I say, “I don’t think so. Earlier was really nice, but also really unexpected, and I don’t really know you that well…”

“That’s fair. Of course, you could get to know me if you came out with me.”

That’s a good point, but I don’t know how to explain that I’m hesitant to trust myself alone with him. What if he kisses me and it sends lightning bolts through my brain again? What if we’re alone in his car and I don’t want him to stop? What if he doesn’t?

“I don’t understand what happened back there,” I say, as honestly as I can. “And I don’t know if we should do it again. Ever.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because… we’re not even dating,” I state, since I guess it’s the simplest explanation. I don’t want to bring up the fact that he sort of murdered my neighbors, and definitely broke into my house to scare the shit out of me, and absolutely followed me home from school yesterday, if not to intimidate me and find out which schools my siblings were at, still for some reason.

I don’t want to point out that I know he’s dangerous, and maybe nurturing a relationship with him doesn’t seem like the smartest move. Can’t admit that when he kissed me, my brain completely crashed and I turned into a lust-monster despite all that.

I don’t know what I’m most afraid of, but the fact that there are a host of options to choose from? Probably a good indication I should take a big step back. Especially since immediately on the heels of asking me out, he whips out “let’s not label it.”

It would be my luck we’d go out, he’d kiss me, I’d lose my mind and let him take my virginity, and then come Monday at school I’d see him in passing, flirting with someone else.

He’s not inside my head though, so he’s searching for some acceptable placation to offer me. “I just… I don’t really date.”

“Exactly.”

He frowns, uncomprehending.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend I’m not drawn to this whole ’bad boy’ thing you’ve got going on. I am. I have a type, and you’re sort of like… the bad boy on steroids, because it’s not just an air of danger, you’re actually dangerous. You’re the real deal. And I’m attracted to you anyway, obviously. Even though you’ve scared the shit out of me and made me lose… just, countless hours of sleep, and that probably means there’s something wrong with me. But I’ve seen my mom turn herself inside out over guys like that, guys who come at you with all they’ve got, but can’t be held. And I know it’s stupid, no matter how exciting it feels in the moment, and I know it’s asking for trouble, and that’s with guys who… don’t have your last name. With you, it’s not just unhealthy, it’s also legitimately dangerous.”

I force myself to look at him after spilling all that, expecting him to be insulted, annoyed, maybe defensive. Instead, he’s pensive, frowning off at a spot beyond me. “I can’t argue with that.”

If I feel disappointed, it’s because I descend from a long line of stupid fucking women.

“But it’s not dangerous if we don’t label it.”

Shaking my head, I say, “How do you figure?”

“Look, I’m not saying we could last forever. I’m not even saying it’s a good idea. But I like you, and it seems like you’re drawn to me—”

“And a moth is drawn to a flame,” I interject.

“But, why couldn’t we just… try it out for a little bit? Doesn’t have to be anything serious. You’re not stuck with me. I won’t dump you in a ditch if it doesn’t work out.”

Shaking my head at the sheer lunacy of such a proposition, I say, “Why?”

Vince stares at me, that vulnerability from earlier dancing in his eyes again. I can tell he wants to say something, but he’s struggling to get it out, and damn me to hell, it gets me. I wait, skittish, but convincible.

He swallows, looking away from me, then meets my eyes again. “You know awful things about me that no one knows. That no one may ever know… and you still care if you hurt my feelings.”

I can almost hear my brain emit a cry of defeat as my heart swells, seeing something in him that needs me.

Stay strong.

Poor brain tries one last time, but it’s no use—not with those big, brown pools imploring me to give in.

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it!

When my mouth opens, dumbassery spills out. “What time?”

But then his handsome face lights up, and my heart fills with anticipation. I really like seeing that look on his face, knowing I put it there.

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

Despite the certainty that this is a very bad idea, I can’t help smiling as he winks at me and heads off for his car.



---



Scowling at my reflection, I rip the shirt over my head, tossing it in the floor with the others, and race to my closet. I settled on a pair of snug jeans and tall brown boots, but I can’t seem to find the right shirt. It doesn’t help that I really don’t know what we’re doing.

“Not that one either,” I murmur, violently sliding plastic hangers across the pole in my closet.

There’s a rap at the door and I gasp, grabbing a shirt and yanking it on. “Don’t get it!” I call out, not even wanting to deal with my mom. “I’m coming!”

I pause at the dresser to check my reflection real quick before darting out of the bedroom. The door closes behind me just in time to see my mother open the door, despite my attempts to stop her.

I sigh to myself, hoisting my purse on my shoulder and heading toward Vince.

“I’m Mia’s mom, Shelly,” she says with an overly enthusiastic smile.

Nodding once, hands shoved into his pockets, he says, “Vince.”

“Vince, that’s a good name. You know each other from school?”

Sliding past her, as if putting myself between them can erase the exchange, I say, “We’re leaving.”

“Well, okay, but I guess I should probably give you a curfew or something, right?”

“No need,” I assure her. “We won’t be out late.”

“This is so weird.” Looking past me at Vince, she says, “Usually I’m the one going on dates.”

It amuses me how she says that like that’s the normal order of things. Without any further damage, I manage to get us out the door, but my face is already warm. I had hoped to at least start our is-this-a-date? without flushed cheeks. High hopes, I guess.

Vince surprises me by opening the door for me when we get to his car. His eyes move over my body, a cute little smirk grazing his lips. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” I said, my eyes moving quickly over him, too. “So do you.”

