Last Words (Morelli Family 7)

None of the men at the table have anything to say to one another that should be said at the dinner table, so we just let them go and eat in relative silence. I don’t talk, Adrian doesn’t talk, and Mateo just observes everything.

When he observes my hand on Carly’s, he must interpret it as a show of strength, evidence that he hasn’t adequately crushed me beneath the heel of his loafer. He steeples his hands for a moment, lost in thought, then he bends down beside the table where Mia was fiddling with her purse before we sat down. I imagine him pulling his gun out and aiming it at me, telling me it’s been fun catching up, then firing a bullet into my chest as Carly’s blood-curdling scream becomes the last sound I ever hear.

That doesn’t happen.

Mia stops talking to Carly to see what he’s doing. Mia and Mateo exchange a look. She looks reluctant. He gives her a push without saying or doing anything, just by looking at her.

Mia sighs, then turns and bends over to reach in the floor beside her chair.

I hear a noise. Then another noise. Then Mia lifts a baby in a little suit from the space, settling him against her chest and placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Hey, little guy,” she murmurs, quietly, before kissing his head again.

The toothless baby grins up at her and touches her face.

She smiles down at him like he’s the light of her life.

Mia is a mom.

Mia has a baby.

Mia and Mateo have a baby.

“Oh, my God,” Carly says, looking at the baby. “He’s wearing a little suit!”

Mia looks over at Carly and grins. “I know, right? Dom, say hi.”

The baby, apparently named Dom, shoves his fist in his mouth and looks around. His gaze settles on Carly. She looks the most like his mom, so he pulls his fist out of his mouth and gives her a big smile.

Carly clutches her heart. “I can’t handle it. He’s too cute.”

Mia glows. “He is. I’m not even modest about it. He’s the cutest little person who has ever been a person, I’m pretty sure.”

Carly smiles and leans over to wave at Dom. “Hi, cutie. I’m Carly.” Looking over the baby, Carly then looks at Mia and says, “Wow, he got nothing from you.”

Mia chuckles. “He got my disposition. Trust me. Mateo’s son—Mateo’s other son, Roman, he’s much more demanding. Dom is a sweetheart. He’s all smiles and giggles—except when he’s trying to steal stuff, but he’s so cute about it, you can’t even be mad.”

Carly grins at Dom. “Are you a little thief?”

He squeals at her, still with his gummy little grin.

“That’s okay,” Carly assures him. “I’ll give you whatever you want. You’re adorable.”

I finally tear my gaze away from the baby and the only two women I’ve ever loved long enough to look at Mateo. I expect him to be watching them, to be watching Mia with his son, as in awe as I would be, but he’s watching me. I frown, not bothering to hide my confusion.

He turns his attention to Mia and the baby.

What’s the point of bringing his baby to dinner? Mateo doesn’t allow little kids at dinner unless it’s a special occasion. Does he really want to crush me all at once? Why bring the baby when he’s making me go back to his house after we leave here? Wouldn’t it have been more natural for me to see the baby at home, in its natural environment?

Of course it would. Maybe he wants to fully test me before he brings me to the house. Maybe he still has lingering doubts that I would try to take Mia, so he’s throwing every card down on the table. Telling me, “Hey, remember when you kidnapped Mia? Yeah, well, I married her and put a baby in her as soon as she got back, asshole.”

Actually, wait a minute. I don’t know how old that baby is, but he really didn’t waste any time. Pregnancy takes nine months. Mia wasn’t pregnant in Vegas.

“Mia, how old is that baby?”

It’s the first time I’ve addressed her—we’ve been attempting to pretend we can’t see each other—and I realize the question came out more aggressively than I intended.

Mia’s stricken gaze meets mine. She looks like she wants the floor to open up and swallow her. I know that look, and I know it well: guilt. “Uh, Dom—” She pauses and clears her throat. “Dominic is almost four months old.”

Almost four months. So three months. Plus nine months.

I kidnapped Mia a year ago.

All the blood rushes to my head, raging through my ears until it’s all I can hear.

It’s not possible. It’s not fucking possible. There’s no way.

I push the chair back and Adrian stands, staring me down.

“I want to look at the baby,” I state.