Wife For Him: A Possessive Mafia Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  “We should go,” she said, staring at me with an open mouth. “Before he comes out and we get caught.”

  I nodded but didn’t trust myself to speak. I put the car into gear and headed back home.

  14

  Cora

  I shouldn’t have been mad at Reid. Being mad at him for bringing me to that bar was like being mad at a shark for biting—it was what he did, what he was. He couldn’t help himself any more than an animal following its instincts.

  Except he wasn’t an animal. He wasn’t a stupid man.

  He knew the risk he took and he went ahead and dragged me along with him.

  I bristled at the idea of being his cover. I didn’t want to be a part of a murder—even the murder of the bastard that tried to kill us. I wouldn’t stop him, of course, and hell, I wanted it to happen, but I didn’t want him to drag me along—and make me watch.

  Still, he stood down. He listened when I spoke and seemed to think I had a good idea. So although I was pissed as we drove home, it was a cool anger, and I felt it slowly drift away by the time we reached the house.

  “Care for a nightcap?” he asked as he opened the front door for me.

  I gave him a look and headed into the kitchen. He followed me and watched with a curious expression as I opened a bottle of wine, poured myself a glass, then held it up toward him.

  “Here’s to not being a violent bastard all the time.”

  He laughed, and I thought I saw real delight in his eyes. “I’ll drink to that.” He poured himself a glass then toasted me.

  I drank and eyed him the whole time. “What are you going to do when Enrico and Aldrik get back to you?”

  “Kill Jarvis and be done with this.”

  I let out a breath and leaned up against the counter. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, fighting back a headache, as a flash of my past came rushing back—Alex, bleeding on the ground.

  “Does it always have to come to that?”

  “I don’t get you.” He sat down at the table and stared at me. “He tried to kill us and yet you keep acting like you don’t want revenge.”

  “You heard my cousin. No violence.”

  “Your cousin doesn’t speak for me.” He shook his head and drank some wine. “Seriously, Cora. What’s with you? You can’t be such a perfect little angel.”

  “Is it so hard to believe that I don’t want blood on my hands?”

  “Yes, yes, it is.” He leaned toward me, eyes hot on mine. I knew he was thinking about that kiss—wanted him to be thinking about it. I still had his taste on my tongue and as much as I wanted the wine to wash it away, I didn’t think anything could, not when my pulse thudded gently in my chest and with each beat I wanted him a little bit more, a little bit deeper.

  “We’re not all monsters.”

  “You’ve used that word before—monsters. Is that how you see me?”

  I chewed my lip and waved a hand. “You’re all monsters, not only you.”

  “Even still, you use that word as though you know what a real monster is. Tell me, little wife. Did you grow up with monsters?”

  I stared at him and felt my anger flare up again. “Of course I did. I was surrounded by them. My father, his brothers, their men, all of them looking at me, thinking about me, treating me like fucking shit but still expecting me to do things—cooking, cleaning, flirting. It never went past that, but I think it would have, sooner or later.”

  He grunted. “You had it hard then. You’re no mafia princess. But I still don’t see why you’d hate me so much.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  He laughed and put his wine glass down. “You hate me, Cora. It’s all over you every time I come around. Even when you want me, even when you want to fuck me, you still hate me.”

  “That’s not true. It’s not just—”

  “Go ahead and say it’s not just me again.”

  I clamped down my jaw and clenched my hands. I put my wine glass down, afraid I might squeeze it hard enough to shatter the glass and cut my hand to shreds.

  “You really want to know?” I asked, feeling myself lose control of my anger. “You really want to know why I hate you?”

  “Tell me.” He leaned toward me, hands spread, staring at me with this look in his eye like all he wanted to do was strip me down and fuck me on the counter.

  “My best friend, Alex.”

  “You mentioned him.”

  “I told you he wanted to be a made man. Wanted to be hard, but he… he wasn’t.” I looked away as the memories came swirling up through me. I thought I might be sick, and I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the food, or reliving the memory of Alex, of talking about the most horrible moment in my life to this man—to this made man, to the kind of man that got my friend killed.

  “What happened to him?” He asked so gently, and it pushed me over the edge.

  “We were standing outside of a deli one afternoon, one of my dad’s places. Lots of his guys went there, you know, did business out front. Alex had this stupid idea that he’d ask them to buy a little bit of weed then resell it and prove that he was worth something, and he’d been bugging me about it all afternoon—so I told him to just shut up and go ask them about it.”

  I took a deep breath and looked back at him, meeting his gaze. I smelled the rain on the asphalt, the smoke in the air from their cigarettes. I couldn’t remember their faces anymore; they were around afterward, and I think one even tried to talk to me, but I still couldn’t see their faces. They were my dad’s guys, and I think they were afraid of me. But their expressions were gone, erased from my memory, and I didn’t know why.

  The next bit was a struggle.

  “Alex was annoyed, because I snapped at him, told him to just go do it and stop being such a baby about it. He called me an asshole, but he turned toward the guys and walked over. I watched the whole thing happen. Alex was a few feet away when the car pulled up.”