Turns out we’re doing dinner. I decide I may have preferred the quiet of a movie theater, but we’ve already pulled into a well-lit parking lot of a steakhouse I’ve never been to. I don’t know why I figured we’d get Italian, but I don’t mention it.

I feel girly and awkward as we sit at the tall table across from each other, my fingers dancing across the white linen tablecloth, looking for something to do. I need something—anything—to distract me from the reality of what I’m doing right now. Having dinner with the guy who, just a few nights ago, pinned me against my kitchen counter and wrapped his hands around my throat, making a threat he may actually be capable of following through with.

Yeah. Good call.

I’m also legitimately terrified this goes well. If it goes well, he may kiss me, and I’m afraid of him kissing me again, maybe more than I’m afraid of anything else he might do.

“So…you have a big family.”

His smile dims and I fight a cringe, wondering what could possibly possess me to lead with that.

“Yeah, pretty big,” he verifies.

“That’s cool. I don’t. There’s my mom and my siblings, but we don’t have a lot of extended family, none in the area. I have an aunt who used to live here, but she moved.”

I hear myself being boring. I want to stop, but words just keep tumbling out of my mouth like gumballs from a broken vending machine.

“Your family—um, are they all, I mean—uh…” How does one ask about the mob?

“Bad?” he guesses, with an almost sympathetic smile.

I look around, at a loss. I sort of just want to get up and leave. I’ll have to change schools, so I never have to look at him again.

Chuckling, Vince says, “You don’t have to be so nervous, Mia. It’s not even a real date, remember?”

I’m not sure why he thinks that makes me feel better, but I’m not comfortable enough to say so.

I must still be looking like I’m seeking an emergency exit, but he goes ahead and answers the question I didn’t completely ask. “Yeah, they’re all pretty much… involved. I really don’t want to talk about them tonight, though.”

“Does anyone know what I saw?” I blurt.

His face clears for a moment, goes completely blank, before a hint of caution breaks through. “No. Nor can they—ever.”

I nod, not exactly comforted, but it makes sense.

Luckily, the waiter comes over and saves us from our own conversation, taking our drink orders and telling us the specials. He tells us he’ll give us a few minutes to look over our menus, then heads off to grab our drinks.

I turn to the safety of my menu, wishing I could shake my nerves. Maybe subconsciously I figure if I bomb this not-date hard enough, he won’t ask again.

Won’t kiss me again.

Won’t turn me into an unthinking lust-monster again.

Won’t draw me any deeper into his crazy life.

We order when the waiter comes back, but his departure then means he won’t be coming back to save me again soon, and I’m on my own here.

Vince moves the rolled-up silverware off to the side, then glances up at me. “So, are you this comfortable on all your dates?”

I can’t help rolling my eyes. “This isn’t a date, remember? Can’t fence you in,” I joke—but only kinda. I do sort of resent that. It’s all the more reason to make sure he doesn’t kiss me again. I don’t even know why I agreed to this nonsense.

No, that’s not true.

That damn peek at vulnerability.

“I am normally much smoother than this, actually,” I inform him, lifting my eyebrows.

There’s a playful gleam to his eyes as he says, “With Bradford?”

“No, we never got to go out. I was trying to call him… that night, but….” I clear my throat. “Well, I obviously got sidetracked.”

Vince isn’t impressed with my taste in guys, which is pretty funny. “What’d you see in that guy anyway?”

It seems stupid now. I can’t explain it. I sigh and offer a shrug, hoping that suffices.

His eyebrows shoot up and he doesn’t look completely satisfied, but he doesn’t press. “You still wanna call him?”

“I wouldn’t be here with you if I did,” I tell him honestly.

“He still watches you in class sometimes.”

I frown, pushing the straw into my cup and taking a drink of my Diet Coke. I haven’t picked up on a shred of interest from Jace since Vince stole the seat next to mine, so I can’t imagine that being true. Also, not-date or date-date, this seems like an odd thread of conversation.

“What about you?” I return pleasantly. “Not-dating a harem of other girls?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Just you.”

That pleases me, even if it shouldn’t.

Sooner than I expect, the waiter brings our salads, and thankfully we have something else to focus on. I have a whole host of questions I’d like to ask him that I know I shouldn’t, and the instinct to push him away is still pretty strong.

His phone goes off halfway through the salads, but he doesn’t answer.

There’s more silence than I expect, but it’s much more comfortable than I would’ve thought it would be. I like watching him when he doesn’t notice. There are questions I have about him that I can’t ask, and in those quiet moments, I seek an answer.

How can someone do what he did and then go on about their life? We’re the same age, and I can’t even fathom having someone else’s life in my hands, let alone taking one. Just the possibility of Vince threatening my family was more than I could take—how does he handle the weight of the guilt? Doesn’t he feel it? Doesn’t it crush him, as he lies in bed at night, trying to sleep?

Has he done it before?

Will he do it again?

Is he a monster?

Noticing my newly solemn mood, Vince asks, “Everything okay over there?”

I glance up at him, nodding, but I wish I hadn’t let my mind wander there. “What’s your biggest regret?” I ask him.

I hear his fork drop onto his salad plate, but I don’t look up. I expect him to tell me I already know, or to get mad that I would bring it up. If I helped kill someone, I probably wouldn’t want anyone to bring it up on a date.

I do not expect him to state matter-of-factly, “Being born.”

