A Love Most Fatal (Morelli Family, #1)

by Kath Richards

Leo, my head of security and favorite cousin, is standing by in the room, large and intimidating as ever, and I can tell he’s trying to hold back a smirk. He’s seen this song and dance as often as I have and knows what’s next. He calls it The Finisher because if the bit about monogamy doesn’t send the old men into a rage, this usually will.

“So, are you engaged, then?” Mary asks. “Please murder me if I’m ever desperate enough to agree to marry James Sinclair. And make it a slow death. Painful.”

“Sorry again,” I mouth, and she gives an absolutely lethal eye roll that I will be thinking about for the next three weeks while I shower and every time I close my eyes to sleep.

“Look, I am very embarrassed and would love to go hide in that closet there,” I choke out as I point at the little door in the back of my classroom, which makes her smile wider. “Can we start over? Like pretend some jackass in the parking lot didn’t just hit your very shiny, very nice car with his very old, environmentally conscious, baby blue Toyota?”

For once, I’ve been rendered speechless.

I stay sitting a moment longer before I nod and push up from the desk. I’m not used to men calling me entitled or spoiled, no matter how true either of these things may or may not be. It’s almost refreshing, being talked to as if I’m a normal, albeit unhinged, aunt and not someone that’s killed a number of people I will not disclose with my bare hands. I should feel embarrassed, put in my place. Instead, I’m fucking thrilled.

She’s got these tiny sunglasses slid low on her nose that she’s peering over with a smirk hinting at a shadow of a dimple into her cheek. As if her face isn’t already perfect, she needed to have a dimple. Sure.

The Garzas, the Orlovs, the Morellis, and the Donovanns run this city, each of us staying in our own lanes for the most part. Of course there are sub families, ones that report up, and every decade or so they get a hankering to play king of the hill and topple whosoever is on top. Those are some of the messiest problems to deal with because it’s not about taking out faceless strangers. That’s personal.

I break first, turning to look at the portrait of my parents over the fireplace. My dad’s large hand on my mom’s shoulder, protective even in the painting, his gaze daring anyone to touch her. Their love was epic, something my sisters and I used to daydream about, a love that started as duty but blossomed into something much larger. Our father was dear to us, and loyal to her. After having Willa and me, Mother almost died giving birth to Mary, and he never made her try for another. And though Leo was the obvious choice for heir—his nephew and godson is nearly as good as a son, and much of the clan expected him to—he didn’t doubt his daughters could handle it. He cared for and believed in us in a way that most men in this world are incapable of. I feel the familiar burn in my throat when I think too long about my father.

Before I reach the lobby, I spot Artie’s math teacher leaning against a wall typing on his phone, a school lanyard hanging around his neck. I see what Willa meant about him being weirdly hot. His light brown hair sits in messy waves and his shoulders are slightly pulled forward, but he’s got a sharp jaw with a shadow of a beard and, bad posture or not, he seems somewhat built. Not exceptionally tall, but at least six foot. He is handsome, I think. Not mafioso handsome, but most definitely math teacher handsome.

“Always,” he says. “But these booths live in the dark ages. Cash only.” “Oh?” He bobs his head in an exaggerated nod. “Luckily for me, I ran into someone who I have under good authority carries a number of large bills on her person at any given time.” I would balk at the audacity of this man if he wasn’t also somewhat amusing.

Thats cute

“And even if I did know many women, you might be the most beautiful one.” I blink at the relative ease in which this man just delivered a flirty compliment. Him calling me beautiful also makes my neck flush, but I will not be investigating why that is at this time.

I throw my hands up. “You’re kidding! The hypotenuse might be the most important thing they learn all year.” “Finally,” Nate breathes, “someone who gets me.”

Yall they are adorable

“You don’t have to dance with me, but I will be tearing up that dance floor for at least thirty minutes before we can leave.” Vanessa grins, a wild light on her face. “Lead the way.”

She scrapes the last bite of her ice cream, which is the most sugary atrocity I’ve ever seen: gummy bears, nerds, and sour gummy worms mixed into a strawberry ice cream.

Good lord

My mind paints a very clear fantasy, unbidden, in which Vanessa and I live in domestic bliss. I’ve quit my job, just for a few years, just until the youngest is in pre-school, and Vanessa runs the world all day before she comes home to be with me and our two babies. After the children are asleep, after a delicious dinner I made, unless we ordered in, we make love and in fact make another baby, a third, a girl who we name Vanessa Jr. She has my nose.

Man is so far gone for her

I am on the ground, the breath knocked from my lungs in the space of a breath. Another man has sprung for Vanessa, but she jumps from his reach. I want to move, to help defend her, but a boot lands on my chest and presses down before I can. “I’ll shoot him,” the man above me says, and Vanessa halts. The other man still approaches her. There’s a gun pointed toward my face, and I cough, trying to sputter some sort of surrender. I have two credit cards with decent, but not great, credit limits, but I’ll give them whatever they want.

pause, my finger hovering over the call button, and my hand is shaking. She comes close and looks me over, her fingers trailing over my face for a moment before she takes my phone and locks it. “It’s okay,” she says. “We’re okay.”