  I saw his eyes change, light up with recognition. He knew what was coming next. He’d probably seen it before—or done it before. The car tires screaming as the car slammed to a stop, the smell of gunpowder in the air, the tang of blood as it busted up in pink mist clouds and settled over everything, the screams of people nearby, the deafening gunshots—I still dreamed about it all.

  “I think they were aiming for my dad’s guys,” I said, voice shaking, but I pushed forward. “They started shooting, and kept shooting. The windows broke open and flew everywhere, and I remember screaming and throwing myself down on the sidewalk. They kept shooting for what felt like hours, but when they stopped, my ears were ringing. I didn’t even notice them drive away.”

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. “Alex was on the ground, bleeding. He was gasping for breath. Pink bubbles formed at his lips. I wanted to do something, you know? I thought about giving him mouth to mouth, but that’s not what you do when someone gets shot. I tried putting pressure on the wound, but there were so many. The other guys, they got shot, but they weren’t dead, they were crawling away and moaning in pain. I heard people in the deli screaming. And I knelt there next to Alex, trying to stop the bleeding, and I don’t know what I said—I think I said he’d be okay, over and over again. He gasped for breath and grabbed my wrist, he held it, stared at me with these open, crazy eyes, and then nothing. He stopped breathing, he fell still. There was blood everywhere, it soaked into my jeans and my socks, I had to shower three times before I got it all out of my hair. And he was dead.”

  I stopped talking. The kitchen felt enormous all of a sudden and I wanted to throw up. My hands shook and the only thing keeping me on my feet was the kitchen counter behind me.

  “Did they ever find out who did it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “My dad was pretty pissed about it. He paid off Alex’s family, was real apologetic for about a week, but then everything went back to normal. Everyone moved on, because nobody gave a shit about Alex except for me, but nothing went back to normal for me.” />
  I felt like I’d never left that day, that afternoon when I watched my best friend die in front of me. It wasn’t just the sudden violence or the crippling loss—it was more how helpless I felt, how impossible it was for me to do anything to help him, and how every day afterward, every day he was gone and I was still alive was more proof that I couldn’t do a thing. My father, the mafia, they only made that truth more and more apparent until the day my cousin offered me a way out—money in exchange for marriage.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That must have been hard. How old were you?”

  “Nineteen. We were kids.”

  He nodded slowly. “That sort of shit isn’t supposed to happen.”

  “But it did,” I snapped, feeling my rage flare, and it felt good, better than being upset. “It did happen.”

  “I know. And I’m glad you told me.”

  I took a few deep, calming breaths, trying to get my thoughts in order. “You wanted to know why I hate made men, and that’s your answer. I hate you all because of the world you create around you. Selfish, violent, and stupid.”

  “Now I understand why you didn’t want me to do that hit back there. Too many innocent people.” He sighed and rubbed his face then stood. “And you were right.”

  “I know I was right.”

  He stared at me for a second, and I thought I saw pity, or maybe sorrow in his eyes—it didn’t matter either way. My hands were shaking, though I managed to raise the wine glass to my lips.

  “And you’re right about this world. We’re a bunch of fucked-up egomaniacs with guns and too much time.”

  I put the glass down. “So what do you want to do about it?”

  He approached me slowly and when I didn’t flinch away, he put his hands on my hips and looked down at me. I felt a thrill—both self-loathing and desire.

  “It’s not what I’ll do, but what you’ll do.”

  “I can’t do a damn thing.”

  “Married to me, you can. You want this city to be safer for everyone? Then you need to stick it out.”

  “You’re going to murder that man.”

  He moved closer, lips so soft and gorgeous. “I have to and you know it. He’s not going to stop until he kills me or hurts you in the process.”

  “Reid—”

  “No,” he said, voice hard, “listen to me. What happened to your friend was wrong, but this is different. Jarvis is a rabid dog that got a taste of blood and now all he knows is fighting. I need to put him down, and I need you to be okay with that—or at least be willing to step aside and let me do what I have to do.”

  I stared at him and wanted to push him away, but his words sank in. I knew he was right. I’d met men like Jarvis in my time with my father, men that were abrasive and dangerous and no matter what would always get in trouble. My father pushed men like that out, got them away from the core of the family, and they tended to end up arrested or dead.

  Jarvis had to go, one way or the other. I knew it was true, but I still couldn’t be part of it. “I won’t stop you.”

  “Good.” He kissed my neck. I let out a soft sigh.

  But he pulled away before he could do more. I didn’t know if I wanted him to come back and touch me or if I wanted to curl up in my bed and pretend like the world didn’t exist.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Now you go to sleep. The guys will get back to me soon and I’ll figure out where to go from there.”

  I hesitated, finished my wine, then turned and left the kitchen. I knew if I didn’t get out of there fast, I’d get sucked back into all this—despite wanting to run as far away as I possibly could.

