Wife For Him: A Possessive Mafia Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  “That’s one hell of a childhood.”

  “It’s my sob story. I met Hedeon later on and here we are.”

  She nodded at me. “You like Hedeon.”

  “We all do.” I met her gaze and let my eyes drift down to her pretty lips. “He has the kind of personality that draws you in to it. Makes you feel like you’re more than just some lowlife kid selling drugs and barely staying one step ahead of the law. He convinced a lot of us that we could be stronger together, and he sort of took over the leadership role, I think because nobody else wanted it, or maybe that was his goal the whole time.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you taking orders from anyone.”

  I laughed and finished my drink. I put the glass down then walked to the table and sat across from her. “Never was my strong suit.”

  “So why him then?”

  I gestured, unable to explain. I didn’t think she could understand, not really—not without being a part of it and seeing the way Hedeon could speak, his gentle tone, his knowing smile, the way he made you feel like he truly heard you and only you. It felt stupid sometimes, like he had a magic about him, but I could never put it into words.

  “Some of the guys, he saved their lives—literally, saved their lives from something. Not with me though.”

  “So why then?” She leaned closer, her pizza forgotten. “I want to understand.”

  I shook my head. “He gave me a place where I belonged.” I felt stupid saying it, but that was the truth. Without Hedeon, I would’ve ended up in the system somehow, in juvie or jail or some halfway house or dead.

  She watched me carefully then chewed on her lip the way she did when she was thinking about something. She leaned back and turned away, showing me her gorgeous profile, her small, upturned nose, her full lips, her small pale ear showing beneath her thick dark hair.

  “I know what you mean, I think, except I never got that.”

  “Yeah?” I tilted my head. “Tell me about it.”

  “My father wanted a son but he got me instead. My mom miscarried a couple times after me, and I think they stopped trying after that. She used to tell me that, you know—that she miscarried, and I was the lucky baby, I was her miracle from God.” She looked at me, head tilted, face deadpan. “I never felt lucky. I felt crushed.”

  “By your father?”

  “By the organization, but yeah, by him too. He wanted a boy to take over the family business, but since he got me, he got angry. He never hit me, but he wasn’t kind, either, and I think my mother protected me in a lot of ways, shielded me from the worst of it—or at least she took on some of the abuse for me.”

  “That must’ve been rough.” I tried to picture what it would feel like to watch one parent hurt another, but all I could see was my mother wasting away, and the men that took advantage of whatever she had left to give.

  “That wasn’t the worst part.” Her hands tightened into fists. The pizza sat on her plate, cold and forgotten. “His little underlings were worse. A bunch of fucking douchebags that thought they could say whatever they wanted to be just because I was a girl, and my father never bothered to stop them—why would he, when they were right, I was a useless woman?”

  I wanted to say that we didn’t do that in my crew, but I knew it would be a lie. I knew the kind of men I had around me, angry men, disgusting men, violent killers, bastards—all of them flawed in their own ways. I didn’t fuck with pushing around people that couldn’t stand up to me, women especially, but there were men in this business that got off on that sort of thing.

  “Your father should’ve stopped it.”

  “My father should’ve done a lot of things, but you were at our wedding.” She sneered at me and her anger was back. “He walked me down that aisle and gave me away like a toy, all because Vincent asked him to, and he’d do anything to get in the big boss’s good graces.”

  I spread my hands. “And here we are. I can see why you got annoyed with Aldrik and Enrico.”

  She grunted. “They’re not so bad. Just average assholes.”

  “I’ll keep them in check.”

  “You don’t have to protect me.”

  I leaned toward her, eyes narrowed. “I know I don’t have to do a goddamn thing, but I want to.”

  She watched me like an owl on a barn roof. I met that gaze and held it, and wanted her to know how I felt, what I was thinking—wanted her to taste my hunger for her.

  “Why’d you come out of the car yesterday?”

  “You were frozen. You were suffering.”

  “You didn’t have to help me.”

