Family Ties (Morelli Family 4)

She glances at him, then pushes back her chair and grabs both their plates to clear them. She didn’t get to finish hers, but I don’t think she cares. Clearly she’s uncomfortable. I don’t know if she’s eager to get dinner over so they can leave, or dreading leaving because once they pull out of Mateo’s driveway she’s on her own.

She does give Vince more to drink—even though he certainly doesn’t need it—but she also brings him a glass of ice water. He grins when she puts it down and looks up at her.

“Trying to tell me something, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that.” She freezes as soon as the words spill out, like she’s hearing them for the first time with everyone else. Her face flushes and she hesitates, but instead of backpedaling, she simply puts a hand on his shoulder and gives it an apologetic squeeze before sitting down.

But Vince’s smile inexplicably widens at her response.

Everyone else finishes their salads within a few minutes so we head back to the kitchen for the next course.

Meg casually remarks to Mia, “He’s gonna be fun tonight, isn’t he?”

“So much fun,” Mia replies dryly.

“Sorry,” Meg says, like she’s directly responsible for Mateo.

Mia shrugs. “Wouldn’t be Sunday if he left in a good mood.”

“Maybe he’ll drink so much he passes out and you can just drive home and leave his ass in the car,” Meg suggests.

“I don’t want him to die. I’ve sipped that shit before, it’s strong. He needs to switch to water.”

Snorting, Meg says, “Yeah, you should definitely tell him that. In front of everyone at the table; he really seemed to like that. Why isn’t he allowed to call you sweetheart?”

Mia says nothing as she approaches the counter, but the flush that creeps up her neck gives me a pretty good idea. I’ve heard Mateo call Meg that before; I bet that’s what he called Mia, too.

Though I’m as confused as Sal about their history today, and I was around when it happened. Why did he even use his endearment on Mia during those awful few days? I don’t like to acknowledge it since it sucks, but Mia and Mateo weren’t sleeping together when he had her. His crass reference to making her wet was even weirder because, well, would she have really been aroused when he had her? I would think no.

I’m sure Vince wanted to think no, too.

Mateo can be such an ass sometimes.

I recall him telling me about how he would wake up every morning to her accidentally cuddling him, and I pray to God he doesn’t say anything about that. He’s not loose-lipped in general, but Vince is being irritating and when someone triggers Mateo’s temper he tends to launch the cruelest verbal missiles, without regard for the fallout. Sure, it would kill Vince to hear about Mia giving him post-rape cuddles, but it would mortify Mia, too.

Now I’m almost as anxious as Mia heading back to the table.

The tension at the table already feels like it has doubled, and it ratchets up another notch when Mia puts Vince’s plate down and he hands her his newly empty glass.

Mia hesitates with the glass in her hand, obviously wanting to cut him off, but not wanting to further dent his ego.

Mateo has no such qualms. Lifting his own glass to his lips, he regards Vince and says mildly, “I think you’ve had enough.” His gaze moves to Mia as he takes a sip. “Put that down. He has water.”

Mia promptly replaces the glass on the table and smoothes her dress down as she awkwardly takes her seat between them.

“Oh, sure,” Vince says, looking over at Mateo with a mocking smile. “Excess is only okay if it’s yours. When is enough ever enough for you? But me, I take whatever scraps you see fit to throw at me. That’s how it works, right?”

Mia’s eyebrows rise at being very obviously referred to as scraps. She doesn’t get offended often, but she clearly is right now. Her gaze drops to the napkin in her lap, looking like she’s fighting to control her own temper.

“Don’t,” Mateo says to Vince, still mildly, but with an undercurrent of firmness.

“Just trying to understand the fucking rules, boss,” Vince states, meeting Mateo’s gaze with a spark of challenge.

Sal reaches over and lightly touches my thigh to get my attention. I don’t want to look away from the trains set to collide, but I lean in his direction.

“Has he ever shot anyone at one of these dinners?” Sal whispers.

“Not yet,” I whisper back.

“You know the rules,” Mateo tells Vince, the patience visibly draining out of him as he drops his fork on his plate. “Now, sit there and abide them or get the fuck out.”

Vince doesn’t even hesitate to push back his chair and stand. “Sure, we’ll leave.”