  Upstairs in my room, I undressed and sat on the bed. Reid’s lips came back, running through my mind, and I wondered if it was all made men that I hated, or just the particular men I grew up with.

  I wondered if I could be married to a man like him and still retain my identity.

  15

  Reid

  I stood outside of an old, boarded-up building, hiding in the shadows across the street with Enrico and Aldrik. A red plastic cannister sat at our feet and the smell of gasoline wafted into the air.

  The building was one-story with a wide concrete lot out front. It used to be a gas station at some point in its existence, but based on the weeds growing up between the cracks in the pavement and the way the walls looked like they were half-rotten and crumbling, I guessed it’d been a long time since anyone used it for anything but drugs and murder.

  Enrico leaned back against the shop to our backs. It was a dry cleaner’s, but it was closed, the metal grates pulled down over its door and windows. “We saw him go in a half hour ago,” he said. “Aldrik’s been watching the back.”

  “He hasn’t come out,” Aldrik said. “He’s in there right now, boss.”

  “How sure are you?”

  “Completely sure.” Enrico looked at his fingernails then down at the gas can. “What are you thinking here?”

  “I’m thinking I want to go in there and murder him,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But maybe there’s a better way. Maybe we can kill him without the city thinking it was us.”

  Aldrik grunted. “Don’t know why that matters.”

  “That’s why you’re not the one in charge,” I said, and took a breath to calm myself as I watched the building.

  Cora’s story ran through my mind. I went through violence when I was younger, saw my fair share of blood and wounds, knew men that died in terrible ways—but her story still resonated. Her friend seemed like a good enough person, not the typical scumbag street bastard like me, and he probably didn’t deserve to get caught out in the fire like that. I couldn’t blame her for hating the mafioso after losing her only friend that way.

  But I couldn’t let her past stop me from protecting her future. Jarvis was dangerous, and I had to make sure that he couldn’t do anything to hurt her again.

  The tenuous peace in the city still played through my mind. Hedeon didn’t want trouble, didn’t want violence, because he knew that more violence would only weaken his position. I was supposed to be playing politician, not running around in the street killing my enemies.

  That was why I didn’t go to him for permission.

  Normally, a crew boss had a lot of leeway—but when it came to killings, Hedeon had to be informed where possible. In theory, I should go to him for permission, or at least to let him know this was about to go down.

  The less he knew, the better. If he could plausibly deny having anything to do with it, then he might walk away from this with clean hands, and the family could avoid any blowback.

  Even better if I could make it look like an accident.

  “Come on,” I said, hefting the gas can.

  Enrico gave me a look. “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to burn that fucking place to the ground.”

  Aldrik barked a laugh. “Are you crazy? That’s dangerous as hell.”

  “It’s a standalone building, nothing attached, and it rained recently so shit’s all wet. The fire won’t spread.”

  Enrico shook his head. “There are houses nearby, boss. Even if they’re still damp, you don’t know it won’t spread.”

  “Fire department will get out here.” I began toward the gas station. “Stay if you want.”

  I heard them follow behind me. I crouched low and moved as fast and as quietly as I could, sticking to the shadows, taking the long way around. I came at the building from the side, and gestured toward Aldrik to watch the back. He pulled his gun and moved, disappearing from sight.

  I approached the building, took off the cap, and began tossing gasoline on the walls, on the boards over the windows and doors—on any surface I could find. When the can was nearly empty, I tipped it over in front of the door, letting the gas pour in beneath the crack, then pulled it back and made a long line of it on the pavement.

  Enrico stared at me from nearby, and I knew what he was thinking.

  This was reckl
ess. A lot could go wrong.

  If it went right though, Jarvis would burn to ashes and die in that rat nest, and nobody would need to know it was me.

  I took a lighter from my pocket, flipped the top, turned the igniter, and stared at the flame before dropping it down into the gasoline.

  It ignited instantly in a blue-red whoosh. The line of gas flew away from me and slammed against the building. It lit up faster than I expected, and the heat was intense as the flames engulfed the door and windows, setting the wood ablaze before moving against the walls.

  I heard shouts from inside.

  “He’s not alone.” Enrico’s voice sounded on the verge of panic. The flames grew bigger and we were forced back away from the building. More shouts from inside and the door rattled, but the boards were burning rapidly, the flames getting bigger and bigger—nobody was getting out that way.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Reid—”

  I turned to him and grabbed the front of his shirt. “You going to fucking pussy out now? You want to run in there and save all their lives, huh, hero?”

  He opened his mouth then shut it. “No, boss.”

  “Good.” I let him go. “If anyone gets loose, kill them.”

  He nodded, his eyes hard. I couldn’t blame him for having a moment. The yells from inside were panicked and terrified, and burning people alive wasn’t how this shit normally went. Enrico had killed before, and he’d killed again, but he always did it fast and with bullets—there was never time for his victims to feel too much pain.

  We backed away from the building. Doors opened around us, people coming out of their homes. I saw fear, anger, confusion, and more than one person called the fire department.