Once Burned (Morelli Family 3)

“Never.”

“Oh, come on,” she says, jabbing me in the side.

“Every time that big hairy bastard’s on the screen, I’m going to think of Mateo.”

Elise props herself up on an elbow, rolling her eyes. “That’s silly. Let’s be honest, if we’re casting Beauty and the Beast with the people in our lives, Mateo isn’t Beast. He’s Gaston.”

I think about it for a second, but I haven’t seen that movie in a lot of years. It comes back to me now that she says it, and it surprises a smile out of me. “Yeah, he kind of is, isn’t he?”

“Definitely,” she says.

“Doesn’t that make me his chubby little sycophant friend?” I ask, amused.

“No way.” She shakes her head, letting her hand drift across my chest. “You’re my Beast.”

Her touch is relaxing, and I feel better about this interpretation of one of her favorite cartoons. If we ever have kids, maybe I’ll let them watch it, after all. “Didn’t he end up killing Gaston in the end?”

“Nope,” she says evenly, still running her hand tenderly across my chest. “Beast is the hero. Gaston died because he’s Gaston, and he can’t stop until he wins or he dies.” Tilting her head back to look up at me, she adds, “Beast even tried to save Gaston, but he couldn’t. At the end of the day, Gaston gets just enough rope to hang himself with, and so he does.”

“That sounds like a Gaston thing to do,” I remark, solemnly. I don’t actually remember if that’s true of the movie, but it sure is of Mateo.

She nods, resting her head on my chest again.

“You think I should keep working for him.” It’s not a question, but she answers me anyway.

“I think you will. You’re the hero. You have to try to save him, no matter how many times he tries to hang himself.”

I shake my head, amused that she can think of me as any kind of hero.

A little less amused because I know she’s right.

Mateo could storm the gates of Hell, and my dumb ass would be right behind him, trying to keep the demons off his back.

Chapter Twelve

Since I took the day off yesterday, there’s a lot to get done today. A lot.

I start early, heading to Mateo’s in time to grab breakfast. He’s at the table, reading his paper and drinking his coffee. He flicks a glance in my direction as I enter, but since I’m not in his bedroom in the middle of the night, he must not be too worried about the possibility of me killing him.

I don’t greet him right off. I head into the kitchen to grab some food and coffee. Then I take Meg’s seat at the table, right next to him.

Finally he speaks. “Have a good night?”

I meet his gaze, unamused. His lips curve up ever so slightly, but he goes back to reading his paper, not even expecting a response. I’ve considered it from all angles. I’m Mateo’s chief enabler, so once the rage subsided, of course I dug a little deeper, tried to find his real intention. It crossed my mind, of course, that he’s been on me about pushing my relationship with Elise forward anyway. He knows me—he probably thought it’d take me another five years to ever get this thing off the ground at the pace I’d set. Maybe he just wanted to give me a shove. Maybe it wasn’t really a threat, maybe it was only meant to kick my ass in gear. Something nice, to make up for the scene in his study Sunday night.

Mateo’s kiss, after he’s done fucking you.

But the reason I know it wasn’t is the card. His card, in his handwriting. He ordered the flowers and specifically left his card for the florist to put in the bouquet. They could’ve used any old generic flower card at the shop, but he wanted Elise to get his card. After the night we had, the night she gave me full credit for, he wants to remind me that it was all founded on his lie. That Elise could end up finding out who all that was from, to maybe consider that it could have been him in my place, and where would that leave me?

He left a breadcrumb for her to trace back, if she ever felt so inclined.

Of course I ripped up the card and threw it in the garbage before I came over here this morning, but his cards are distinctive. If she saw one on his desk when we’re having drinks, or on a gift he gives to Meg or Mia, she would remember she’d received one, too.

I should’ve told her the truth, taken away his power, but I couldn’t.

And he counted on that.

“If I work for you again—and this is if, I have not decided yet—I want a lot of money.”