Wide-eyed, I jerk my gaze up to his. He doesn’t look especially depressed, like you might expect of someone who says something like that. He takes a drink of his own pop, as if unbothered.

“Being born?” I question. “That’s your biggest regret.”

“Being born into the family I was born into, specifically,” he says, nodding once more. “But if it came down to being born to them or not being born at all, I wouldn’t choose the former.”

A little stunned, I say, “Wow.”

He shrugs, unapologetic.

“You must really hate them,” I say, feeling awkward to word it that way, but what else could I surmise from what he just said?

“I don’t hate them. It’s just… a trap. A prison. In this day and age, most people don’t have a path set out for them before they’re even born—before they’re even conceived. Most guys would be able to sit here with you tonight and call it a date. They wouldn’t have met you the way I did. They could be normal, offer you whatever they felt like offering you. I don’t have that kind of freedom.”

I’m surprised by his openness, even if I don’t understand all of it. “You don’t think your family would approve of me?”

“Doesn’t matter if they would,” he says, simply. “I’d never let them meet you.”

A knot forms in my stomach. “Never? Not even if we… moved past not-dating and actually….?”

He’s already shaking his head, but he looks a little sad. “That can’t happen.”

A spark of anger ignites within me. “Why? No one in your family dates?”

Instead of answering me, he asks, “What’s your biggest regret?”

I want to say trying to call Jace Bradford, but it’s too mean. I’m also not sure it’s true, as insane as that is. Even as he’s sitting across from me adding foundation to the idea that nothing can ever last between us, I feel myself wanting to draw closer. Wanting to know him. Wanting to be the special person who makes it past his defenses.

Finally, with a faint sigh, I say, “I don’t think I’ve done it yet.”

Chapter Five



He doesn’t get there right away. I hustle my siblings inside and get them situated with drinks and activities, nervously watching the door for his arrival. I start dinner anyway, since I’m cooking the same thing even if he doesn’t show up.

But he does. And he brings garlic bread, which makes him an instant hero to my little brother and sister. Had I known Vince was going to give me a twenty at the register, I would’ve maybe agreed to the garlic bread, but they didn’t understand that. Where possible, I try to keep our money problems from them. I haven’t always, but one day when Mom and I were trying to figure out how to pay a utility bill in front of them, I noticed my brother listening, his little face anxious.

Since then, I don’t mention money problems until they’re in bed.

I’m attending the pasta on the stove when I feel him come up behind me. Fear is definitely present, but I try to mask it. He’s not going to hurt me, he’s just… stalking me.

Sure, that sounds right.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “How’d you know they wanted garlic bread?”

“Gotta have garlic bread with spaghetti,” he says, leaning against the counter so he can look at me. “Plus, the boy asked for it on the way to the register.”

I don’t remember that, but I’d been pretty sidetracked by him. Automatically preheating the oven, I let my mind wander. If he’s following me to the store, that means he followed me to the preschool to pick up Casey first, then the elementary school to get Allan. He couldn’t have, right? I would have noticed.

I hadn’t been looking though. I thought—hoped—that we resolved the matter the night before.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks.

I realize I’m being oddly quiet, lost in my own thoughts, but… well, it seems warranted. “You followed me?”

He doesn’t confirm or deny, folding his arms across his chest and simply watching me.

Even though it is what I believe, I feel arrogant having spoken the words. “I mean, you said you were just at the grocery store, but you obviously weren’t buying anything. And I didn’t even go straight there.” I stop, suddenly hit with the memory of his insinuation last night about my brother and sister’s videos, about them sleeping down the hall. My blood runs cold, realizing if he followed me when I left school, he knows where they go to school now.

My eyes shoot to his face for verification, but his expression is carefully blank. Swallowing, feeling vaguely like I’m going to throw up, I say, “You followed me to their schools.”

He knew I was picking them up, because he heard my conversation with my mother the night before.

I turn and look back at Allan, who trusts him now, all because he brought a damn bag of garlic bread.

Suddenly angry, I turn back to glare at Vince. “Stop it.”

Still expressionless, he says, “Didn’t do anything.”

Jabbing a finger against my chest, I say, “I am the only person involved in this. Me. My brother and sister have nothing to do with this, and if you threaten them….” I trail off, because I have nothing to threaten him with. What, I’ll go to the police? I’m not a fool. I can’t make a threat like that and expect him to trust me to keep my mouth shut. If I’m not careful, I could wind up dead.

Suddenly overcome with the weight of this goddamn burden, I shake my head, shrinking a little. “I’m not going to say anything.”

“So you said.”

“And you still followed me! You followed me to their schools.” I stop, glancing back to make sure they aren’t listening. “I told you that you could trust me, and you still followed me. What am I supposed to take away from that?”

Inclining his head slightly, he takes a moment to formulate a response. Finally, not looking at me, he says, “I am trying to trust you, but a little extra incentive never hurt.”

“Threatening my family is not how you get what you want from me,” I warn him.

Quirking an eyebrow as if amused, he asks, “Then how do I?”

Exasperated, I say, “You’ve already got it. I swear to God, my lips are sealed. Just… leave me alone.”

He eyes me up, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Is that what you want?”

My eyes bulge. “Yes!”

For a moment, he says nothing, just stands there with his arms still crossed. Eventually he drops them, stepping away from the counter with a nod.

I don’t know what he’s doing as he steps away, and even as he walks toward the door I don’t fully trust it. But then he opens the door, turns the lock, and slips out.

