by Hamel, B. B.
Possessed by the Killer
BB Hamel
Contents
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1. Dean
2. Mags
3. Dean
4. Mags
5. Dean
6. Mags
7. Dean
8. Mags
9. Dean
10. Mags
11. Dean
12. Mags
13. Dean
14. Mags
15. Dean
16. Mags
17. Dean
18. Mags
19. Dean
20. Mags
21. Dean
22. Mags
BONUS: Dean
Also by BB Hamel
Copyright © 2021 by B. B. Hamel
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1
Dean
My father, king of the Valentino crime family, greatest Don of his generation, hardened murderer and real piece of shit, was finally dead.
It was bittersweet. On the one hand, he was my dad, and I should be sad about that.
Except truthfully, I wasn’t. Not exactly.
Growing up wasn’t easy. My mother died when I was a year old and I had no memory of her. She was replaced by an endless string of nannies while my father remained a distant presence around the house, barely more than a shadow cast down the stairs, or a shout from his office, or the violent thump of his shoes stomping down the back hall out toward the garage.
I feared my father. My childhood was spent running from his rages and trying desperately to live up to his impossible standards.
Seriously, I should’ve been sad. He was my father.
Instead, if I was being charitable with myself, I was conflicted.
I stood to inherit a fortune along with the most important crime family on the East Coast.
The Valentinos would be mine. Assuming I could hold them all together.
So my dad dying was sad, sure. Real fucking sad.
But he was an asshole that made my life miserable, and now I would finally take my rightful place as the head of the family.
Like I said, conflicted.
I sat behind my father’s desk. It was cleaned out already. His body was barely cold before I began to claim that space for myself. I knew I’d need it—that office was the symbol of his power, the throne from which he ran his mafia kingdom. I felt strange sitting there, looking out at the room. I’d spent so many days and nights sitting on the opposite end, looking at my father, the Don, while he gave his orders.
Now those orders would come from me.
I threw out his chair and bought a new one. Something with lumbar support. No wonder my father was always in such a bad mood. His back probably felt like hell.
I leaned back and drank from a glass of good whiskey. It burned on the way down, burned in a pleasant way. Out in the hall, Bea moved like a fox darting through the forest. The doorbell rang and hushed voices echoed off the ornate wood paneling, the priceless paintings, the absurdly expensive rugs and statues, and whatever else my father bought with his illegal cash.
Art was a great way to launder money.
Bea knocked gently at the office door. I’d recognize her cadence anywhere. “Come in,” I said, sitting forward.
The door opened and Bea lingered on the threshold. Behind her, Roy Paganini stepped toward the desk, his graying hair slicked back, his massive framed shoved into a suit that looked much too small for him. He had dark eyes and a crooked nose, broken one too many times, and I wanted to break it again. His smile was lopsided, and his teeth were crooked, but behind that middle-aged construction worker looking asshole lurked a violent and shrewd killer.
He was my father’s underboss. Roy ran the streets while my father ran the family from this room. Or at least he used to.
I planned on being a much more hands-on Don, but I had to straighten a few things out first.
“Your father’s been in the ground for a single day and you’re already sitting behind that desk,” Roy said with a hint of a smile.
Bea grimaced behind his back then softly disappeared back into the hall, shutting the door behind her.
“I was at my father’s desk the moment he died and I became Don,” I said and gestured at a chair. “Sit down, Roy. We need to talk.”
Roy’s smile was infuriating. We both knew why he was here.
I needed his support. I didn’t want it—I would’ve rather thrown Roy out on his face, or better yet, put a bullet in his skull in the back yard like a rabid dog. I could bury him beneath the oak tree and give him a pretty little headstone. I’d carve it myself.
But Roy commanded the respect of too many Capos. He controlled a solid third of the family by my count. I had the numbers and the money, but if he wanted to make my ascension to power a real pain in the ass, he certainly could.
I didn’t want that. We couldn’t afford a civil war, not while the Healy family still wanted a piece of our turf.
Roy lowered himself into a chair with a grunt. “What do you want to talk about, young Don?”
“First, don’t call me that,” I said. “Be respectful when you speak to me.”
Roy laughed. “All right, Don Valentino. I can work on that.”
