Once Burned (Morelli Family 3)

“No, I don’t want Alec,” he says, more to himself than me. “All right, fine. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“You sure? I can probably call around and get you someone.”

“Nah, I got it.” Then, without so much as a goodbye, he’s gone.

I stare at my phone for a minute, thinking that probably requires my attention… but it can’t be more important than this. I consider calling him back to get more information, but I need to focus on my own thing. I’ll call him back as soon as we’re done.

Ethan glances over at me briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “Everything okay?”

“Hope so,” I reply, shaking my head. “I’ll be glad when all this shit is over, I’ll tell you that.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, nodding in understanding. “There’s gotta be a lot of excitement, doing what you do.”

“I don’t know if excitement’s the word I’d use,” I return, dryly.

“Thankfully I don’t typically do this kind of shit. I deal in information, not violence.”

“I much prefer to deal in information. If Salvatore doesn’t make the right decision and we have to wipe out his whole family, you should come work for Mateo.”

Laughing shortly, Ethan says, “Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

I shrug. “He pays well.”

“He’s a paranoid sociopath.”

“You get used to it.”

Finally, we arrive. I’m a little puzzled to find the meeting place is a house—just a regular house in a suburban neighborhood.

Scowling over at Ethan, I ask, “You’re not dumb enough to set me up, are you?”

“Nope,” he says easily. “Just slightly smarter than that.”

“Because I can’t begin to explain to you the wrath Mateo would rain down upon you if you are. And you have a pretty girlfriend, so I’d think about that.”

Sliding me a distinct look of displeasure, he says, “Fiancée.”

“I’m never going to care.”

“This is…” He pauses, looking at the garage door and sighing. “This is my old house, and this is where he’s meeting us. I’m not setting you up, Adrian. Antonio Castellanos tied my 8-year-old daughter to a chair in this house—threatened to kill her. Had an asshole with a gun to her head. I can murder this piece of shit and sleep like a baby tonight, I promise you that.”

Well, shit.

“I guess he wasn’t invited to the wedding, huh?” I murmur.

Ethan rolls his eyes and pushes open his car door.

Once we’re inside, Ethan glances around the entryway and sighs. I don’t know if he’s thinking about the shit we’re about to do, or some sentimental shit, but after a minute he finally says, “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Upstairs. I need to get a gun.” He shows me his hands, indicating they’re empty. “Didn’t bring one. And I don’t have a silencer.”

“I have an extra in my car, but we brought yours.”

He shakes his head, heading for the stairs. “Don’t need it. I can get one upstairs.”

“Nothing stupid, Ethan.”

“I fucking get it, Adrian.”

I smile a little as he heads upstairs. I do want to keep an eye on him, since this is all unfamiliar to me and I’m not exactly on comfortable ground, but first I take a walk around the house, scoping out potential spots to hide, checking vulnerabilities, windows—all the usual bullshit. I’m a little confused when I get to the kitchen and see a pink vase of white hydrangeas on the table. Ethan bringing me here to meet Castellanos gave me the impression that this house is unoccupied, and the fact that he knows we’re about to dirty it up with blood and bullet holes doesn’t jive with anything else.

Ethan comes back down a couple minutes later, to my relief. I actually like the guy, but I’m still not inclined to trust him—not until Antonio’s dead.

“Does someone live here?” I ask, as soon as I see him.

“My ex-wife used to, but she and the kids moved in with her boyfriend,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“There are flowers on the table. You trying to sell the place?”

Instead of answering me, Ethan frowns, peering out the window. “Fuck, he’s here. All right, if he’s alone, we’re good. If not, at least one of his people will probably do a walk-through. I’d go to the kitchen, since they’ll probably walk in there first.”

I’m not used to being directed and I don’t really like it, but there’s not time to argue. I head to the kitchen, but I wish I would’ve had more time to prepare. I can’t look out the window and watch him come in, ‘cause chances are they’ll be looking.

It feels like the sound of the door slamming shut resonates through the whole damn house. My pulse kicks up, and being in the kitchen when everything’s going down in the living room is not my style. I don’t even know how long to wait. If no one sweeps the kitchen in the next minute or so, I’m going to creep back toward the entryway and scope out the scene.