“Where’s he going?” Allan demands, leaning over the arm of the couch and looking from me to the door.

I don’t answer immediately, unsure myself. “I think he had to go home.”

“Why? Did he leave the garlic bread?”

I can’t help but scoff at the selfishness of children. I glance at the untouched loaf of garlic bread on the counter, and even though it’s absurd, I suddenly feel the crushing weight of guilt on my shoulders. I tell myself that’s stupid, incredibly stupid—he followed me when I left school, he left unspoken threats on the table again, and all this after I watched him walk out of a house fire that resulted in two deaths.

It’s insane to feel guilty that I didn’t want him to stay for dinner.

But somehow I still do.



---



I sit in class, anxiously pulling at the creased corner of my red notebook. I’m waiting to see who drops into the seat beside me—Cody Miller, or Vince.

Cody comes in first. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

Then he cruises right past the open desk beside me to the one he’s been sitting in for the past two days.

Vince gets there, just before the bell. He takes a seat, not looking at me, but I can’t stop looking at him. I could barely sleep all last night, going over and over and over our interlude at dinner. During one of the rounds, I realized he hadn’t actually threatened my siblings. He hadn’t even confirmed that was why he followed me, though I couldn’t imagine why else he would.

But he left when I said I wanted him to. If he wanted to threaten and intimidate me, why leave? It’s not like I could’ve made him leave. Even if he would have threatened me, right to my face, I would have still had to sit at the table across from him, in the company of my siblings, if that was what he wanted.

As absurd as it is, I can’t shake the idea that maybe I hurt his feelings.

The fact that he won’t look at me, even though he has to feel me staring a hole straight through him, is doing nothing to ease that guilt.

The bell rings and the teacher launches into her lecture. I steal the occasional glance at Vince, but he never looks my way.

It feels like the longest class ever. At the end, the teacher finally hands back our assignments and the bell signals our temporary freedom.

Vince is up and out of his seat before I can shove mine in my binder. That’s not a problem, I know that rationally, but inexplicably, I launch out of my seat and hustle out to the hall to try to catch up to him.

“Hey!”

He slows, glancing back over his shoulder with a confused frown.

He’s really cute when he’s semi-glaring, but that’s totally inappropriate, so I shove the thought away. My face flames anyway, not because of that, but because he does look mad at me.

But he stops. I guess he wouldn’t ignore me though, given our little secret.

My books slip, since I was in such a hurry to leave class. I smile a little awkwardly, shifting their weight and readjusting. He’s still watching me expectantly, and I have no idea what to say, so I settle with an inane, “What’s up?”

Both dark brows shoot up as he stares at me. “Nothing?”

I feel utterly ridiculous, but I decide just to spill it. It’s not like I’ve been shining my brightest around here up until now. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings yesterday. I didn’t mean to.”

He rears back a little, clearly surprised, but doesn’t immediately respond.

“I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to put your mind at ease about me, and it makes me really nervous and fearful when I think you’re threatening me. Which, I realize, is the point, but—”

He looks around the hall, grabbing me by the wrist and yanking me into a nearby classroom. It’s dark, closed for this period. Once inside, he backs me against a brick pillar, so people walking through the hallway won’t see us. Bracing one arm against the pillar and leaning in, he asks, “Want to say that a little louder?”

“Sorry,” I whisper. It doesn’t feel like fear, but having him braced on the wall like this, so close to me in this dark, abandoned classroom… I’m definitely feeling something.

I can’t read his dark brown eyes, but after a moment, still hovering near me, he says, “I didn’t follow you to intimidate you. I didn’t even consider that you’d be driving to their schools.”

Swallowing, I ask, “Then why?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Just wanted to see where you were going.”

It’s still not normal, exactly, but I get the feeling I can’t expect that from him. “Why?” I ask again, still holding his gaze.

Another shrug, but nothing verbal this time. His eyes are so intense, his gaze unwavering, but there’s something in the depths of his warm brown eyes, something unexpectedly… sad. It hits me harder than I expect it to, that hint of vulnerability. I don’t know if he’s showing it to me on purpose or not, but he’s been far better at controlling facial cues than I am, so I have to imagine it’s intentional.

I try to remind myself of the dark knowledge I have about him, but it doesn’t make it through. Right now, I’m not afraid of Vince.

I’m attracted to him.

And I think he’s attracted to me.

He leans away from me, his arm no longer on the brick pillar behind me, and a strange jolt of disappointment shoots through me. I don’t want him to move away—that’s crazy, and there’s no reason he wouldn’t, but…

Before I can shuffle away, he’s grabbing my books. I falter a bit, but he drops them on the desk behind him and comes right back.

I exhale sharply, backing up against the brick pillar, but this time he moves closer, bracing his weight again, the other hand landing on my hip.

He has me pinned against the wall. My heart hammers against my chest, and my mind races, trying to sort it all out—his hand is on my hip. He’s really close—really, really close.

And then: “Can I kiss you?”

It sounds like I gasp, but I think I was just trying to breathe. I should speak, but I can’t find my words. Instead, I nod.

He leans in almost tentatively, as if giving me time to change my mind, and then his lips connect with mine. At first it’s a light brush of his lips, softer than I expect, knocking what little guard I have left away from me. His fingers tighten on my hip and I don’t know what to do with my hands so they just hang there awkwardly.

