Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

Rafe laughs again, then points his finger at me. “You’re funny, little one. You should do stand-up.”

I am not amused. “He’s been with me for four years,” I state, to give myself credibility.

“Sounds like your time’s about up then,” he says, like it’s just the natural order of things. “Why don’t you just embrace Vince? He’s more your age. Certainly more devoted. How come you don’t like him?”

“I don’t not like him. He’s my ex-boyfriend, but we needed to break-up when we did and this shouldn’t have happened. Also, whether you take me seriously or not, I am with Mateo. I adore him and he loves me. This isn’t like Beth or any of the other ones.”

“Right,” he says, his face making it clear this is mocking-agreement. “You’re the special one. The one that’ll change him. How old are you, little one?”

“Stop calling me that,” I say, swallowing and spinning back around to mess around at the sink. I don’t have anything to really do over here, but I don’t want to look at Rafe, so I fill the egg pan with water. “I’m 23.”

“And you’ve been with him four years?” he asks, mildly surprised. “Damn, he must’ve plucked you right out of high school graduation.”

“He plucked me right out of my relationship with Vince, and we were high school sweethearts,” I say, for lack of better terminology.

Nodding as he scoops up more of the eggs I made for him, he says, “That must be where the faithless slut part comes in.”

“Did Vince call me that or are you?” I ask, frowning.

“Does it matter?”

I guess it doesn’t. Some horrible Morelli-influenced demon inside compels me to toss back, “Well, I only like being called a slut in the bedroom, so if you could kindly refrain, that’d be great.”

His mouth falls open at that, and I turn around so he can’t see me smirk. I’m feeling pretty damn proud of myself.

Take that, asshole.

Until he finally responds, “I’ll remember that for when I fuck you.”

I try and fail to bite back a little laugh, but man, he’s got the Morelli charisma. “We’re never going to fuck,” I inform him, even though I’m sure he knows that.

“Oh, I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of Vince.”

“I’m engaged,” I remind him.

Nodding at my empty finger, he says, “I don’t see a ring.”

“Vince took it,” I mutter unhappily.

“Bet it was a big one, huh? Mateo’s pretty showy.”

“Says the man who lives next door in a mansion,” I toss back.

“Gotta do something with all that blood money,” he says lightly.

I lean against the counter, giving in and watching him eat. He may be an asshole, but he’s the kind I like, and being around him makes me feel closer to Mateo. “So, you called him Uncle Ben. How do you factor into the Morelli family tree? You’re not one of Matt’s sons?”

He shakes his head. “My dad was Alessio. Younger brother of Ben and Matt.”

“You weren’t at Matt’s funeral,” I point out.

This makes him smirk. “You think you would’ve remembered me?”

“Actually, since Mateo was in the room, probably not.”

I smile as he rolls his eyes. I hoped he’d look more disappointed by my set-down, but I’ll take minor irritation over nothing.

“So, you’re Mateo’s cousin then.”

Rafe nods. “And Vince’s cousin.”

“So many cousins.”

“The Morelli men like to make babies,” he affirms.

“How come you work out here and not in Chicago with Mateo?”

Rafe cocks an eyebrow at me. “Remember a few minutes ago when we talked about how I don’t like Mateo? Try to keep up.”

“It’s silly to hold a grudge over an old girlfriend that neither of you cares about anymore,” I tell him. “That’s something Vince would do, and you don’t seem at all Vince-like to me.”

“No?” he asks, with measured interest. “How do I seem to you?”

“You seem smart. And as a smart man, you should see an opportunity here. If you were to help Mateo out and let him know where I was, or even help return me to him without him ever having to come here? He would definitely reward you for it.”

Rafe grins. “Oh, would he?”

I nod with confidence. “He has a lot of money and a lot of power. And Chicago is way better than Vegas. If helping him out caused problems for you here, he’d undoubtedly let you come work for him—whatever you do here, I bet it’s way better in Chicago. And we have these awesome Sunday night dinners; you could come anytime. We make really good food, we wear pretty dresses, and the men have drinks in Mateo’s study. It’s basically the fifties once a week.”

“There are a few problems with that plan,” he tells me. “The largest being that Mateo has nothing I need.”

“Maybe you haven’t seen the full inventory. Mateo has a lot.”

He smiles, his eyes wandering over my body again, but slowly this time, so I can watch.