A Love Most Fatal (Morelli Family #1)

38. Nate

38

NATE

Three months ago, being at a party with a sea of Mafiosos, each strapped with guns or knives, or guns and knives, would’ve been the recipe for an anxious stomachache. Probably hives, too. I feel sickly now, but not because I’m afraid for my life and the life of my dog (though considering I interviewed half of them, and this party will be proof that I found them wanting, I suppose I should be more afraid one of them is looking to kill me this evening.)

Leo manifests by my side without sound, as is his way, holding two glasses of bubbly. “I’d get you something stronger, but I’m afraid a lot of men here will need it after this,” Leo says. We both laugh, but it’s a mirthless sound.

The way he’s looked at me the last week was nothing short of heartbroken for both me and Vanessa. He wears it all on his sleeve when he’s not being bodyguard supreme.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“Planning a speech with the Russian.” Nice of him not to call Maxim by name when I know he thinks the guy is awesome. Very loyal.

I’ll miss Leo when I’m shipped off to my parents’ house. Will I ever see him or speak to him again?

I notice an older gentleman in a brown suit standing alone, looking less than pleased to be here. It’s the prick with the drawn out project. Mr. McGowan? Last I heard, they were still hammering out his godforsaken contract, but the family probably invited him only because he’s about to line the Morelli’s pockets with a shit ton of money.

“Did the deal close?” I incline my head towards the man. Leo rolls his eyes.

“Wednesday it did. $430 mil. No time to celebrate.”

“Hm.”

We stand together as guests chatter around us. The backyard has been set up beautifully by decorators that swarmed the house this afternoon. Standing lamps and tables on the grass along with fresh flower arrangements. It’s a gorgeous party, with delicious food and drinks, but it makes my stomach turn remembering why we’re here.

Mary walks up to us, slow enough not to draw attention, though still rushing. “Leo,” she says in greeting. “Come inside for a second. Please.”

My instinct is to tag along, which is an urge I need to fight because I’m no longer a member of this team. This is family business, and Vanessa has made it clear that I am not going to be a part of that. The rejection doesn’t sting so much as it aches. Brutally, so.

Leo and Mary head back for the house and I meander over to the old man whose net worth must be absurd.

“Mr. McGowan,” I greet. There’s no recognition behind his eyes, no way he remembers me.

“Thank you, son,” he says, and takes my half-drunk champagne from my hand, having a sip. I pretend this was its intended destination.

“Nathaniel,” I remind him. “We met at the Mayor’s gala.”

“The teacher?” he says, and I nod. In this world, that is all I will ever be. Nothing more than a blip in their memories. The realization hurts more than it should.

“I hear my congratulations are in order regarding your building. A hotel?” I say.

“Mm.” McGowan raises his overgrown white eyebrows. “Yes, I’m looking forward to having a bit more space to . . . grow.”

I offer my most knowing look, the Boy’s Club one I practiced in all those interviews.

“I’m certain it will be the best quality, as they always are. Everything the Morellis touch turns to gold, after all.”

“I would hope so.” McGowan drains the rest of the glass and hands it back to me. “For $600 million, it better turn to diamonds.”

I stare at the man, about to correct him when he catches the eye of someone he knows and excuses himself. Surely he misspoke. No way would that man pay over $430 million after the fight he put up—but 600 ?

I looked over the contract early last week and we all gawked at the big number together, it most certainly wasn’t that big of a number.

There’s a tapping against glass, ringing out like a bell drawing everyone’s attention to Claire standing on the deck.

“Thank you all for being here,” she says with a wide smile on her face. “I am sure you’re all anxious to hear what’s brought us all together this evening.”

Everyone murmurs, some laughing and nodding.

“But first, food. Please, serve yourself, and enjoy.” She motions to the large buffet set up on the lawn and light applause comes from the family. Everyone is buzzing, out of their minds about why Vanessa Morelli would host a multicultural celebration in her home on a random Friday evening.

“I hear wedding bells,” someone says as they walk past me, and the barely formed scab on my heart is scratched anew. I don’t know that this one will ever heal over. When she announces their engagement will they kiss?

God.

I grab another glass from a table and take a long sip, wincing at the carbonation. This may just be the longest night of my life.