Then he coaxes my lips open and his tongue skates across my lower lip. They open, instinctively, and his tongue sweeps inside, and oh, sweet Jesus, my brain suddenly explodes with adrenaline. My hands move to his sides, pulling him closer, and he obliges, flattening me against the wall. As our tongues find a rhythm that works, he fists a hand in my hair and a helpless sound escapes me. He kisses me like he’s going to devour me, and to be honest, I want him to.

My hands slide up under his shirt—I don’t know how or why, but it happens. With the desire coursing through me, stoked with each caress of his tongue against mine, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to rip his shirt right off. I envision him backing me up against the teacher’s desk, climbing between my legs…

Whoa, whoa, whoa. I break the kiss, pulling back. I feel a little dazed, but I’m confused and disoriented by the level of lust I’m experiencing. I’ve never been so… caught up.

Then again, I’ve never been kissed, not like that. Lips brushing, a couple times. Never this.

Distantly aware of the bell ringing, I lean against the brick wall, trying to catch my breath.

No longer swept up in whatever magic his mouth was working on my brain, I’m suddenly embarrassed—not just because I let him kiss me, and I hardly know him, but because three seconds earlier, I wanted him to do more than that.

This isn’t me.

God, what must he think of me?

“We’re late,” I murmur, because I don’t know what else to say.

“We are,” he verifies, but he doesn’t seem too worried about it.

My eyes meet his fleetingly, but then I glance down, a little awkwardly. “I don’t usually…”

He nods, watching me. “I figured.”

“I mean, I never…”

His lips curve up slightly and he nods again.

Sliding away from the wall and off to the side, I move around him to grab my books. “I have to go.”

He doesn’t speak and I don’t look back as I scurry out of the abandoned classroom and through the now-empty hall, hoping he doesn’t follow.

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 the 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.

There’s Vince, in line behind me. He’s wearing dark wash jeans and a charcoal gray shirt, and man, for a murderer, he looks good.

Just thinking the m-word causes my stomach to sink, and I look at the cashier, wishing she’d hurry up.

“Who are you?” Allan asks him.

“A friend of your sister’s,” Vince answers.

I cut a glance his way, since that’s not how I would describe him. “Why are you in line?”

“Hm?”

“You said you were at the store because you were shopping.” I indicate his empty hands. “You didn’t buy anything.”

A dark brow raises, then he grabs two snack sized bags of chips from the impulse-buy rack and holds them up for my brother. “Which one should I get?”

I roll my eyes as my brother jabs the orange bag. Vince puts the other one back and holds up the bag, shaking it. “See? I’m buying something.”

The cashier rings up my items and gives me my total. I freeze, frowning at the computer screen. I brought exactly $4 with me—just enough to buy a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce. I’m somehow fifty cents short.

“Wasn’t the pasta on sale?”

“Yep,” she says, glancing at the screen.

I awkwardly draw my money out of my pocket and count it, knowing there won’t be enough. I don’t understand why. Did Allan not grab the right sauce?

It’s humiliating, especially with Vince standing right there, but I don’t know what else to do. “Um, how much was the sauce?”

She regards me with vague irritation and I flush.

“It’s just—I didn’t bring my purse in,” I say, even though there’s no more money in my purse. “I thought I brought in enough, but I’m a few cents short.”

She digs the jar of pasta out, and sure enough, it’s a size larger than the one we usually get. I hadn’t been paying attention when Allan grabbed it, because Vince threw me off.

“Okay, I’ll just go back and grab the right one,” I say, reaching out to take the jar of sauce.

Before I can, Vince is squeezing past the cart, coming toward the register. He drops the chips on the belt and takes the sauce out of my hand, giving it back to the cashier. “Can you just add the chips to her bill?”

“You don’t have to do that—I can just go get the right one. I could’ve paid for it, I just…”

He holds up a hand to stop me, handing the cashier a twenty dollar bill. She quickly adds his chips to the bag and gives him the new total.

“Give her the change,” he says, moving past me to grab the grocery bag.

I couldn’t be more humiliated as the cashier hands me the money—which is saying something, because I’ve been embarrassed on several occasions in this grocery store. Being poor sucks.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” I murmur.

Vince shrugs, like it’s nothing. I look at the $14 in my hand like it’s printed on gold.

The difference between us couldn’t be more pronounced.

“You could invite me to dinner to thank me,” he teases, waiting for me to wheel my sister toward the door.

“You want to come over for dinner?” I say, my disbelief evident.

“Well, I haven’t eaten any yet,” he says, like that makes all the sense in the world.

“With my siblings?” I add, now really looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Hey, I work with what I’m given,” he states.

I automatically wheel the cart outside, but once we get to the car and I realize we’re more or less alone with Vince, my discomfort seeps back in.

Lowering my voice, I tell him, “You don’t have to keep an eye on me, you know.”

“Maybe I want to keep an eye on you,” he returns, meeting my gaze.

I swallow. “Why?”

He merely shrugs, opening my passenger door and placing the grocery bag inside. “I’ll meet you at your house.”

I want to argue—I don’t necessarily want to be alone with the guy who broke into my house the night before, but I know it won’t do much good. If Vince wants to come over for dinner, he’ll come over for dinner—whether he’s invited or not.

Chapter Three





Macaroni noodles stick to the pan and I curse the broken dishwasher. Hand washing dishes is the worst, and I never feel like I get them clean enough.

Screwing up my face, I grab a sponge and begrudgingly knock the macaroni off, scrubbing the mushy noodle residue it leaves behind.

It’s been a long, long day.

