Obsessed with His Bride: A Possessive Mafia Romance

by B. B. Hamel

He interrupted me before I could finish. “I told you I don’t want anything from you, but it’s not safe for you out there.”

  I blinked for a moment. “My father’s dead. Why wouldn’t it be safe for me?”

  He frowned, like this actually pained him a little bit. He put his mug down on the counter and crossed his muscular arms over his ripped chest. “Until Vlas accepts my little peace offering, I have to assume that anyone related to your father is in danger. As far as I can tell, you’re the only person still in his life.”

  I flinched. “He had friends.”

  “He didn’t.” His face didn’t change as he spoke, but I could sense something beneath the words. “You were all he had, and he was willing to give you away just to save his own life.”

  I shook my head and leaned forward onto the island. “That was my idea. He just… he just let me.”

  He snorted. “Same thing. Look, you can leave if you want to, but if you go back into the city right now, I’m not sure I can protect you. Vlas is a stupid, brutish man that can’t think more than one step ahead, but he’s also violent and impulsive and vengeful. He’ll come after you just because it’ll make him feel better for a few minutes.”

  I continued to lean forward on the top of the island as his words slowly sunk in. “He’ll kill me,” I whispered.

  “Maybe,” Dante said with a gesture. “Or maybe not. I’m not going to take any chances, which is why you’re here. This place is a secret and I can keep a guy here to watch over you all the time. If you want to leave and take a chance on your own, I highly recommend you get the hell out of the city and go somewhere far from here. I bet Florida is nice right now.”

  I could hardly understand what he was saying. My heart was racing and I could hear the blood pulsing in my ears.

  “So I’m trapped,” I said.

  “Trapped,” he repeated and rubbed a palm along his face. “Something like that.”

  I looked up at him, anger flaring again, hot and deep. “Why are you doing this?”

  He looked away like he couldn’t handle my rage. “Frankly, I don’t know. I think you’re beautiful, and I like your anger. But you’re definitely a liability. If Vlas finds out I’ve been keeping you from him, that’ll only make him want you that much more.”

  “Then I’m better off leaving.” I sat up and stood. He didn’t move, just watched me again, his eyes narrowed.

  “No,” he said. “You’re not. You’re better off staying here and letting me take care of you.” He stepped toward me, moving away from the counter with a surprising grace.

  I balled my fists and watched him. He didn’t come closer, just moved into the center of the kitchen and stared at me, his eyes roaming my body. I hated him, hated him so much, but everything he said rang true. I didn’t think he was lying to me, and I really did believe that he felt bad for me. Men like Dante didn’t become a Capo without having some kind of ruthless streak in them, and taking care of stray girls probably wasn’t something he did often.

  Which made me so much angrier. I didn’t get why he would make an exception for me. I didn’t get why he’d bring me here, tell me I can leave, but also tell me I shouldn’t.

  Like I’m supposed to choose to stay with my father’s killer.

  “I’ll take my chances,” I said and turned away.

  I walked to the door. I heard him follow, which made me walk faster. I almost made it, almost touched the doorknob, before he caught up with me and grabbed my wrist. I let out a little gasp as he pulled me from the door. I stumbled and ran up against his body, his warm body, slightly damp with sweat. His eyes were hard as he stared down at me, and he held my wrist with a surprising strength.

  “You’re hurting me,” I whispered.

  He didn’t loosen his grip. “If you leave, you’re going to die,” he said. “I understand that you hate me. I’d hate me too, if our positions were reversed. But don’t throw your life away out of pride. Stay here in this house until things blow over, then I’ll let you loose.”

  “Tell me why you’re doing this and I’ll consider it.” I stared into his eyes. “And don’t lie to me.”

  He looked right back. “I feel sorry for you,” he said, his voice soft. “And I want to fuck you. Is that what you want to hear? I want to taste your soft, wet little cunt. I want to feel your legs wrapped around my waist.” He reached up with his other hand and pressed his palm against my cheek, sliding his hand back, sending a chill down my spine, until his fingers tangled in my hair. “I want to hear you whisper my name and beg for more as I fuck you rough and deep. Is that what you wanted?”