  “You’re my goddamn wife, Cora, of course I’m going to help you.”

  She looked confused at that. “We’re not really married. I mean, this— it’s not real.”

  I stood up. I felt my anger bubble to the surface. I walked over to her and reached down, grabbing her wrist, and she must’ve been too surprised to stop me. I pulled her to her feet and yanked her against me, turning her, and pushed her back against the counter, pinning her there. I felt her heat then felt her struggle, though weakly, like she wasn’t really trying to get me away.

  I kept my face inches from her. “I think you fundamentally misunderstand the kind of man I am.”

  “Yeah? How’s that?”

  “You think I do shit like this for—I don’t know, for money, or influence, or power, and in some ways that true. But I’m here for you, Cora.”

  “You didn’t even know me before we got married.”

  I leaned closer and let my lips brush against her cheek as I whispered in her ear. “That’s right, I didn’t. But I do now, and I’m staying because I want this.”

  I held her there and she froze in my arms. I think she was considering her next move—whether to fight me off or to accept this, whatever this is, our marriage or our physical attraction or whatever was simmering between our bodies. I pulled back and stared into her eyes then decided to give the game away, decided to be done playing entirely—and kissed her.

  Her lips were soft and supple and tasted like cherries and tea leaves. She kissed me back, tentative at first, then threw herself into it. I pulled her tighter, felt her breasts against my chest, cupped her ass with both my hands then ran my fingers along her back. She let out a soft gasp, a gentle moan, and goddamn, I wanted more, so much more, her body, her tongue, her hard, pink nipples, the long lines of her legs, everything, all of her in my bed, sweating and more.

  She put her hands on my chest and pushed me back. I let her move me, even though it was the last thing I wanted. She stared at me, breathing hard, mouth hanging open.

  “Don’t,” she said, and that was enough to break the spell.

  I cocked my head. “You sure?”

  “No. But don’t anyway.”

  I lingered there for another earth-shaking second then turned and left the room.

  I knew if I stayed, I wouldn’t behave myself. I couldn’t behave myself, not after that kiss, not after knowing she wanted it as bad as I did and yet still seemed like she couldn’t give me the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t her father, I wasn’t the men she grew up with—I wasn’t those bastards that made fun of her, hurt her, made her into the cynical, angry, jaded girl she was today.

  But she’d have to see that for herself. Sooner or later, she’d have to understand, and I couldn’t rush it, couldn’t force it, no matter how impatient I felt.

  12

  Cora

  Two days after my panic attack, Reid came home early with a stack of dress bags slung over one shoulder. I stared up at him from the couch and my mouth fell open as he dropped them onto the cushions beside me with a grunt.

  We stared at the pile and I did a quick count—at least five bags, but probably more given the tangle of hangers.

  “I couldn’t decide,” he said and looked at me. “Guess you get to play dress-up for me.”

  I snorted and stood. “Yeah, right.”

  “What, I went to all this trouble and I don’t at least get
a fashion montage?”

  “You’ll end up stripping me out of the first slightly revealing dress, and I have a feeling we don’t have time for that.”

  He made a pained face. “I hate when you’re right.”

  “What’s the thing tonight? Fancy dinner? Ballroom dancing?”

  “Private event.” He drifted toward the kitchen and leaned against a chair. “At Chief Richards’ house.”

  “How’d we swing an invite to that?”

  “Hedeon made it happen. Apparently, he wants me to show you off.”

  “Guess I’d better make the right choice then.” I bent over and started laying bags over my arm. “How much did you spend on all this?”

  “Used the profits from our last drop-off. Figured you earned it.”

  I stared at him and let that settle in. I was holding the ill-begotten gains of helping him run drugs around the city—and it’d only taken him two days to sell that entire bag. I could still remember how heavy it had been, how packed full of whatever it was. The idea that he sold it all already… it didn’t speak well of Philadelphia’s drug habits.