After I left school I had to pick up my siblings and watch them all night while my mom worked. She went to her boyfriend’s house after, so I ended up putting them both to bed. It’s not an irregular occurrence, since my mom works late hours a lot, but I’m so exhausted that just dragging myself across the room feels like a workout—making them eat and do homework while not fighting was too much to ask.

I have to get some sleep tonight.

Part of me wonders if I should just approach Vince and be done with it. If I could do it at school, I would feel safer. I’m not sure how much more of the cat and mouse games my nerves can take, and at the end of the day, I could actually be endangering my family.

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 Bleep 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 Bleep 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 eyebrow 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.

ashatoda:
Mafia story. Will be a great read here already

trust me you would enjoy this story

Chapter Two





My eyes burn and my stomach churns as I stand at my open locker, staring blankly at the books inside.

It’s been three days since I last ate or slept.

The fire happened on Friday. After an eternity cowering in my bedroom, I finally heard sirens.

By the time help arrived, rushing us out of our house as they worked to extinguish the flames, it was too late. The woman who lived next door—Crystal, her name was Crystal—and her boyfriend were both dead.

I shook violently as my seven-year-old brother clung to my legs, listening to my mother blathering about how it could have been us, how the fire could have spread, clutching my four-year-old sister close and placing terrified kisses on her mop of pale blond hair.

I wondered if they were still alive when Vince Morelli spotted me in the bushes.

I wondered if my phone was still in those bushes, incriminating me.

Incriminating him.

The queasiness I felt in that moment never left. In fact, it only got worse. After the workers had all left the scene and night had fallen, I ignored my terror and snuck outside, kneeling by the shrubs and searching for my cell phone.

I didn’t find it.

Which meant someone else had.

Every moment since, I’ve waited for the police or a Morelli goon to show up on our front porch.

It hasn’t left much time for sleeping. My nerves can’t handle food. My hands shake like a drug addict in withdrawal.

At this point, I’m a pale, exhausted, nervous wreck.

My stomach makes an angry noise and I close my eyes for a moment, wondering how I’m going to make it through the day. I grab the books I need for class, each heavier than the last, and push my locker door shut.

Behind the door, propped against the locker beside mine, stands Vince Morelli. I jump back, squeezing my books tightly as my heart drops out of my rib cage, my back slamming against the cool metal door behind me.

The girl shoots me a dirty look before ducking back inside her locker to retrieve her book, then slams it shut and pivots, heading off in the other direction and leaving me alone with Vince.

He isn’t moving, hasn’t spoken. He just stands there in his dark jeans with a rip in the left knee cap, the black T-shirt that hugs his biceps, displayed more prominently with his arms crossed. Like all Morelli men, he has luscious, pitch black hair and chiseled features with dark brown eyes that pull you in and threaten to drown you with their intensity.

I’m already drowning, panic clawing at my insides while I try to make my mouth work.

As if he has all the time in the world to wait, he merely watches me.

He must know I haven’t turned him in, right? If I told the police what I saw, they would have already called him in for questioning, at the very least.

“Tommy asked me out!”

I jerk back again, turning to face my best friend, Lena Korell, as she beams at me, leaning against the closed locker beside mine and rolling her eyes dreamily.

I turn back toward Vince, but he’s gone.

Like my sanity is about to be, I’m pretty sure.

I try to listen as Lena goes on about her Friday night plans. Any other time I would be excited for her, but I do not have the capacity to be girly right now.

Hours later, I’m still pale and quiet at lunch, still without much to say about Lena’s date, hardly touching the slice of Oreo pie I ordered, dramatically reasoning that if I’m about to be offed by the Morelli family, I should at least have something delicious first.

I can’t stop watching for Vince. I imagine him around every corner, search for him at every table. Following lunch is English, the period we have together, and I debate skipping it, but I’m more afraid of him coming to my house to confront me. What can he actually do to me in a school building with security cameras and faculty members milling through every hall?

“What is your deal?”

I glance up at Lena without much enthusiasm. Her dark eyebrows arch expectantly up toward her dark, springy curls, and exhaustion mingled with defeat suddenly sweeps over me. Maybe it would be better to throw myself at Vince’s mercy and be done with it.

“You know my house nearly burned down a couple days ago, right?” I ask.

Lena rolls her eyes as she dips a fry in Ketchup. “Your house did not almost burn down.”

“It could’ve.”

“No, ‘cause you’re not a dumb shit who left her crack pipe going by the curtains and then nodded off to the point of not waking up when she’s on fire,” she states, without sympathy.

“They were human beings, Lena.”

“They were gross addicts who broke into your house and stole your television over the summer,” she returns.

“She had three kids.”

“All of them in foster care. I’m sorry, I know you’re a drama queen, but I’m not going to cry over the loss of scum of the earth with you.”

I want to tell her, but I can’t. I doubt she would be so glib if she felt responsible for not saving them, even if they were kind of shitty people. I can’t say that, so I keep my mouth shut.

Besides, I don’t need to bring anyone else into my mess. I haven’t told a soul what I saw, but I have an uneasy feeling with Vince lurking around, I’m about to have to tell someone.



---



The sound of a chair skidding across the floor startles the hell out of me. My head jerks up, fully expecting to find Vince Morelli straddling the backwards chair suddenly beside my desk, but instead I see Jace Bradford.

He’s giving me that little smile that made me melty a week ago, but I’m curiously unaffected, looking at it now.

