Once Burned (Morelli Family, #3) Read online

  Once Burned

  (Morelli Family, #3)

  By Sam Mariano

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Surviving Mateo (Morelli Family, #2) Copyright © 2017 by Sam Mariano

  A brief passage of Fantomina; Or Love in a Maze by Eliza Haywood (1725) is quoted in chapter two.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Author’s Note

  I’ve said this a few times now, but I’m putting it at the front of this book. If you have not read Ethan and Willow’s story (Irreparable Damage and Irreparable Lives) but you want to… you should do it before you read this book. If you read this book first, you’re going to get spoiled. SO SPOILED. THERE ARE IRREPARABLE SPOILERS IN THIS BOOK. SO MANY SPOILERS, GUYS. ALL OF THE SPOILERS. Get it? Got it? Good.

  20 years ago

  It still feels like I’m on fire.

  I can’t move. Even if not for the damage done to my body, they’ve wrapped me up in so much gauze I look more dead than alive.

  I think of the time a couple Halloweens ago when I dressed up like a mummy. I bet I’d get more candy in this get-up than that one.

  Someone’s sniffling. I can’t move my head, but I shift my eyes left and see my best friend standing there, dark head bowed. The sniffling is coming from him. I’ve never seen Mateo cry before.

  I try to speak, but I can’t move my mouth.

  I have to wait for him to look at me again, to see my eyes are open now. It takes a few minutes, then his brown eyes, bloodshot and red-rimmed finally meet mine and all of a sudden my insides feel hollow, like a juicy watermelon after Mom finished scooping out its insides for a picnic over the summer.

  Seeing I’m awake, he swipes a hand across his nose and stands a little straighter. “Hey.”

  I can’t speak, but he might not know that. Either way, I’m not sure I’d answer him.

  “Lucy brought me,” he explains, his eyes moving over my face, taking in all the gauze. “I had to see if you were okay.”

  Luciana’s old enough to drive, but I’m surprised she put her neck out, bringing him here like this.

  I try to speak again, forgetting I can’t. Just the slight movement of my facial muscles sends a shudder through me, and searing pain is my reward for the attempt.

  “They said they gave you medicine, so it shouldn’t hurt so much. They… they said you’re gonna be okay.”

  A new kind of pain sears me, not physical, but emotional. The memory of my father begging. My desperate mother sobbing, screaming, pleading, reaching for me.

  I try to speak again. A sound comes out, but it’s not a word, and it hurts like hell.

  Mateo shifts, attempting to anticipate whatever I’m trying to get out, but his face registers no comprehension. Not sure why it would, I guess, but I’m flustered all the same.

  I try again, and manage a “Muh…”

  I want to cry with how much it hurts, but I can’t even cry.

  I watch Mateo’s face fall and he goes to step back, but stops, realizing I can’t follow him. Pushing closer to the bed, he reaches out a hand, but mine isn’t there to take; it’s wrapped up in all the gauze.

  “Your mom?” he asks.

  I can’t nod, but I try to convey with my eyes that yeah, I want to know about my mom.

  He looks at the bed instead of me, and that’s when I know.

  Mateo whispers, “I’m sorry, Adrian.”

  My eyes burn with tears I can’t shed. My face burns with pain. Everything hurts, and here stands my best friend, telling me he’s sorry like it counts. Like it means anything. Like it helps.

  The heart monitor I’m hooked up to starts to go haywire and Mateo backs up, startled, scared. A nurse comes hustling in to check on me and frowns at the sight of an eight-year-old in here by himself.

  “You’re not supposed to be in here without an adult, honey.”

  “He’s my friend,” Mateo explains, like that should be good enough.

  “I understand that, honey, but you can’t be in here by yourself. Why don’t you go find your mom or dad, and you can come back in with one of them.”

  “But…”

  Mateo just stands there, looking a little lost. Of course the nurse can’t know that his mom’s dead and his dad’s the one who put me here.

