Accidental Witness (Morelli Family 1)

“I do enjoy a good hero versus villain showdown,” he says, winking.

“So do I,” I admit. “In books, not so much… life, but…”

“Hey, now you’ve got firsthand experience, maybe you can write your own graphic novel,” he jokes.

“Oh, no, I’m not a writer. It takes me like 23 years to write a 3 page paper, double spaced. Also, I’m not sure dressing up for dinners and lounging by the pool in a 28,000 square foot mansion necessarily qualifies me to…you know, show the ugly underbelly of humanity.”

His eyes dance with amusement, and I wonder how I ever thought them cold. There’s definitely warmth there. “Give it time; you’re still new to the family.”

“Oh, I know, I’m always being warned about the horrors that await me,” I say unthinkingly, rolling my eyes. “What next, will I be forced to go on a cruise to the Bahamas?”

He maintains his smile, but glances down. “By whom?”

I look back at him, raising my eyebrows questioningly. “By whom will I be forced to go on the cruise?”

“By whom are you warned?” he specifies.

“Oh.” I pause, flushing, realizing that had been a dumb thing to say, given all the warnings have been about him. “Uh, I mean… I didn’t mean specifically, just…” I trail off awkwardly, hoping he’ll save me here, but he just watches me scramble. “Cherie was telling me how you guys—this family—the—how, like, you’re pretty traditional, and not, you know, feminist-friendly.”

I’m already feeling like an assbag for offering up her name, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to throw Vince under the bus, and I couldn’t really say, “Well, everybody. Everybody says that.”

Nodding his head, he said, “Cherie’s not a big fan of my family. I don’t blame her, her father certainly isn’t the best example, and given that, I’m sure her mother feels the same way, but I wouldn’t take her opinion to heart. We are traditional, but tradition isn’t always a bad thing.”

“Her father?” I ask, interest piqued. As long as I’ve wondered about Cherie, I still don’t know much about her. “I haven’t met him. Does he live here, too?”

“Ben?” he asks, eyebrows rising. “No. No, he moved to Vegas years ago, when Vince’s mom died.”

“Vince’s mom?”

“His wife?”

I give up and frown. “What? Sorry, I’m not following. I don’t know anything about Vince’s dad either.”

“Oh, Vince and Cherie have the same father,” he explains.

My jaw drops open. “They’re… siblings?”

“Half, yeah.”

All the times I’ve felt catty and jealous over her suddenly come flying back to me, and I feel so incredibly stupid. “Oh, my God,” I say, slapping my palm to my forehead with a little smile. “Wow, I wish someone would’ve told me that a long time ago.”

“You had no idea,” he realizes.

“I was such a bitch to her when she first tried to befriend me. Legendarily bitchy.”

He has the nerve to laugh. “Why?”

“I thought she was trying to… you know, horn in on my man,” I say, giving up and laughing at how stupid I sound. “Oh my God, I’m an asshole.”

“I’m surprised Vince didn’t tell you,” he remarks.

“Yeah, me too. We never even talked about it—he knew I had siblings, of course, but… he didn’t want to talk too much about his family.”

Mateo nods, understanding. “We try not to. You can’t trust people.”

Dimming a bit, that makes me think of the fight Vince and I just had. “I think you can trust people more than you guys do. Give people a little credit, they might surprise you.”

He looks amused. “I’m rarely surprised.”

Raising a finger to point at him, I say, “But rarely isn’t never, now is it?”

“I guess not,” he says. I know I haven’t cured him of his paranoia, but at least he gave me that.

“You all need to just relax. You guys have this awesome life, and you’re too busy watching over your shoulders to enjoy it. A month ago I had to find ways to make dinner for $2. If I got sick, I had to drink orange juice from the school cafeteria and hope the vitamin C helped because we couldn’t afford to buy medicine. You guys have a country club at your house and you’re all wearier than I’ve ever been.”

“You’re young,” he reminds me. “You’re correct that I’ve never experienced poverty, but you’ve never experienced a man you’ve grown up with for 20 years, more brother than friend, try to assassinate you because another man wanted what was yours. You’ve never had your older sister gouge you in the leg with a throwing star and try to end your life. You’ve never had to live every day knowing the only thing between you and a body bag is a good bodyguard and the people who would kill you being too afraid of what you’d do if they failed.”

My eyes are wide by the end. Being tucked away here, it’s easy to forget the ugly life that makes all the extravagance possible. “Wow, that… sucks. I’m sorry.”