“Hey.” There it is, the gravelly voice I was all hyped about a few days ago.

I can tell he expects to flirt, but I don’t have the energy for it.

Flashing him the least convincing tug of my lips ever, I make a point to look at my desktop, straightening my notebooks. “Hi.”

“Lose my number?” he teases.

“It’s been a rough few days,” I tell him. “There was a fire next door. My neighbors…”

“Oh, shit,” he says, rearing back a little. “Is everyone okay?”

Dread trickles through my veins, pooling in my stomach. Just the thought of the house fire makes me queasy—not to mention the lack of food and sleep.

“Pretty sure that’s my seat, Bradford.”

I’m pretty sure my soul falls out of my body as I look up to see Vince Morelli standing at the desk beside mine.

It’s not Vince’s seat, but Jace doesn’t argue. Standing easily enough, Jace swings the chair back behind its desk so Vince can sit down. “My bad, man.”

Vince leisurely watches me for a moment before he takes his seat, dropping a notebook and pen on the desktop. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do, but somehow it feels menacing.

Jace glances from Vince to me, then skulks away without so much as a goodbye.

My stomach somersaults as I shift in my seat, glancing back at the door. My previous thought about ditching circles back around, but the teacher is already standing at the front of the class. We have a test today, and if she sees me cut out, she may not let me make it up.

Not like I’ll be able to focus with Vince sitting beside me anyway.

He normally doesn’t sit beside me, and we do have assigned seats, so I wait for the guy who normally sits here to show up, or the teacher to say something about it.

Minutes like hours stretch on before the teacher tells everyone to settle down. She brings a stack of stapled papers and begins doing a head count at each row, passing them back. I wait for her to notice Vince next to me and say something, but if she does, she doesn’t seem to care.

As the tests are passed back, I dare a glance over at Vince. He isn’t looking at me, but he must sense my eyes on him, because he turns to meet my gaze.

I break eye contact immediately, looking down at my paper. I fidget with the stapled corner and run my fingers aimlessly over the edge. I try to look at him out of the corner of my eye, then I try to stop my leg from bouncing underneath the desk.

The burning question that’s been running through my mind nonstop the previous few days emerges again: why was Vince in that house? Was he responsible for the fire? Had he…wanted my neighbors to die? Had he killed them?

Had I, with my silence?

I try to focus on the test, but I can’t even get through the first paragraph.

Pushing back my chair and grabbing the paper, I make my way to the front of the room. The teacher turns, startled, since I should’ve only raised my hand.

“I think I’m going to be sick. I need to go to the nurse.”

It must show on my face, because she doesn’t argue, merely nodding her head, her eyes searching my face with a trace of concern. “Okay.”

I hustle back to my desk to gather my things. I avoid looking at him, but I can feel Vince’s hard gaze on me as I flee.

I don’t care. I can’t. All I want is to get the hell out of that classroom and never see Vince Morelli again.

P.s :- This is not my work all rights reserved to the original author.
Thanks for your cooperation.
Let's enjoy the ride.



Chapter One





My mom always told me not to fall into the “bad boy” trap.

After watching them use and leave her all my life, you’d think I might’ve learned. As I slip my shoes on and creep out the back door—cringing at the squeal it makes when I try to ease it open—to call Jace Bradford, the friendly neighborhood bad boy who’s been flirting with me on and off for a few weeks, it isn’t looking so good.

Even as I crouch down beside the stone steps, pulling my cheap coat tighter against my body as a chilly gust of wind whips my mess of dirty blonde hair around my face, I try to talk myself out of it. He’s barely off a two week bender with Debbie Reyes, after all. Beautiful, beautiful Debbie Reyes. A chain-smoking, badass bombshell whose facial expressions are limited to bitchy variations of boredom and murderous.

Probably murderous when she looks at me if I go after her sloppy seconds.

But he has such great eyes. And the way he looks when he smiles at me….

“Screw it,” I mutter, whipping the phone out of my pocket and taking a couple steps forward, looking back at the house, up at the darkened window of my mother’s bedroom. The house has such thin walls you can hear a stream of piss as it makes its way to the toilet basin; no way am I calling a guy my mother would not approve of so late on a school night inside those walls. No way.

I practiced what we might say in the mirror earlier, and as my fingers scroll through for his contact name (“Jane babysitting” in case my mom sees his number flash across my screen), I imagine the gravelly “what’s up” he will likely answer with.

A flicker of light in the window of the house next door catches my attention. Junkies live there and they’re always having people over late at night, so I shouldn’t be so startled. Even at eighteen, I’m a little afraid of the dark.

All thoughts of my illicit phone call vacate my head as I watch the orange illumination climb the side of the window, swallowing up the curtain, and my brain slowly processes that I’m not looking at light, but flames.

Fire.

My eyes go wide and for a second, I don’t know how to react. I look around for an adult, someone who knows what to do, but of course there’s no one. Running around to the side of the house, my eyes dart to their front porch—as if they might be standing outside, laughing at some prank?—but it’s empty. I notice a car parked across the street, but that’s not unusual, especially outside that house.

Heart hammering in my chest, I fumble for my phone, but then I hear a muffled noise from inside the house and panic makes me blank again, staring at the window. Are there people inside? Should I try to help?

My feet move nervously, trying to debate what to do. I move closer to the front porch, my eyes jumping from the window to the porch, fingers curling tightly around my phone. My brain tells me to call 911, that every moment counts, but something stops me.

