Helplessness is not a feeling Mateo is accustomed to, and he does not deal well with it. I knew that, but it wasn’t my fault last time he felt it. Guilt slithers down my spine.
“Come on,” I say, offering him my hand. “This isn’t doing you any good. Come to bed.”
“I’m in bed,” he states, carefully.
“Come to our bed. Let me take your mind off all this. You’re not betraying Mia if you take a few hours off of obsessing and get some sleep. She wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want you lying here, miserable and alone—”
“Stop saying that.”
I frown. “Saying what?”
“Mia wouldn’t have wanted this. You make it sound like she’s dead.”
My heart sinks. It’s not like it’s an impossibility. He knows that. But right now I’m not sure what happens if she is.
As if I just argued otherwise, he says, “She’s not dead.”
“I hope not,” I say, but without much confidence.
“She isn’t.”
Glancing down at the floor, I think through my next words. I could point out how horrible they were to Vince. I could remind him of Vince’s volatility, or his very own family history with a story like this. I could remind him that Matt slaughtered his first love for the sins of not loving him, of betraying him, of leaving him.
Only all of that puts the blame directly on Mateo’s shoulders. Because if Vince did kill Mia, it’s unquestionably Mateo’s fault. He fucked with that kid’s head; he toyed with Mia in front of him while she was still with him. He tormented them. Vince was very probably in Mateo’s current situation at one time—lying awake in the bed he shared with Mia, all alone, knowing she was with Mateo.
For three nights, Mateo fucked Mia while she still belonged to Vince.
For four nights, Mateo has lain awake in this bed with these thoughts, and added to them the possibility that the woman he loves may be dead because of games he’s played.
This isn’t a good time to lecture him about his karma, but he definitely should have listened to me about all that.
I don’t want to play Devil’s advocate here, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “What if she is? I know it’s unthinkable, I hope she isn’t, but… what if he did kill her?”
He’s quiet for long enough that I don’t think he’s going to answer me. Finally, he does. “Then I find him, rip him open, make him wish for death. I don’t kill him right away. I take out everyone he loves first. Everyone he’s ever loved. Everyone who had a hand in helping him. I destroy every last one of them. I make him watch. I make killing Joey feel like a fucking birthday gift.”
I tell myself he’ll calm down, even if that does happen, but I can’t make myself believe it. I should be able to. There was a time long ago when he wanted to burn the Castellanos family to the ground for me. Now they’re our in-laws.
But I know this is different. I know he means this—because it’s Mia. Mia brings out Mateo’s dark side, so I have no doubt that he won’t rest until he avenges her. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her. I know that. It’s why I’m glad she is Mia. A more calculating woman would’ve had me eliminated already.
If Vince kills Mia, Mateo will empty his arsenal to destroy him. He’ll go down with this ship if he has to, because he’s so wrapped up in that girl it’s all he can do.
Swallowing down a lump of dread, I ask, “And then what? After you use all of your resources and connections to destroy your own family for a personal vendetta, then what, Mateo?”
“Then I nearly empty my clip into his face.” He smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. Drunk Mateo is out full force. I don’t know how long he’s been drinking, but I suddenly wish I would have left him in here alone and gone back to my own bed. Tomorrow we could wake up and none of this would be said. I wouldn’t have to see it. I wouldn’t have to witness the pain he’s in because Mia isn’t with him. I wouldn’t have to hear the next words out of his mouth. “Almost. I save the last bullet.”
“For what?” I ask, quietly.
“My last gift to the world,” he says, dryly.
My blood runs cold. Actually, it might stop moving through my veins entirely, because with a crushing rise of adrenaline, my heart completely stalls.
I could throw up right now. Anger surges through me, blanketing every other feeling. It’s like a blood red curtain falling over everything else until it’s all I can see.
“I’m still here,” I grind out, slowly.
Shrugging and closing his eyes, he puts his hands behind his head and rests his gorgeous, pain in the ass head right on top. “Then be nice to Dante; maybe he’ll let you stay in the house.”