  I bit my lip, my heart racing. I stared at him for a long moment, unable to move, unable to look away.

  But a moment later, he released me. He slid his hand from my hair, dropped my wrist, and stepped back. His eyes were hard as he gestured at the door.

  “Go ahead and leave,” he said. “You know what I want from you now. Go ahead and walk out that door, go back to your apartment. Just remember that I warned you about this shit. I tried to help you.”

  He turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the hallway again.

  I stayed still, heart racing. I didn’t trust myself to move yet. I touched my cheek where his palm pressed against my skin, and I thought I could still feet his skin ghosting against mine. I tilted my head and bit my lip, staring down the hallway, wondering what it would be like if I really did give myself to my father’s killer, if I really did let that man have me.

  I know I’d never walk away from it the same again.

  I turned to the door and touched the knob. I wanted to leave so badly, but his words rang in my ears, and the image of my father’s body wrapped in plastic came back to me all over again. I shut my eyes and tried to force it away, but I couldn’t.

  This wasn’t a game. That man wasn’t playing around. If he said things were dangerous for me in the city, then things were dangerous. If he was offering me protection, I had to take it.

  I dropped the doorknob. I turned from the door and stepped to the base of the stairs. I wanted to retch, wanted to throw up, wanted to curl up into a ball and cry my eyes out until there was nothing left inside of me.

  I caught a glimpse of him in the kitchen, watching as I climbed the stairs and headed back to the room I’d slept in the night before. I went inside, shut the door behind me, locked it, and crawled into bed. I pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes and willed the world to go back to the way it was before I let my father talk me into the biggest mistake I’d ever made.

  3

  Dante

  The Southside Bakery was empty the next morning just after the crack of dawn. I could see Sergio in the back room finishing up the morning’s bread as I went behind the counter and made myself an espresso. When it was finished, I stood there for a moment and took a long sip of the rich, strong black coffee.

  My eyes scanned the room. The wooden tables and counters were empty, and would stay empty for another hour until the place opened at five thirty. Pastries were arranged under the glass display case, placed there by Sergio a little bit before I arrived. The smell of baked goods wafted from the back room and I took a deep breath for a moment, letting the smell draw me back into my childhood, back into my mother’s kitchen.

  I closed my eyes and let out my breath.

  Aida stayed in her room all yesterday and all that night. I had Gino watch over her, and he said she never once came out. He brought her a meal, which disappeared inside, but he didn’t hear a peep.

  But I checked on her. A little after midnight, when I got back from the job, I opened the door and saw her body sprawled out on the bed. The shaft of light from the hallway illuminated her long, lean, pale legs, her perky ass, her tight tank top with one strap down her shoulder, her mass of thick black hair splayed out on the pillow. I shut the door quietly and let her sleep.

  I opened my eyes again and came out from behind the counter. I began to take down the chairs and stools from wher
e they’d been put up the day before. I grabbed a spray bottle and a rag then wiped down the tables, their scarred wooden tops covered in a thick layer of lacquer, and made sure they were pristine. I arranged the front display of fake plastic cupcakes, made sure they weren’t falling over or dusty, and wiped down the pastry case next to the counter. I went to refill the milk and creamer just as Sergio came out from the back with a big tray of sourdough bread.

  He spotted me and grinned. “You know you don’t have to do that,” he said as I opened the top of the silver container and began to dump in the milk I took from the refrigerator underneath the espresso machine.

  “I don’t mind,” I said. “Keeps me busy.”

  He snorted. Sergio was in his fifties, heavy in the middle, big bags under his eyes from working nights his whole life. His hands were rough and scarred, and his hair was a shock of black and gray, shoved back in a lazy wave. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he was missing a tooth on the bottom. Despite that, Sergio was sharp, one of the smartest men I knew. There was a reason he was a former Capo for the Leone family and was allowed to retire in peace. Not many mobsters got to walk away from the life, but Sergio did.

