Last Words (Morelli Family 7)

“He’s not a polygamist, he’s an asshole.”

“I told her it was unlikely. She still holds out hope,” Carly states.

“You’re both crazy. Certifiable.”

“I want to talk to Mia, too. I want to work out how her brain functions.”

“If you figure that one out, you’ll be the first,” I assure her.

“Also, Adrian.”

“I shouldn’t tell you so many Morelli tales. I promise you, none are as interesting as you think they are.”

“Your cousin is like a time-traveler. Owning people and domineering over his multiple spouses while serving cigars and brandy in the study before formal dinner. I want to go to there.”

“I promise, you do not. And there are no pre-dinner cigars. That’s a poker game thing.”

“It all sounds very cool from a safe distance,” she states.

“Yes, speaking as someone whose life he ruined, let me tell you how cool he is.”

Carly tilts her head back, looking unimpressed. “Speaking as your current girlfriend, I’d like to invite you to alter that stupid thing you just said.”

I smile at the lunatic snuggled up against me and lean down to give her a kiss. “Fine, I guess my life isn’t so bad.”

“Better, but not great.”

“I love you?”

She smiles. “Much better.”

“I love you and your Easter egg wreath.”

Looping her arm around my neck, her smile grows to a grin. “Yes! I knew you were perfect, you just needed a little dusting off.”

I roll my eyes, but she crushes her lips against mine and I forget to tell her what a giant nerd she is. It’s hard to tell her she’s a nerd though, since she follows up by dragging my shirt off, sliding down my body, and working absolute magic with her mouth.

“Your turn,” I tell her, pushing her back on the couch and climbing on top of her.

“Yes, sir,” she says, tugging off her sweater and tossing it on the floor.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

“No,” Carly objects. “Tell them you’re not coming in. You have better things to do. Namely, me.”

We had a no-call, no-show this week, so I’ve been picking up extra shifts. Carly’s right though, I don’t see any good reason to stop what I’m doing here.

I frown at the display. No one from work calls me from an unknown number.

Unease crawls down my spine and I’m tempted to ignore the call.

“What’s wrong?” Carly asks, a faint frown of concern on her pretty face.

I hit ignore.

“Nothing,” I tell her, shaking my head. “It’s not work. Probably someone telling me I won a fucking cruise again.”

That makes her smile. “Hey, I wouldn’t say no to a cruise. We could hit up the Caribbean. Spend a few days on the beach. Maybe you should tell them you’re on board next time.”

The phone rings again.

Unknown number.

“You better answer it,” Carly advises. “They’ll just keep calling.”

I sit back on my heels, staring at the screen. Too many horrible scenarios fly through my head, but I tell myself maybe it’s just a wrong number. It’s not Adrian, calling to tell me he’s outside but he doesn’t want to splatter my pretty girlfriend’s brains all over the wall, so I need to make an excuse and get away.

It’s just a wrong number.

I touch the button and accept the call, bringing the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

The deep voice on the other end is calm and collected, the tone of someone who doesn’t let anyone haunt his fucking dreams. It’s also the voice that shows up in every one of mine. “Hello, Vince.”

I close my eyes, blood rushing through my veins, blocking my ability to hear, to think. Pure adrenaline shoots through me. My grip on the phone tightens. My nails bite into the palm of my free hand as it clenches into a fist. Fury like I haven’t felt in a while unfurls inside me—helpless fucking fury.

It’s over.

It’s all over.

My time is up.

I finally stumble into some happiness, and the asshole fucking finds me.

I don’t answer, but he keeps talking because the arrogant fucker knows I didn’t hang up on him. “Your father’s dead,” he states, without emotion. “You need to come back to Chicago and make arrangements for him.”

I rear back slightly, confused. “What?”

Sighing impatiently, Mateo asks, “Have you forgotten how much I hate repeating myself, Vince? Take notes this time. Ben’s dead. You’re the only surviving son. Funeral arrangements need to be made. I’m not going to do it.”

“How fucking stupid do you think I am?” I ask him.

His tone is droll. “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

“I come back to Chicago, I’m dead.”

“If I wanted you dead, you would be,” he informs me. “I expect you here tomorrow. Adrian will call you later to tell you where we’re meeting. We have to clear you before you come to the house, of course.” He misses a beat, then adds, “Bring your girlfriend. I’m sure we’d all like to meet her.”