A Love Most Fatal (Morelli Family #1)

28. Nate

28

NATE

The day after my one and only night with Vanessa, I am reasonably exhausted, but because I am in the employ of the Morelli family, there is no rest.

Vanessa got ready after probably three hours of sleep and was out of the house on family business with Mary before 9 AM. I pulled myself together enough to interview three men from different crime families and was admittedly too smug writing down clever notes about each of them to laugh about with Vanessa later.

Then we met Mary for another shooting lesson and, unfortunately, I don’t think I’m getting any better at guns. I know how I’m supposed to hold my body now; the way my legs should stand in different shooting stances, how high my arms should be, and where my eyes should be looking, but something in me always seizes when I pull the trigger. If I really focus, I can get the bullet near to where I want it on the paper, but there’s always a wince or recoil that puts me just slightly off target.

Leo is always nice about it, giving practical advice about aim and form and otherwise cheering me on. Mary is not so gentle of a teacher, but she’s got a damn good shot, so I am inclined to listen to her.

“Stop holding your breath,” she says and thumps her fist on my shoulder. “Again.”

I steady myself, shoot the large handgun again, my wrist sore from all the rounds I’ve already gone through. This shot hits worse than the last.

Mary releases a belabored sigh. “Put the gun down.”

I do as she says without question. The less I have to hold the gun, the better. It’s like a live wire in my hand.

“Look at me.”

I turn my whole body to look at Mary. She’s the smallest of the Morelli sisters, but she doesn’t hold herself like she’s aware of that. She could be ten feet tall the way her eyes blaze.

“Could you shoot a person? If worse came to worse, could you hold that up to someone and pull the trigger?”

My mouth is dry at the very idea, it makes my stomach roll over to imagine. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know,” Mary says. “You have to decide what you can live with to protect the people you care about.”

This is the most words I’ve heard her speak at once since moving in with the Morellis. She speaks well, deliberate and with utmost gravity to her words. This is life or death she’s talking about.

“So? Could you shoot a person?”

I think about my parents and Jenna, who I know would bail me out of any situation, but would they kill for me? Would I kill for them?

“If I had to do it, if there was no other way to protect them, I think I could do it,” I say, then correct myself, “I could do it. I would.”

Mary nods. Her full attention on me, I can spot all the ways she and Vanessa are alike and different, their brown eyes aren’t the same shade but they sit beneath their brows in similar shapes. Their noses slope alike, but have different ends. Mary has more freckles, she looks younger, though harder. She is unfazed by questions like these.

“Pick up the gun.”

I do as I’m told, first reloading it and then turning to the target which she brings closer using the button next to the stall.

“Close your eyes.”

This I am opposed to because I am still afraid of what Mary could do to me if I’m off my guard (hell, even if I am on my guard, she’d fuck me up), but I’m too tired to be contrarian.

“Someone has broken into your home,” she starts, not unlike when I’m interviewing men. I crack one eye open and she glares at me. “A man five times your size. He is about to plunge the largest knife you’ve ever seen into your father’s chest. Tell me what you do, and then do it.”

My dad, who’s going on an Alaskan cruise this fall that he can’t wait for.

“I shoot the man’s hand. The one holding the knife,” I say before opening my eyes, focusing on the upper left target and shooting. It’s not in the center, but it’s closer than the other shots.

“The man is hurt, but now he’s pissed, too. He storms towards you.”

I swallow what saliva I can. “I shoot him again, this time in the chest.” I move the gun, shoot again, this time in the center target.

“Nice shot, you hit a lung.”

This is the first praise I’ve heard from Mary and it’s a surprising delight. She hits the button to move the target another five yards away.

“Move faster. There’s someone about to shoot your mother in the upper right.”

I take only a moment to focus before shooting; it doesn’t meet the target, so I lineup one immediately after and shoot again, then one more time for good measure. Two of them hit.

She moves the target farther again, I squint at it, my mind already creating gruesome visages of my loved ones and what could happen to them. It’s the stuff my nightmares are made of, the kind of thing I avoid thinking about at all costs.

“Three men stand between you and my sister, she’s?—”

I don’t even hear the rest of the scenario, already aiming and shooting the upper two targets then the middle one, pulling the trigger with precision three times before emptying the rest of the magazine into the middle target. I’m panting when it clicks open, no ammo left to shoot.

Hot bullet shells scatter around my feet.

When I look to Mary, my chest is still racing through breaths, up and down. There is something knowing on her face, and something like respect there. I know she will not ask about this, nor bring it up.

“Again, this time with the .45,” Mary says, already moving the target.

I’m pacing around my bedroom, my cock indecently hard even though I just jacked off about ninety minutes ago, when there’s a tiny knock on my door. I move my cock under the band of my sweatpants so I’m not tenting whoever’s on the other side.

I hope it’s Leo here to tell me that despite the late hour, we need to run five miles. Boss’ order. But no, it’s the boss herself, the reason I’ve had to relieve myself twice since waking up in her bed this morning. She’s wearing wool socks even though it’s the middle of June, and a hunter green silky night dress with little loose sleeves and I want to take it from her and hide it where she will never find it so I can keep it until I die. I’ll be buried with it.

Green is my new favorite color.

“Hi,” she whispers even though my only neighbor in the hall is Mary who is still in the basement probably sharpening knives or whatever scary shit she does down there for another hour.

“Hi,” I say. She teeters on the balls of her feet at the doorway and her eyes are a bit wild, her face is cleaned of any makeup, like she was about to go to bed but came to knock on my door instead.

“Last night?—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” I rush to say. “It’s okay, really. Water under the bridge. Consider it over and done.”

“No, stop it. I mean, it’s night again.”

I nod, but I don’t follow. “It is.”

If she’s not here to tell me we should forget all about the otherworldly sex we had last night, then am I forgetting something? Some appointment we made?

“Do you. . . want to watch a movie, or?”

“It’s night again,” she says, emphatic. “It’s tonight again.”

The flush on her neck is traveling towards her face and my eyes fixate on where her teeth bite her lower lip.

I do not dare let myself think she means what I hope she does. “It . . . is tonight again.”

“Just tonight,” she reminds. I nod because holy fuck she is saying what I thought she was saying.

“Just tonight,” I agree, and catch her legs around my waist before her mouth crashes into mine. I kick the door shut behind us and deposit Vanessa onto my bed where I plan to, once again, get way too few hours of sleep.