Page 48 of A Love Most Fatal
It doesn’t hurt at all, more of a light tap with the bouncy glove and he looks panicked like he might want to shower me in apologies, but Leo hoots and calls that he’s doing great.
“Again,” I say, and he does, a little harder this time. “Another.”
After three more hits, each stronger than the previous, I grin and put my gloves back up. Leo starts the timer, and we take turns sparring for the next half hour. At some point after going against Leo, Nate loses the shirt confirming that, while lean, he is in fact more cut than his baggy button-ups give him credit for. I blink a few times at the sight of his chest, which has more freckles and hair than I expected, then clear my throat and call for him to switch and fight with Mary next.
He’s the most afraid to fight her; she pulls her punches the least and is relentless on the offense, but it makes him less reserved; he hits harder and quicker which is exactly what I hoped would happen.
I’m sure that they would both hate to admit it, but he’ll learn the most from her.
When we call it for the day, Nate’s face is sunburn red and his hair wet with sweat as he sits on the mat nursing a bottle of water.
“Good work today,” I say. “Tomorrow, we do 6 AM.”
“You’re kidding,” he groans and looks to Leo for sympathy. “She’s kidding, right? Do you hate yourselves?”
“We have to stay sharp,” I say. “You too if you’re going to be interviewing mafiosos.”
This makes the men sound more dangerous than they are—the men Nate will be interviewing are mostly kind of losers, but losers with guns. If he can fight better than them, he’ll be fine, and with us teaching him, he will.
“Get cleaned up for dinner. Artie and Angel are coming and they’re going to have a lot of questions for you.”
17
NATE
After three daysof training with the Morellis in their murder basement, movement of any kind is a torture. I want to say that I can tell I’m already getting stronger, but I just feel like I’ve been through a few turns in a taffy stretcher.
I am ready to collapse into my bed after dinner, but Vanessa has other plans: a crash course on the Morelli Family. Artie and Angel are sent to what I refer to as the fancy living room (it has no television) with bowls of ice cream and their video games while the rest of the family spreads out in the comfortable living room (the onewitha television).
Willa, previously only known to me as Mrs. Donovann-Morelli is here with her husband Sean who I’d never met formally. His hair is practically white it’s so blonde and he watches his wife like she’s the center of the universe. Seems nice.
Willa hooks up a laptop to the television for her presentation titled “Finding Mr. Morelli.”
“Let’s begin,” Willa says. She stands next to the television, a little remote in her hand like the one I use in class for my PowerPoints. “Nate, if you have questions, don’t hesitate.”
“Great,” I say and sit up a little taller. I am in the middle of the long sofa between Claire—the matriarch Morelli—and Leo,trying not to spill my coffee on either of them or the couch which must run for more than half of my salary. Sean leans back in the lounge to our left, Vanessa on the love seat to our right, and Mary on the ground in front of her. A real family movie night.
Willa moves to progress to the next slide but stops. “Where’s your notebook?”
I jolt and reach for the journal on the ground in front of me, spilling a bit of coffee on my leg in the process. I look for a table to rest the mug, but can’t quite reach it, and really everyone is staring at me now, so I offer the mug to Leo who grunts before taking it.
I open the notebook and click my pen. “Right. Ready.”
Willa clicks to the first slide, a family picture that I recognize as the one framed on Vanessa’s desk from Willa’s wedding.
“You’ve met all of us except for Dad,” everyone bows their head briefly in remembrance and it seems like the right thing for me to follow suit. Willa clicks the remote. “Here is a larger family tree.”
She clicks to the next slide which has a diagram detailing all extended family; uncles, cousins (an incredible number of cousins), and some grandparents.
“For obvious reasons, no one on this tree will be considered as potential marriage candidates for Ness. This said, many of these—” Willa’s remote doubles as a laser pointer, which she now uses to circle the further parts of the tree. “—people have cousins not related to us by blood that they will want to be considered.”
“Right,” I sit up straighter and lean forward. I’m not sure what to write in my notebook, so I just scrawl and underline ‘cousins’ and return my attention to the screen. Willa progresses to the next slide.
“Here is the preliminary list of men my mother has put together based on conversations with the other Ma’s.” The slideshows about fifteen photos of various Italian or Irish men and their names beneath. I count four named “Nicky”.
Mary stands and, from a black leather tote, pulls out a stack of manila envelopes much like the one Vanessa gave me and drops them on my lap.
“Review details about them before your interviews. It’s important that they believe you know exactly who they are.”