Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)
“I don’t want to think about this.”
There’s torment in her eyes, like every word I say hits home. I pick up steam just seeing it. I don’t want to push her. I hate to hurt her. But I also want to, because I want her for myself. If I can inflate these perfectly reasonable doubts, if I can keep her here with me and make her like it here, I can take her from him. It’s only been a few days, and she’s already letting me plant doubts. I’m starting to understand how it was so easy for Mateo to control Mia. It was his actual proximity to her. Among the people around her, he had the strongest personality and the most conniving skill set; he’s good at manipulating people who aren’t easily manipulated, and Mia is. She must’ve been literally effortless. I don’t know how he knew that so immediately after meeting her, I sure didn’t, but he does have a much more predatory nature. He seeks out weakness like a heat-seeking missile so he can exploit it to his advantage. I don’t look at people and wonder how I could use them. I never wanted to manipulate her, that’s not my thing, but this is the first time I’ve been able to see how easy it must be.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Mia. Just being realistic.”
“I hate how everyone says things like this about Mateo. He isn’t some fickle manwhore, bouncing from one girl to the next. He isn’t some unhinged murderer, killing women who bore him. He isn’t anything like the image you guys try to paint of him.”
“Do you remember last time you thought that, though? When I tried to warn you about him, and the whole house tried to warn you about him, but he bought you some pretty dresses and spun his web around you and you believed him? We were all right then, too. You’ve always been easily fooled by him, Mia. What if we’re right again and you’re wrong? Again? He could do worse to you now than he did then. Say you made it back to him and all this happens—what then? There’s no one around to save you if he turns on you, Mia. Meg’s proof of that. Who’s standing up for Meg?”
“No one needs to stand up for Meg,” she says, vaguely annoyed. “He hasn’t turned on Meg. She’s still in his bedroom, popping out his babies. He still hasn’t impregnated me. So he spends more nights with me than her—so what? Their relationship is less physically passionate than ours—he says they connect in different ways. He treats us differently, but we’re different people with different relationships; that’s not better or worse. That’s not Mateo turning on her. You guys are all being alarmist and I hate it.”
“You can’t still be that naïve about him, Mia. You can’t be. There’s no way.”
“I’m not being naïve. Things are a lot calmer with you gone. Mateo doesn’t flex his evil when there’s no provocation. He likes the calm. He likes the peace. He enjoys the life we’ve all made together. The business side of things is in-hand, he has a good, loyal group around him now, and he has the women he loves to come home to. Life is pretty good for him. Or, it was, until you took me. I have no idea what life’s like for him now.”
She’s glum by the end of that, and I decide it’s time to stop talking about him. Planting doubts is fine, but letting her drift back into worrying about him is not.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I tell her evenly. “Perks of having two lovers—he still has one to keep him company.”
Mia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s barely even noticed me missing—definitely. That sounds right.”
“I’m not saying that. But he’s fine.”
“I wish I could talk to him.” She looks up at me now, flashing me those big blue eyes. I have to bite back a smile if she thinks she’s being subtle. “Maybe you could just let me call him from a burner? Not to tell him where I am, but just that I’m okay, so he knows I haven’t been hurt.”
“Nice try,” I tell her, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
She remains soft and earnest. “But I wouldn’t tell him anything—you know I won’t if I say I won’t.”
“That’s not going to happen, Mia. You’ve betrayed me for him before, and I’m not about to give you the opportunity to do it again. There’s literally no chance. I don’t trust you enough.”
“I don’t want him to hurt you, Vince,” she tells me earnestly, holding my gaze. “I never wanted that. I still don’t want that. If you’d let me make contact, I’d promise not to say anything to compromise you. I could just tell him I’m alive and okay, and just hear his voice for a minute.”