A Love Most Fatal (Morelli Family #1)

13. Nate

13

NATE

I tried to stay awake to huff and puff around the room until someone got annoyed with my stomping and told Vanessa to come back, but the shock and adrenaline wore off in an hour leaving me exhausted. I told myself I’d only lie down for a little while, but woke hours later with a not-small amount of drool on the pillowcase beneath me and a new light coming through the thin curtains covering the balcony doors.

This really isn’t a room so much as it is a suite, one with its own bathroom, walk-in-closet, hardwood desk, ornate chair, and a settee.

When I’ve managed to rub the sleep out of my eyes, I peer out onto the balcony and see that it is a great wide one that extends on either side of the door, presumably connected to the other bedrooms on the floor. I am about to step out to investigate more when a gentle knock sounds. Ranger doesn’t bark, but does jump down from the bed to the settee to the floor and thumps his tail against the plush carpet.

I clear my throat before calling whoever it is to come in, and it takes a single glance to know that the woman who comes in must be Vanessa’s mother. She’s young, younger than my mom, and has the same black hair as Vanessa, only cut in a bob and peppered with gray streaks. There is nothing homely about her, like there’s nothing homely about her daughters. But her mother has a softness about her where Vanessa is hard lines and sharp glances.

“I brought you some lunch,” she says and holds up a tray like an offering. “I hope you like sandwiches.”

“Thank you,” I say, and take the tray from her before setting it on the desk. The metal tray holds way more than just a sandwich; I spy what looks like a plate of fruits and veggies, a bottle of apple juice, and maybe even a slice of carrot cake?

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was until right now.”

She searches my face, I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but she seems satisfied with what she finds and nods.

“Sorry about what happened to you,” she says. “Two boys in two months is a shame.”

I don’t correct her that it was in fact three, two the first time, one today, and it doesn’t really feel okay, so I don’t say it is. Ranger, ever polite, hasn’t barked but is positively shaking waiting for this woman’s attention. She notices him and a smile flits over her eyes.

“That’s Ranger,” I say, and she squats down to scratch his head, looking perfectly poised as she does.

“Well, you and Ranger come downstairs when you feel ready. This room is no cell.”

It’s another two hours before I take her up on that offer and venture downstairs with Ranger at my feet to find a backyard for him. I bring the tray full of empty plates down with me; it was maybe the best meal I’ve eaten in weeks, everything fresh and full of flavor. The sandwich had pesto and some melty cheese that makes my mouth water when I think about it now, and the cake. . . that carrot cake was on a different level of cakes, and if nobody is around, I may have to execute a heist of sorts to take the rest of it.

I walk slowly through the house, like someone might jump out at me and ask me what I’m doing down here, but there’s not a person to be seen sitting beneath the chandelier in the dining room, nobody cooking in the kitchen outfitted for a small team of chefs, no signs of life in a cozy living room other than an unfolded blanket on the gray couch. It doesn’t take long to find a door to the massive backyard. Ranger and I snoop around the perimeter, him giving everything a thorough sniffing inspection.

There are two additional buildings here, a guest house and a small greenhouse. I peer into the latter but don’t investigate. I stroll by some garden beds, and trellises of vines with little green grapes growing on the stems. Also, there’s a covered pool, and nearly as much outdoor furniture as I have indoor furniture in my entire apartment.

This kind of yard would’ve felt like magic to me when I was a kid. Even now, I’m not positive that there isn’t fantastical life hiding between the trees at the perimeter of the yard, but the events of the last ten hours sully the grandeur of the place.

I suppose this is what blood money can get you: a gorgeous house with a spectacular yard and comfortable beds. That’s why crime rates are so high. Somehow, the thought only serves to make me angrier, an indignant rage scorching between my bones.

I leave Ranger lying in a patch of sunshine and march back into the house. I’m looking for Vanessa, or the big bodyguard guy, or anyone who can explain to me what the fuck is going on, but again I find no one.

I do stumble upon an office, one with a thick rug, high ceilings, and a tidy fireplace. I decide immediately that it must be Vanessa’s. It’s sleek but well-used. Put together and tidy, but the photos on the wall and around the room give the personal touch of someone who loves their family.

Plus, it smells like her, which frustrates me further. Whatever perfume she wears is rich and floral and tingles in my nose.

It’s warm in here, the yellow afternoon light casting through the window onto plush carpet. It bounces beneath my feet, and I belatedly slip off my shoes and hold them by the backs in one hand. I can imagine her at the desk, shoulders just bent forward, lower lip between her teeth while she concentrates. The idea is almost too human for what I’ve worked her up to be in my head.

Larger than life. A villain.

Now would be a good time to poke around her desk, but I’ve never been so good at snooping. The thought alone of sneaking around and getting caught knocks up my heart rate and makes my palms sweat.

On her desk sits a little gold frame holding a family picture. Vanessa has a bright youth in her eyes, she was a teenager, maybe, and she is crowded next to who I recognize as Artie’s mom, Willa in a bright white gown. There’s another smaller sister, too—I guess Mary—and on either side of them are their parents. It’s a beautiful photo, not posed by a photographer as much as pulled together in a moment. Her dad has a glass of wine in his hand and is looking at his girls like he couldn’t be happier with them.

They look so alive, so full of love and joy. Her dad doesn’t look like an evil criminal—just like a man. A dad with graying hair and a mustache. He looks fancier than my father, but my dad shops almost exclusively at Costco, so that isn’t difficult.

I stare at the photo for multiple minutes before I decidedly place it back on the desk, retrieve Ranger from outside, and retreat into the room to wait. I don’t need to be snooping around this place, finding things that make her look less like a monster; that’s in fact the opposite of what I need.