“Come on,” called lowly, hoarsely.

A shadowy figure slowly backs out the front door, peering inside. I can’t tell what he looks like, but I know from his shaggy hair it’s not my neighbor or her bald boyfriend.

I open my mouth to call out, but something about the way he’s moving—calmly but quickly, hunched, as if trying to hide himself out in the open—gives me pause.

Instead of pushing past the bushes to check on the person emerging from the house, I sink down, hoping the bushy branches are adequate cover. The hand gripping my phone shakes as I push the tab on the side to ensure my phone’s on silent. I bring up my camera app, sliding it over to video, and push through the branches of the shrubs. I have a reasonably clear view of the man on the porch—his back, anyway. He looks to his left, then back my way. Ice water pours through my veins, but I don’t move, and he doesn’t notice me from his quick glance.

A second figure emerges from the house, launching the first guy into motion. Another “c’mon” and then the first guy heads down the front porch steps, making his way toward the parked car.

The second guy lingers at the door longer than the first, peering back inside. He stands there long enough for my thighs to start burning pretty badly from my crouched position. I shift slightly for relief, but lose my balance, falling forward into the shrub.

The second guy jerks in my direction and I draw a quick breath, my heart sinking. His eyes connect with mine through the branches and I drop my phone, seized by terror as he holds my gaze for several seconds.

I know that face.

Not well, but I’ve seen him around school before, heard the stories about his family.

He’s in my English class, and as he takes a step in my direction, I can’t wrap my head around what’s happening.

He hesitates, looking to the car, then back to the bushes where I’m sprawled. I scurry back, pushing to my feet and running like my life depends on it to my back door, nearly ripping it off the hinges and throwing myself inside. My chest heaves up and down rather violently as I slam the door shut, locking the doorknob and the dead bolt as well. I run to the front door, checking that both are locked—not that a few locks will do me any good if they storm my front door.

“Oh, God,” I whine lowly, slowly inching my way to the front door. I have to see if he went to the car. If he hasn’t, he’s outside my house somewhere.

I’ve never known dread until this moment.

The car is gone, and I see it—the tail lights, down the road.

He’s gone.

I consider my phone, outside in the bushes.

I think of the house next door, of the fire I just saw inside.

If I run back outside and grab it, I could call 911.

If I did, they would know I’d seen it first. They’d ask me questions, investigate what happened.

I would have to tell the police that Vincent Morelli, of the famously criminal Morelli family, had been inside that house when the fire started.

It feels like my heart beats inside my roiling gut as I make my decision and head back to my bedroom, as if I hadn’t seen a thing, and hope like hell someone else will call for help.

alexblazzzer18:
jummiepearl(f), hinky(f), rapmike(m), bimberry1307(f), rosieluv(f), sekxy (f), Eyinimofeoluwa(f), MhizDherbee(f), Missnande(f), Tpresh(f), yeeshanana(f), yewande1234(f), gracile (f), queenpheesah(f), Oyindidi(f), Evablizin(f), Khallyella(f), harunablezin(f), IfyOaks(f), PharmaGirl(f), OTAIFOHJ(m), Lilyjoe567(f), BiafraBushBoy(m), Angelinastto(f), degelinglacis, AudreyTimms (f), PrettyMizQdot(f), Diznie (f), Venica(f), Shalomdee(f), LitQueen(f), Maryclaire1(f), darbeelicous(f), NegeduGrace(f), splendidiva(f), cerowo (f), SweetPuffPuff, NevetsIbot, preccy69(f), Eniqurl(f), folakemigeh(f), kayemjay (m), charytea(f), MainHerioneHoon(f), StephDamielola(f), holatimmy(f), devilmaycry (m), SurestG (f), Marinee(f), dollyjoy(f), Justeenaleo(f), Amarabae(f), safarigirl(f), Nina4u(f), Darch, smileing(f), Missmossy(f), Adfijem (f), GloriaNinja(f), Omotayor123(f), Asco9ty5 (f), rosy4u(f), Boleyndynasty2 (f), ritababe(f), candy(f), Bibi294(f), gentlebeeholar(f), sandybae (f), MRHOLYBOY(m), Leriebloom(f), mhizgap(f), SamuelTurner(m), KimberlyWest(f), TiffanyJ(f), Angelsss(f), EvaJael(f), fiyah(f), everton4life(m), Lawlahdey(f), prey02(f), sleeqiam(f), Apollux(m), Nnnena(f), RolaDiva(f), Galacious1, Spicylate(f), swedishblonde (f), BiafranBushBoy, marianneada(f), crislyn(f), Cleopatra4(f), StarBukola(f), commyluv(f), PamelB(f), Lilyqueeny(f), ODUMAIYE (f), Bukkiminat(f), Rhayne(f), kayceerilyn (f), kikiwendy (f), Awelewap (f), IemFava(f), pinkeeprincess(f), Mimienudles(f), sharliz(f), ahzeezat(f), Kimkardashain(f), Bossken(m), Olaide59(f), mercyymai(f), Tinkybabe(f), ceedarlin1(f), iamloyalty(f), antispexish (m), ozila(m), skarlett(f), rachealfst(f), teel123(f), Chumzypinky (f), SheWrites(f), larabae13(f), queenitee(f), AustinBlinks (m), ironkurtain(m), Missmossy(f), ashatoda


don't just read and go pls, all ur constructive criticsm are welcomed...

Thanks for reading

thanks for inviting me