  “I’ll get dressed.” I lugged them to the stairs and felt his eyes on me as I went. I tried not to think about his arms around my body, his lips against mine—the gentle way he whispered in my ear, trying to calm me, trying to soothe me. I tried not to let myself think about it, and in doing so, could almost taste his lips again.

  I slammed my bedroom door shut and started my fashion montage—alone, in private, for myself.

  We arrived at a single-family house out at the fringes of Philadelphia. “Germantown,” Reid said as he slowed down near a private driveway with a gate closed across it. The fence was big and smooth wood—and showed nothing of the house beyond.

  “Is this a rich neighborhood?”

  “Sort of. Didn’t used to be. But it’s technically still Philadelphia County, so all the cops and the rich politicians that gotta keep a Philly address move out here. You know, where it’s safer.”

  I made a face as he leaned out of the car and hit a buzzer. A muffled voice asked for his name. “Reid and Cora,” he said.

  A second later, the gate rolled away, revealing a short drive up to a Tudor-style home that looked like it’d been renovated in the last few years. Cars were parked along the large, circular driveway—Lexus, BMW, Mercedes, Tesla, every luxury brand imaginable—and several attendants in white jackets waved us down. We got out and Reid tossed the keys to a valet.

  He took my arm and led me along the path toward the front door. It stood open and revealed a plethora of people standing in the entry hall beneath a large crystal chandelier. The stairwell swept up to the second floor and photographs of a nice family were hung on the wall—I recognized Chief Richards, and what I had to assume were his wife and kids scattered among older relatives, likely mothers and fathers and grandparents.

  “I’m glad you chose that one,” he murmured in my ear as he took a glass of champagne from a circulating waiter and handed it to me. “Honestly, that one’s my favorite, but I didn’t think you’d go for it.”

  “And why not?” I asked, smiling a little bit—since I already knew the answer.

  His eyes drifted down to me chest and I felt my smile grow wider. I wore a black Dior minidress, the neckline plunging and wide open, barely covering my breasts, the bodice tight to the hips then flaring out ever so slightly, creating enough room for two shallow pockets at either hips—but barely long enough to cover half my thighs. I knew I’d have to be careful in it all night, since I was more or less falling out, but god, I loved the look on his face, the pure lust and desire.

  “No reason.” He took a glass for himself from another waiter and tipped it back. I hid my stupid, embarrassing smile behind my champagne and let my eyes skim the room.

  I noticed several people looking at me—mostly men, though a few women. I fit in fine, my clothes matched the vibe of the evening, but I was by far one of the youngest women, and I might’ve been wearing the most revealing outfit. Not that I minded—I looked fantastic, as evidenced by Reid’s ogling—but I knew I had to be careful.

  “Let’s make a round,” he said.

  I took his arm and let him lead the way. We moved through the entryway and into a wide, open kitchen and living room area, where more men and women were packed. The back doors were thrown open and the yard was full of standing tables and more couples, some of them smoking, all of them drinking. We wandered outside and stood staring at a patch of gorgeous red and white roses, a profusion of petal and thorns.

  “Do you know any of these people?” I asked.

  “Some, but not really.” He tilted his head. “Not that it matters. We’re here to be seen, that’s all.”

  “Seems like we could be doing more than that. Maybe we could try to make connections for Hedeon? I mean, it might be a good thing, right?”

  He gave me an appraising look. “It’s not a bad idea.”

  “Of course it’s a good idea. I came up with it.”

  “And with you in that dress, I don’t think there’s a man in this place that’ll turn away from us right now.”

  I leaned closer to him, letting my breast press up against his side. His eyes slipped down and I felt a thrill at the attention. I liked that he looked at my body like that, loved that he couldn’t help himself—even when we were supposed to be at a sophisticated party, all he could do was look at my breasts. Maybe I shouldn’t think that was immature, but it was flattering instead.

  “Are you jealous?”

  “I don’t get jealous.”

  “I don’t know. That sounded a little jealous.”

