When he annoys me, I want to withhold things from him, like nickname rights for instance.
I refrain.
“Rafael is never far, and he’s got a gun. I’m fine,” he adds.
We had the young gangster get a job at Nate’s school to be a line of defense for Nate and the twins, but it was mostly to keep Rafael out of trouble. I think we all feel responsible for him after what happened to his brother Tony last year.
Rafael considers it a big honor though, and takes both his job cleaning the school and protecting the three Morellis there very seriously.
“Why do I need a gun anyway if it’s just a drop?”
“Sometimes drops go bad, stupid.” We’ve just pulled onto the highway when Vanessa calls, her voice coming through the car speakers.
“Did you do the drop?” my sister asks.
“Not yet. Just picked up Nate.”
“Hi, angel,” Nate chimes, louder than necessary. “Mary’s in a pissy mood again.”
“Literally not true,” I intone. This is my standard mood.
“Do you have your gun?” Vanessa asks Nate, and I raise my eyebrows at him. He sighs dramatically.
“I brought him one.” I point to the center console and he opens the hatch to find the pistol I stowed for him there.
“Are you sure you’re good? We can push it back until Leo is free if you need,” Vanessa says, ever worried about her husband’s tender sensibilities.
“Oh, please, he’s fine.” We watched the man shoot Cillian in the head last year—he’ll be okay.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nate says.
Vanessa sighs. “Alright. Stay safe and stay sharp. I love you both.”
“Love you,” I say at the same time as Nate gives a “Love you, baby” before the line clicks off.
“Where’s Mr. Orlov?” Nate asks. He hates comfortable silence.
“I have no idea.” There are still ten days until our wedding, which means ten more days of my own Morelli freedom before I become Mrs. Orlov. After the drive by, he insisted I bring one of his guards or Leo with me everywhere I go, but that would be rather excessive.
“I’m surprised he let you out of his sight. Guy watches you like you’re a flight risk.”
“I thought you liked him,” I say. Nate was obsessed with Maxim last time I checked. He should’ve married him, then, if he likes him so much.
“Oh, I do. Someone needs to watch you like a hawk. God knows you don’t watch your own back.”
I only squint in response.
“So how are you liking him then?” Nate asks.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s your fiancé, you’re marrying him in a week and a half. How do you like him?”
“I don’t feel for him at all,” I say, though that’s not entirely true. I feel mild annoyance when he stares at me like he’s trying to decode a riddle written across my eyes. I feel contempt when he indicates that I’m not capable of doing my job without one of his goons at my side, as if I haven’t been working for years. I feel begrudging attraction to him and a general pull into his orbit.
“You don’t like him?”
“I don’t dislike him. He’s okay.”