  At least so long as he let me use his bakery for whatever nefarious purposes I came up with. Usually money laundering, but sometimes I borrowed the refrigerator.

  “Pretty sure you’re plenty busy.” He took the tray to the baskets stacked up on the counter behind the pastry display case and began to put the loaves inside. The white bread was already stacked high, and I could smell the pumpernickel baking next.

  “You know how it is. Life as a Capo.” I screwed the top on the milk container, put the jug back in the refrigerator, then began on the creamer.

  “You got soldiers for a reason, you know,” Sergio said. He put the tray under his arm and looked at me, his other fist on his hip. “You work too goddamn hard. Micromanage too much.”

  “Shit, Serg,” I said. “I didn’t realize I was getting a lecture this morning.”

  Sergio laughed. “Guess I’m still annoyed about a couple nights ago.”

  “Ah, come on,” I said. “I told you, that was important.”

  “I know.” He frowned. “Did Vlas get the message?”

  I shrugged. “Hoped you heard something.”

  He shook his head and looked worried. He adjusted the string on his apron and looked at the floor. “Haven’t heard a peep, which makes me nervous. You know the Russians, they love to talk shit. But when they stop talking, then there’s a problem.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure Vlas got the message. He doesn’t want war as much as I don’t. Just not profitable.”

  Sergio grunted. “I don’t know. There are other rumors going around, rumors about Maksim himself.”

  I raised an eyebrow as I finished with the creamer. I put the container back in the refrigerator, screwed on the lid, and carried the milk and the creamer pitchers back to their spot next to the wooden stirrers and to-go sleeves. “There are always rumors about the Russian boss.”

  “Rumors about bad health this time. Could be Vlas is looking to gain some power before the succession.”

  I shrugged and tried not to let that worry me. “He’s still not dumb enough to come at me, even with good pretext.”

  “Yeah, true, true. I can’t deny that.” Sergio laughed. “When I was a Capo, you know how many soldiers I had?”

  “Twelve,” I said.

  “Twelve!” he repeated. “And you got how many?”

  “Thirty,” I said.

  “Thirty!” he repeated. “How the fuck did you get thirty guys to pledge their undying loyalty to you? Thirty fuckin’ made men. All sworn omerta.” He shook his head.

  “Vlas has thirty-five,” I said, absently adjusting the to-go sleeves before I turned to him. “Look, I’m sorry I dropped a body on you. I really am. If I have another option next time, I’ll take it.”

  He sighed and waved me off. “It’s fine, kid. I get it. I’m happy to help where I can, I just sometimes forget that I’m retired.”

  I grinned at him. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “Look, kid. You want my advice? You don’t wait to hear from Vlas. You send word to him, show him some respect, make sure he knows what went down was beyond your control, but you’re making it right. Make it harder for him to have pretext.”

  I clenched my jaw for a moment. “The idea of showing that piece of shit respect—”

  “I know,” Sergio said, shaking his head. “He’s a wild animal. He’s sick. But you want to avoid war, right?”

  “I do,” I grunted, though sometimes I wasn’t so sure. I knew it wasn’t profitable, and I know the Leones would be pissed, but sometimes I just wanted to roll up on Vlas with my full crew of loyal soldiers and let the chips fall as they may.

  “Then send him a message.” Sergio picked his tray back up and held it in both hands. “But first, come get this door for me.”

  I grinned, walked over, and held the kitchen door for him. I got a glimpse of a shining stainless steel kitchen with bowls in perfect rows, everything shining and bright. The smell of cooking bread blasted me in the face and I breathed it in like a sweet elixir. Sergio slipped past me and headed over to a row of dough.

  I let the door shut and leaned up against the counter for a moment. I looked at the small bakery, at the tables and their gleaming metal legs, and I knew he was right. I should reach out to Vlas and make sure things were square. I was getting anxious, and I couldn’t risk fucking this up, not with so much at stake.