Ranger settles in a spot by the door, almost wistfully, huffing.

I wait.

When I venture downstairs again a few hours later, there is someone in the kitchen moving about, cooking something that is making my stomach garble. I creep past them hoping to evade their notice as I seek out Vanessa. I don’t find her immediately, but I do open doors at random to two bathrooms and a laundry room before I reach one that is partially open already, music streaming from inside.

I don’t knock, I just use my pointer finger on the handle to slowly pull open the door and it swings outward to reveal a staircase down to what I can only assume is a murder dungeon. I steel myself before descending and when I get there, murder dungeon doesn’t seem that far off.

The floor and walls are concrete, there’s this big home gym set up and a couple of closed doors that I imagine lead to plexiglass psycho cells. Like on that Netflix show about the stalker, but more than one of them for double the murdering.

I do find Vanessa, and she’s wearing a tight little workout set and beating the absolute shit out of a punching bag in the corner. She doesn’t hear me when I come in, but how could she over the 2000s divorced dad rock playing over the speakers?

It appears that working out is higher on her list of priorities than, oh I don’t know, explaining to me why my life has been sent through a garbage disposal. She owes me an explanation, or at least an apology, but here she is, throwing her whole body into punching that bag, her ass looking ridiculously good while doing so.

I watch for a moment too long before remembering my mission and how much of a menace she is, and I force my eyes decidedly away.

There’s a complicated sound system and I fiddle with it, accidentally turning it up louder before cutting the song completely.

Vanessa lobs a few more combos on the bag before finally turning around to look at me. She doesn’t look surprised, which pisses me off more. It’s not like she’d forgotten; would she have even come to find me if I hadn’t sought her out?

I prop my hands on my hips, and look only at her face, not her tan skin shining with sweat. “Where have you been?”

Vanessa uses her teeth to undo the velcro on one of her gloves and then pulls off the other before tossing them onto a bench. I can’t help but notice that she looks exceptionally tired, a weight about her face that would almost make me feel a sting of compassion for her if she wasn’t the reason there may still be a dead man strung up in my bathroom, dripping his guts onto my new bottle of shampoo.

“Working,” she says.

I scoff, I can’t help it. I’m still not entirely sure what her job is, but I doubt an afternoon workout constitutes work payable. Vanessa unwraps a long wrap from her hands as I approach, and she hardly glances up as I do.

“What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day? Think you can squeeze me in, or should I just keep watching TV in your guest room?”

“Nate,” she bites, and it sounds like a warning.

I decide to dive straight into it: “Am I ever going to be able to go back to my apartment again? Did you do the same thing with Tony that you did the last two guys?”

She looks pained at the reminder, her eyes shutting on a wince. Invoking his name reminds me of the way he was left, and my stomach lurches, all that red coming to mind.

“We took care of it,” she says, and there’s that mask of indifference I saw earlier, that icy wall she puts up to hide what she’s feeling. I want to smash it. What little is left of my composure snaps.

“How? Chopping him up and throwing away the little meat pieces? You were vague the last time this happened and now look where that landed us.”

“It’s better if you know less?—”

“Who does that protect, me or you?”

Vanessa’s hands fist at her sides as she glares at me, but I don’t stop there.

“And do tell, is this how all your first dates end up? Or do they usually not live long enough to meet the family? I should consider myself lucky .”

“Jesus, Nate?—”

“And please enlighten me, do you often pretend to be a normal human to unassuming men you meet? Or do they end up in the meat grinder, too?”

Vanessa twists away from me and slams one of her palms on the punching bag before putting her hands on the back of her head and walking across the gym. Her back is rigid, and I can’t see her face.

I go on, because I can’t let shit rest and I’m desperate for her to admit that she’s feeling anything as horrible as I’ve been since walking into my apartment this morning. “I deserve to know what the fuck is going on if I am just as likely to die any day.”

Vanessa stalks back to me until she’s just in front of me. Without her heels she has to look farther up to meet my eyes.

“Do you want to know where I just was?” she asks, and her voice is steady. The punching bag sways on its chain. I want to say something else about her blazing around the city shooting people, but something about her tone gives me pause.

“No guesses?” She turns her head so I can see the side of her face. When I still say nothing, she turns back to me and there’s no hiding the sting in her eyes, the glassiness on the surface. “I sat with a couple as they wept to learn that their youngest son would need a funeral. Closed casket,” her voice waivers on the last bit, but she keeps it together, looking just past me.

“He died because he was protecting you ,” she says. “Because I asked him to. Because I couldn’t help myself. Because I just had to go to that wedding with you.”

Vanessa’s voice is so quiet, but in the stillness of this concrete room, it feels enormous.

“So, I’m sorry, Nate, if I didn’t think to run home to fill you in on all of my comings and goings.”

I have the wherewithal to be chagrined.

Vanessa takes a big breath and I watch her chest rise and fall with the motion.

She pulls her shoulders back and meets my eyes again. That mask is back, but there’s a crack in the foundation now.

My comeback, whatever it might have been, gets caught in my throat. I still want to say something to fill the silence, something mean or hurtful, but she feels bad enough, it’s written all over her face.

“Dinner’s ready,” someone says from behind us. My gaze snaps to the base of the stairs where a young woman who looks mostly like Vanessa leans against the wall shooting fire at me with her eyes. Like if I was a village, I might be pillaged and burnt to the ground after one glare.

“Thanks,” Vanessa says. She goes to brush past me but stops at my side. “We’ll talk after we eat.”

“Right,” I whisper and follow the two of them up the stairs to dinner.