  But I do.

  With one last long look, my best friend, Mateo Morelli, swears, “It’s gonna be okay, Adrian. I’ll come back for you.”

  This time I’m glad I can’t speak. As much as everything hurts, as much as I’ve lost this night, I don’t think I could bear looking at my best friend and telling him to stay the hell away from me.

  Prologue

  “I’m glad you came, Adrian.”

  Shifting the clear glass of amber liquid in my hand, I take a sip, then look up at Mateo Morelli, perched on the edge of his father’s desk, in his father’s study.

  Memories creep up on me, of us as kids, sneaking in here to see what was so important. We both had our first taste of gin, pilfered from one of Matt’s decanters. Neither of us found the taste or the burn very much to get excited about back then.

  Now I tip back my glass, welcoming the burn.

  “Not every day you get invited to a Morelli family dinner,” I say, lightly.

  “Aw, come on. You know you could come anytime you like.”

  Mateo’s lackey speaks up now, pointing in my direction to get my attention. “You used to live here, didn’t you?”

  “Lifetime ago,” I acknowledge.

  Shaking his head, the man says, “Man, I don’t know how you leave all this. Way above my pay grade, but a man sure could get used to it, you know?”

  I assume he’s talking about the house, but his creepy gaze is locked on something behind me—the alcohol cart?

  I turn to look and see the maid by the cart, wiping up a little spill, flashing Mateo an apologetic look, like she’s just cost him thousands of dollars. Which I guess she might’ve; Mateo doesn’t go cheap on his liquor.

  “It’s fine,” Mateo murmurs, taking the glass she just refilled for him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

  He smiles at how nervous she is, shaking his head. “Spills happen, Elise.” Nodding in my direction, he adds, “Try not to spill any on Adrian, huh?”

  I want to tell him I’m fine, I don’t need any more—I’m not as comfortable with people serving me as he is—but the little blonde girl is already bringing the decanter my way. I watch as she pours it without looking at me, at her pretty face, flushed with embarrassment. Her blonde hair, escaping the neat bun she has it pulled back into. Her blue eyes briefly land on mine, but apparently intimidated by me, she quickly flits away to refill this Rick guy’s drink.

  “How old are you, honey?” he asks, his gaze moving over her body.

  “Me? Um, 16.”

  Rick lifts his eyebrows, glancing back at Mateo, then back to her. “Wow. Young.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, since he’s still looking at her like a piece a meat. “Real young.”

  “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

  “Maria’s sick today, so Elise is filling in,” Mateo explains.

  Elise moves away from Rick and back toward Mateo. She seems less tense around him, which is pretty much the opposite of what you’d
expect. He doesn’t scare me, but Mateo’s generally considered a pretty intimidating guy. Elise moves closer to him like he’s the sun, and she’s stranded in a snowstorm.

  The conversation turns to the neighborhood, the changes, the new talent. Mateo tries to bring me into his fold again, which shouldn’t surprise me since he thinks that’s why I’m here.

  We keep drinking, and drinking, and drinking, and drinking. We’re all trashed by the time we have to go to dinner, and Mateo doesn’t usually let that happen, so he really must be pleased to see me.

  A stab of guilt gets me, but I ignore it.

  I’m good at ignoring pain.

  One more night and I can get out of Chicago. I can make it through one more night.

  Some people get more outgoing when they’re drunk, but not me. I withdraw even further into myself, which is saying something.

  Rick, he’s the obnoxious type. Boisterous and loud—I can’t believe he’s Mateo’s main hit guy. I wouldn’t trust this asshole to take out an elephant with a fucking cannon launcher.

  No subtlety.

  I sort of wish he did have some, because then I wouldn’t be boiling over here with anger by the time the ladies bring out dessert. Beth serves Mateo and takes a seat to his left. She looks tired. I’m surprised he didn’t even mention her when we were drinking in the study, since they apparently had a kid together since I last saw him.

