Once Burned (Morelli Family, #3) by Sam Mariano

Author:Sam Mariano [Mariano, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

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As the last strains of Life on Mars? drift off into the brief silence before the next track plays, I turn the radio off. The only thing worse than listening to music in the car is having to get out before a song finishes. Vince and Joey should be here any minute, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve made someone wait for me to finish a song before I get out, but I’m not in the mood for it today.

My mood today is black. Even the sight of Elise’s bare body curled up in bed beside me this morning failed to make me feel lighter. Breakfast with Mateo made it all worse, and now I just want to get this shit over with.

I decide to head inside. They know where I’ll be. It’s not unusual to gather here, to talk in the back room Mateo likes. He makes us sweep the damn building for bugs weekly. I don’t know how he stays so concerned about that shit. I’ve been in this life so long, I hardly even think about the police anymore. They’re nothing. Not for us. Mateo invests enough money in them—frankly, they should send him a Christmas card every year for how much he gives, not just to the individual cops on his payroll, but to the department itself. Mateo knows how to make the right friends, I’ll give him that.

Me, I’m not much for making friends. I could never do what Mateo does. I don’t like people enough, and he has more inherent charisma in his thumb than I have overall.

That’s what makes us a good team though. He keeps things running smoothly with his god-given talents; I keep things under control with mine.

Speaking of things I need to keep under control, Vince and Joey finally come strolling in.

I turn to look at my chair.

Not my chair, like the one I’m going to sit in, but my chair.

See, there’s a lot to be said about mixing things up. It’s good to have the edge of unpredictability, it’s good when people don’t know what to expect from you. But there’s also something to be said for having something dependable, some unbending part of your routine—something that strikes fear into the hearts of hardened, grown fucking men.

For me, it’s my chair.

Nothing fancy, nothing special, just a rusty, once-gray fold-up chair that sits along the cement wall in this old abandoned building. A light hangs over it for dramatic effect, blood stains on the legs, since I don’t see the point in cleaning it every time, and I like the dread it stirs in the people who notice.

No one’s worried about cleanliness when they take a seat in this chair. After all, no one ever leaves my chair alive.

Joey’s eyebrows knit together as he glances around the empty room, expecting to see more than just me.

Vince shifts uneasily, his gaze moving to the chair like he knows.

They both should’ve known.

I could’ve moved a second chair over there in

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