“Cherie was never really a maid,” Maria explains. “She’s related to them. And she was never overly fond of Mateo, but now…”
“Right.” I nod, my heart heavy. “Is she okay? I’ve been so lost in my own grief; I didn’t even think to check on her.”
“It hit her very hard,” Maria says. “She and Vince were close.”
“I know they were.” Sadness rolls over me again, remembering Vince and Cherie together at school. All of us playing together in the pool over the summer. God, Vince looked good wet.
Now I’m sad again.
I help take out the salads before I take my usual seat next to Mateo and across from Meg. I’m keenly aware of the empty seat beside me though, and I was already sad, so I’m not an ideal dinner companion tonight.
Mateo watches me on occasion, and I don’t know why. There are too many possibilities. Maybe he’s wondering if I missed him in my bed last night. Maybe he popped into his surveillance room to see what I did without him and saw me sobbing over Vince. Maybe it’s something I just haven’t thought of yet, because my brain doesn’t have as many open tabs as his does. Who knows? It’s always something with him.
Meg is on her game, though. She’s in a good mood. Probably because he was in her bed instead of mine last night. I can’t blame her for that. I’ve been monopolizing him.
I thought it would be a lot stranger to think about him sleeping with both of us. I’m super possessive; it would’ve pissed me off to think of someone with Vince. I didn’t even like the idea of Meg with Mateo when I first met her, before we were friends, when she was a maid and started asking me all those weird-ass questions. Maybe it’s because we became friends first. Maybe it’s because I sort of hate him still. I don’t know. I’m not going to question my good luck on the matter, because it would not serve me to be jealous in this scenario.
As soon as dinner’s over, Mateo summons me. When he leads me down the hall toward the study, I balk. “I’m not going in there.”
“We’re going to my room,” he states.
My heart drops. “Your room? Meg’s room? Why?”
“I have something I want to give you, and it’s in my room.” Glancing back at me as we approach the stairs, he says, “You’re still allowed in our room. Everything doesn’t have to be kept strictly separate.”
It feels wrong to occupy Meg’s space alone with him, though. It’s not worth putting up a fight over, but it makes me uncomfortable.
At least, I thought I was uncomfortable. Then he opens up this little gold box and pulls out the necklace that used to hang around Meg’s neck, the one he took from her when he gave her the engagement ring.
I stare at it, wide-eyed. “Meg’s death necklace?”
He rolls his eyes as he unclasps it. “I really wish she wouldn’t have called it that. It’s a locket.”
“The one all the dead women wore,” I point out, since I’ve heard this story.
He nods, not even bothering to argue. “Did anyone tell you about Belle, my father’s first wife?”
“I’ve heard some things,” I say, eyeing the necklace uncertainly. “Do I have to wear this? I feel like this necklace is the opposite of a good luck charm.”
“She didn’t want to be with my father,” he summarizes. “But it didn’t matter, because he wanted to be with her.”
“Morelli trap 101, I’m familiar,” I murmur, nodding.
“She worked at the bakery. She met a man there—a nice man, a man who made her laugh, a man who wasn’t as dark and twisted as the Morelli men.”
I sigh heavily, my shoulders drooping. This is about Mark.
“She had an affair with him. Fell for him. Ran off with him. It ended badly. My father found them. Lots of murder. Lots of retribution. It was tragic.”
“You should really put together a Morelli study guide for us ladies to look over before we make the colossal mistake of fucking one of you,” I inform him.
A hint of a smile plays out across his lips. “I’ll recommend it for the next generation.”
“Meg and I can design pamphlets.”
He ignores my comment now so he can finish his story. “Now, that man was a nobody. He really was just a baker. My father could’ve—and should’ve—just killed the bastard as soon as he realized she was fucking around. Problem solved.” He moves to stand in front of me, towering over me, and a wave of intimidation rolls over me. I lose my spunk. I forget I hate him. I remember he can be scary. I shrink under his dark gaze. “Your friend Mark is not a baker. He is not a nobody. He’s just enough of a somebody to be a thorn in my side. I could kill a baker with no repercussions. I cannot kill someone connected to the Castellanos family without repercussions, especially not a close friend of Salvatore’s. That would be like someone killing Adrian. I would rip their intestines out through their nose holes. The point is, I have invested a lot of time and a good deal of effort brokering peace with that family. People died on both sides. Lives were lost. I married my sister off to him. Now there’s peace. I want to keep that peace. I would appreciate, regardless of your current feelings for me, if you didn’t make that harder.”