  Francesca puts a plate in front of me, then Rick, before taking her own seat beside him.

  “Where’s that pretty little maid?” Rick asks Francesca.

  “Elise?” she asks, frowning at him. “Cleaning up in the kitchen.”

  Please don’t.

  I know I can’t say it, but as Mr. Fucking Subtlety eyeballs the door leading to the kitchen, I get a bad feeling about tonight. A real bad feeling.

  A few minutes later, he needs to use the restroom. The nearest one is in the hall, but of course he doesn’t head that way—he heads for the kitchen.

  Placing my fork down on the table, I look at the chocolate lava cake I haven’t touched. I try to convince myself he just didn’t remember about the bathroom in the hall, or he’s drunk and went for the wrong door.

  Only I don’t believe any of that.

  I look to Mateo, wishing he would’ve noticed, but he doesn’t pay nearly as much attention to the maid as she does to him, and he doesn’t seem to find anything amiss about Rick going to the kitchen instead of the bathroom. I look around at the other faces, and no one else seems to either.

  Goddammit.

  Finally, I push back from the table and stand, drawing Mateo’s attention.

  “Be right back,” I mutter, heading for the kitchen doors.

  I don’t see Elise when I enter. It’s a massive room, like all the rooms, but she’s not by the sink cleaning up, or storing leftovers in the fridge. She’s nowhere.

  Something slams into the pantry door, grabbing my attention. The pantry’s pulled shut, but something rattles from inside.

  Clenching my fists at my side, I storm to the pantry and rip it open.

  Face down on the ground with Rick on top of her, Elise’s teary blue eyes look up at me, as if expecting a savior. The light dims slightly at seeing me, but she’s not exactly in a position to be picky.

  “Get the fuck off her,” I tell Rick.

  I look at the state of his clothes—his belt’s undone, his pants tugged down, but I can’t tell if he had time to finish the job.

  He’s not moving urgently enough and rage courses through my body. I grab him like he’s nothing, throwing him against a shelf of canned food. “I said get the fuck off her.”

  Elise yanks her dress down, scurrying into the corner. I can’t tell if she’s still traumatized from his attack, or if she’s scared of me. Either would be reasonable.

  “Hey, man, what the fuck,” Rick objects, his eyes wide with belligerence.

  “Get out of here before I break your fucking neck,” I tell him calmly.

  “Mateo’s gonna hear about this,” he tells me, clearly thinking it’s a threat.

  Meeting his gaze with a smile, I reply, “Oh, you bet he fucking will.”

  Turns out, we don’t have to wait long for that. The crash must’ve been loud enough that he heard it in the other room; before Rick can even make it halfway across the kitchen, Mateo’s storming in with a scowl on his face.

  “What the fuck is going on in here?”

  Elise jumps up, seeing Mateo, and runs over to him. He catches her in his arms naturally, burying her face in his chest, and I can’t help feeling a little rejected. Obviously I didn’t do it for the glory, but I’m the one who paid enough attention to know something was up, I’m the one who came to make sure she was okay, and he’s the one she runs to for comfort.

  I also don’t feel even remotely comfortable with the doubts it raises about their relationship. Mateo and I are the same age—28. This girl is 16. I know he likes them younger than him, but that’s too young.

  Beth stands off to the side, watching. I search her face for any trace of jealousy, but come up empty—Beth doesn’t seem to give a damn if some pretty young thing runs to Mateo for comfort.

  “Did he hurt you?” Mateo murmurs.

  Elise shakes her head no, and some of the tension eases out of me. Then she pulls back and adds, “Your friend stopped him.”

  She doesn’t know my name. I don’t know why that feels disappointing, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just relieved I got here in time.

  Mateo meets my gaze, and he looks a bit troubled. I guess he should be—an important member of his crew just fucked up in a major way, and now he has to deal with it.

