Surviving Mateo (Morelli Family 2)

“Look, I can’t… even if I could get to Mateo Morelli—which I can’t, because again, I am not a part of this world. But even if I could, I can’t kill a man. I don’t know how to fire a gun, and these ones?” I hold up my thin, unimpressive arms. “Not gonna take down a mob boss.”

“You’re okay with your husband getting whacked but not the boss who put a hit on him?” Antonio asks, bushy eyebrows drawn together. “Whatever your husband was, honey, I promise you, this son of a bitch is worse.”

“I do not doubt that, but this son of a bitch is not my problem.”

“He is now.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just stare, wishing my floor would open up and swallow this guy. How the hell do I get out of this?

“Can’t I just pay you the money?” I ask.

“Debt just doubled,” he states coldly. “You got $30,000 tucked away in your freezer?”

I want to say he can’t just double a debt like that, but I guess he can.

“You don’t say yes in the next few seconds, it just might double again. You might owe me more than the one favor, if that happens.”

“Okay,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. I don’t know what I’m agreeing to, exactly, but I don’t want favors piling up. Catching my head in my hands, I exhale slowly, trying to figure out where to go from here. “How am I supposed to do this without getting killed?”

“It’ll be risky, but long as you time it right, you’ll be okay. I’ll have a crew following you, they can help you. All you gotta do is slip something in his drink and your job’s done. He drinks his drink, you go home. Whatever it takes to get to that point, you do. Once he’s been dosed, my guys clean up the mess.” He brushes his hands several times. “Done.”

I’m cold all over at this point, but I try not to appear shaken. The idea of actually killing someone… I don’t think I’m capable of that.

“They’ll know it was me.”

“Could’ve been a bartender. Server. Lot of people hate him. Use your maiden name though, just in case.”

“I can’t do this,” I say quietly, shaking my head.

“Then you better get ready to have another funeral, honey,” he tells me, kicking the ruined picture frame with the toe of his loafer. “You won’t need a big casket for this one.”

—

If I somehow survive this mission, I’m definitely going to have to find a new job.

Eddie, the sleazeball who lets me keep his books, takes another stroll past the desk they had to put me at. Usually I work in the back by myself, but according to Antonio Castellanos, we have to be better showmen than that. I have to be visible. A bored, sexed up receptionist doing her nails without a care in the world.

I think they’re overestimating how much effort it takes to catch a man’s interest, but I let them make the plans. I just play the part as directed.

It’s an elaborate play, too. Eddie’s not the smartest guy in the world, but he does know better than to get mixed up with the mob. Antonio paid him a little visit after me, though, and now here we sit, Eddie shaking in his boots, me fiddling with nail polish, waiting to see if he shows up.

Mateo Morelli.

I guess you can’t really request an audience with him, but Eddie did what Antonio asked, and now we all wait to see what happens.

“I’m glad your fucking husband’s dead,” Eddie tells me, spitting into a cup.

Eddie has a gross habit of chewing tobacco, even more so when he’s nervous. I try not to look at the cup, thinking about how much tobacco-colored spit must be inside, but it’s impossible. A couple ounces? Gross.

I don’t take offense to his vicious tone. I’d be pretty pissed at me, too. “I’m sorry.”

“This is my business,” he states, his eye twitching.

“I know. Just keep cool. You have the money. Everything’s going to be fine.”

I have no idea if that’s true. Personally, the plan to take mob money and then be late enough paying it back that they send someone seems like a terrible plan to me—especially for Eddie. But the idea is, instead of a kneecap, they offer me.

I’ve seen Mateo Morelli, and wife-killing mobster thing aside, he’s handsome and rich; I don’t think the man has a hard time scoring chicks.

But hey, it’s Antonio’s plan. If it fails, that’s not my fault. Maybe he’ll give up using me for this, since I can’t very well show up as bait twice without looking suspicious.

As tempting as it is to hope I fail to impress the rival boss, I’m also afraid of what might happen then. Antonio made himself very clear—I get this job done, or else.