  “Only speaking the truth.”

  I laughed again and was about to tug him over toward a table of cigar-smoking gentlemen when Chief Roberts himself came out into the yard. The man scanned the yard then stopped when he spotted us. He strode over, a big smile on his lips.

  “Reid, Cora, so glad you could make it,” he said. “What a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

  Reid shook his hand. “Thanks for the invitation, Chief.”

  “My pleasure. So long as you keep bringing this one around.” He grinned at me and didn’t try to hide the way his gaze slipped down my skin. I like when Reid did it—but from Chief Roberts it felt sleazy and uncomfortable. I plastered a smile on my face and let him shake my hand.

  “You have a lovely home,” I said.

  “Thanks, you can tell that to my wife, wherever she is. Listen, you two mingle. Enjoy yourselves.” He disappeared and joined another group, shaking hands, beaming his jovial smile.

  “Politicians,” Reid said, shaking his head.

  “He’s a police chief. I didn’t think they needed to act like that.”

  “Everything’s political, even if you’re not voted into office.”

  I took another long sip of champagne then placed the glass down on a table. “Seems odd that he’d invite us here.”

  “I suspect it’s your family influence.”

  I made a face. “You’re probably right.”

  “Fact is, Hedeon’s too new to the city to have any clout, but your cousin is in with all these people. I’m almost surprised he’s not here, but I have a feeling we’re representing him as well as my own crew.”

  “You’re probably right.” I leaned my head against his arm. “Look at us, organized crime in the middle of a party for a cop.”

  “Party thrown by a cop. Not really for him.”

  I gave him a look. “You know what I mean. Now, take me around and show me off. Let’s mingle a little bit.”

  He put his hand on my lower back. “My pleasure.”

  For the next couple hours, we made the rounds. I met more fancy people in expensive clothes and absurd jewelry than I ever had in my entire life. I always thought the way rich people were portrayed in movies and on TV was exaggerated, but they didn’t let me down—they were every bit as pretentious, obnoxious, and judgmental as I thought they’d be.

  Reid
seemed to enjoy himself. He slipped into several conversations and dragged me along, smiling a big, friendly grin and shaking hands. He introduced himself as an importer several times, and I thought I saw some flashes of recognition—like they knew that he was lying and what he really was.

  I had fun. I couldn’t deny that Reid was funny and charming when he wanted to be, even if there was an undertone of frustrated annoyance at having to take time out of his life to talk to these rich people. He told jokes and kept me close to him, and although I got more dirty looks from wives and more lewd stares from husbands, I felt comfortable and at ease.

  The champagne got to me though and I went in search of a bathroom. The party was winding down, the food getting packed away, and I felt good. I wasn’t drunk, only slightly tipsy, but it was a pleasant buzz. I already pictured changing out of my dress and into something comfy back home—or maybe letting Reid undress me instead.

  I found the bathroom tucked away in a back corner. I went inside, did my thing, washed my hands, and on my way out stumbled into the chest of a large man with ruddy cheeks and slicked-back hair. He chuckled as he reached out his hands in apology. He was big, broad in the chest with a slight gut, and looked like he’d been a football player in another life, though his muscles had long since wasted away.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, eyes slightly glassy and unfocused. I knew he was drunk the second he put his hands on my shoulders in an attempt at steadying me. “Didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s okay, no worries. Excuse me.” I tried to slip out of his grip—

  But his hands tightened. “Well, hold on now, hold on. What’s your name? I saw you around. I’m Senator Lee.” His breath smelled like onions and whiskey. I wanted to gag.

  “I’m Cora. Excuse me, I have to go find my husband.”

  He still wouldn’t let me go. “Cora, pretty name for a pretty girl. Who’s your husband? Actually, I don’t care. I have a wife somewhere around here, but what’s that matter? Listen, you’re a pretty girl, real pretty, and I saw you around, and I was thinking we could spend some time together. I’m Senator Lee.”