  I walked to the front door and stepped outside. The bell rang and the CLOSED sign clattered as I let it shut behind me. I got out my phone and called Steven.

  “Boss,” he grunted.

  “Get your lazy ass up.”

  He sighed into the receiver. “I’m up.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Some of us sleep,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, you’re a made man. Sleep when you’re—”

  “What do you want, Dante?”

  I grinned and looked down the street. The sun was coming up over the Philly rowhomes an I saw a few people starting to head to work. A guy in a suit moved past me with a backpack on, only letting his eyes drift over me for a moment. I was wearing my own suit, black jacket and black pants with my white shirt tucked in. It was my uniform, and I liked to always play the part.

  Besides, the jacket covered the bulge of my gun, tucked into its holster at the center of my back.

  “Need you to send Vlas’s people a message for me,” I said.

  “Really?” He sounded a little more awake now.

  “Really. Reach out and check in. See if they got our little apology present. See what they say.”

  “Huh.” He was quiet for a moment.

  “You think that’s a bad idea?”

  “It’s just not like you,” he said. “The idea of showing a little extra respect seems like it’d be foreign.”

  “It is,” I snapped. “Sergio told me to do it, so I’m doing it. Now you gonna obey your Capo or what?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” he said with a laugh. “Should’ve known that was Sergio.”

  I sighed and rubbed my cheek. “Get your ass to the bakery in an hour,” I grunted. “And wake up the others. I want double guys on the streets today. I got a bad fucking feeling.”

  “I will,” Steven said, tone serious again.

  “Good.” I hung up then slipped my phone back into my pocket. My eyes moved down the street, past the trees growing from their dirt patches on the edge of the sidewalk, and gazed up at the sky. It was pink and blue, a pretty little sunrise.

  But a bloody, bloody omen.

  The smell of sizzling garlic made me smile. No matter what, the smell of cooking garlic somehow made the day seem like it wasn’t so bad, even if nothing seemed to go right.

  I moved the garlic around in the heavy cast iron Dutch oven then added some onions. I turned down the heat and let it soften up before adding two cans of
whole tomatoes. I put in a dash of wine, some salt and pepper, and let that cook down for a while. I opened my refrigerator and took a bottle of beer from the back, cracked it open, and took a long drink.

  “Damn, boss,” Gino said as he poked his head into the room from the hallway. “Shit smells good.”

  “I know,” I grunted. “You done for the day?”

  “Yeah, heading home.”

  “All right. If you hang around for a little longer, you can have some.”

  He grinned. “Nah. I appreciate that. But I got a date.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get her pregnant, you stupid fuck.”

  “I never do.” Gino laughed. “Later, boss. I’ll be back early tomorrow.”

  “Good.” He slipped out of the room and I heard the front door shut behind him. I lingered in the kitchen for a moment, frowning at my living room. It was empty, the couch hadn’t been touched, the TV was cold. I thought she would’ve come downstairs at some point, but now it was going on day two of her locking herself away, and I was starting to get worried.

  I knew she wouldn’t warm up to me. I didn’t expect her to. I killed her father in front of her, wrapped the guy’s body in plastic, and gave him to some asshole scumbag Russian mobster. There was no reason in the world for her to ever forgive me for something like that.

  But she clearly understood it. I could see it in her eyes when we talked that first morning. She understood what her father was and why I did what I did, and that was all I needed from her. Maybe I wouldn’t get forgiveness, but at least I could get understanding.

  Still, she couldn’t mope around in that fucking room forever.

  I took the apron I was wearing to protect my clean white shirt and draped it over a stool as I walked around the island. I headed back down the hallway, past the paintings I’d gotten at thrift stores when I first bought this place a few years back just to have some shit on the walls. My place looked haphazard, thrown together, and a little dusty, mostly because I didn’t spent much time out there. Mt. Airy was outside of the city, and if I was going to be a Capo, I needed to be in town at all times in case shit went down.