  I want him to pull his gun out right now. Put Rick in the floor, execution style, and put a bullet right through his sleazy brain.

  That doesn’t happen.

  “I think we all need to… Dinner’s over,” he finally says. Glancing at me, he says, “You guys have had too much to drink.”

  I don’t understand at first. What does that have to do with anything?

  Then Rick smirks at me from across the kitchen, and I realize… that’s it. That’s all. Mateo isn’t going to do anything about this, he’s just going to shrug off the behavior by saying we’ve had too much to drink.

  “You kidding me?” I say, unable to stop myself.

  His eyebrows rise and he gives me a look that tells me how close he is to pulling rank. “Sleep it off, Adrian.”

  Wow.

  My eyes fall to Elise, still snug against him like he’s her fucking savior. Then to Rick, smug, thinking he’s off the hook.

  Finally I nod. “Fine. I’ll sleep it off.”

  Without another word, and without waiting to be shown to guest rooms I already know how to find, I turn and leave the kitchen.

  ---

  Leaning forward in the armchair beside Mateo’s bed, I gaze at the face of a man I once called a friend. Even after his father murdered mine, even after the scars and the pain he inflicted on me to hurt them, I still considered Mateo a friend.

  Not at first.

  At first I was angry, hurt, alone in the world every way a kid can be. But Mateo never gave up, and Mateo’s not the kind of friend who never gives up on you. Mateo’s the kind of friend who’s there when he wants something from you, and not so much when there’s nothing you can do for him.

  Me, I never had anything Mateo could’ve wanted, but he still stuck by me. Even when I didn’t want him to.

  But we’re not those kids anymore. I grew up to be more ruthless than he ever could’ve expected, and him? Well, he grew up and took his father’s place.

  Staring at the gun in my lap, I finger the long, cold silencer screwed onto the end of it.

  My gaze moves back to the bed, at Beth lying there beside him. She’s turned the other way, with her back to him, but he still has an arm thrown over her, trying to get close.

  I’m surprised he’s still asleep. Mateo’s a notoriously light sleeper—look at him and he’l
l wake up. Must be the alcohol.

  Figuring I may as well get down to it, I inhale and push out a sigh so loud, I’m surprised I don’t wake Beth.

  Mateo’s eyes open, and it only takes him a second to register a presence in the room. He pushes up, reaches for the nightstand.

  “It’s me,” I say quietly.

  He stops. Stares at me, then at the gun in my lap. Back to my face, a look of betrayal quickly moving in place of his alarm.

  “Rick’s dead,” I tell him.

  Something like relief flickers across his features as he mistakenly concludes that’s why I brought the gun, that I didn’t come here to hurt him, after all. He leans back, sighing and staring up at the ceiling. “Goddamn it, Adrian,” he says, lowly. “I talked to him. He wasn’t going to touch her again.”

  “Not good enough,” I explain.

  “Well, thank you for that. I needed him.”

  “He’s an asshole, you didn’t need him. Guys like him are easy to find. You need someone better.”

  “You volunteering?” he asks, pushing up to look at me.

  I shake my head no, looking down at the gun again, then back at him. “I didn’t come here tonight to join your crew.”

  He holds my gaze, doubtful, but wanting to believe the best of me. “Then why’d you come?”

  “Baryshnikov sent me.”

  His face falls. “The Russians? They don’t even have a foothold in this city.”

  I merely shrug. I’m not here to explain. I don’t expect to leave. Just figured I’d tell him.

  Scoffing, shaking his head a little at the absurdity, he says, “You won’t work for me, but you’ll work for Baryshnikov.”

  “He knew I had an in with you. Offered me a lot of money.”

  “To kill me,” Mateo states, this time coldly.

  “Yes.”

  “So what are you fucking waiting for?” he asks.

  It’s a good question. One I’ve been asking myself since I managed to get in his room without waking him up. If I wanted to go through with it, I gave up my window of opportunity.