“Second, I know there’s been talk about the succession. I know you’ve been putting out feelers. Testing the waters. You’ve been seeing who’s loyal to you and who’s loyal to the family.”
Roy spread out his hands. “Only to ensure a smooth transition of power.”
That was vague and political, just like Roy. He might’ve been an ancient alligator, all hunger and teeth, but I couldn’t underestimate him.
“The real question is then, transition of power to whom?” I asked and tilted my head. “From where I’m sitting, the choice is obvious. I control more Capos and money. If it came down to civil war, it would be bloody and difficult, but I’d come out on top. Do you agree?”
“I wonder,” Roy said with a slight shrug.
I pushed back my frustration and continued. “You can make this hard for me, but we both know who would benefit from the Valentino family tearing itself to pieces.”
Roy nodded once and his smile faded. “The Healy family.”
“That’s right,” I said and stared into his eyes. “You really want those Irish fucks to start taking territory from us?”
“Of course not,” he said hotly. “I’ve been fighting them for a year now. I’ve lost more than a few good soldiers to those bastards.”
“If we start fighting among ourselves, the Healys will jump at the chance. We need to settle this and settle it now, before the family fractures and our enemies take advantage.” I stood up and walked to the side table. I poured a measure of whiskey and brought to him. He took it, swirled it, and sipped.
I wished I’d poisoned the fucking glass.
“I agree with you,” Roy said as I took my seat again. “There’s a reason I came here instead of going behind your back to the other Capos, despite what you may think.”
“Then what do you want in exchange for your support?” I asked.
He laughed softly. “Your father would’ve been more political about this, you know.”
“I’m not my father.” My hands clen
ched into fists. “He had the luxury of time and peace. I’m at war.”
“Your father never saw peace once in his life,” Roy said, shaking his head. “Your father loved war more than anything in the world. Even when the family was quiet, he still found excuses to cause mayhem.”
“I’m aware,” I said. “Which is why we’re here. I want to be a different Don. I want to be the Don this family needs.”
Roy nodded slowly. “I’ll admit that I see the world changing. You’ve been popular in the family for a long time and your father entrusted with you a lot of responsibility. You’ve been efficient and talented. But you’re still young.”
“No younger than my father was when he took over,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Roy said. “If you want to control the family, I mean really control it, then you need to show that you’ve got solid backing.”
I nodded and sipped my drink. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. “What do you want, Roy?”
“I want you to marry my niece,” he said carefully, not taking his eyes off me.
I leaned back in my chair and didn’t speak. I knew better than to open my mouth right away. My first thought was, fuck you, stupid asshole, and my second thought was, I’m not marrying some second-rate Paganini trash, but let those two ideas pass. I shouldn’t judge the girl already based on her family, and I needed to keep my head.
“Why?” I asked after a few seconds of silence.
“Because it’ll accomplish two things,” he said. “First, it’ll bring you and me together. I’ll have more power in this family and it’ll guarantee the Paganini side remains deep at the heart of the Valentino organization. And second, it’ll show that you’ve got my blessing, and that’ll mean a lot.”
I nodded slowly. He was right, marrying one of his relatives would send a strong signal to the rest of the family that Roy had my back. It would clinch my control and allow me to focus on fighting and ending the damn war with the Healy family.
But I didn’t know this girl. I didn’t want to marry a stranger, even if it would be good for my political career. Roy wasn’t exactly a handsome man and it didn’t seem likely that anyone related to him would be remotely attractive.
And yet I knew it was the right thing to do. My days as a bachelor were over—it was time to take over the business and to become the man I always wanted to be.
Some sacrifices had to be made.
“I’ll meet her,” I said. “But I won’t promise to marry her.”
Roy grinned at me. “That’s good. You’ll be happy, don’t worry, Don Valentino. There’s a reason I brought you my niece and not my own daughters.” Roy struggled to his feet. “They’re nice girls, I love my daughters like I love my own soul, but I’ve got eyes, I know what they look like. Got too much of their father in them.” He gestured toward the door and I didn’t move.
“She’s here?” I asked, frowning. “Right now?”
“Bea put her in the game room,” Roy said. “That okay with you? Meeting your future wife for the first time’s a big deal. You’d have a right to be nervous.”
I finished my whiskey, which made Roy grin, and stood up. I glared at him, annoyed to have to jump through this goddamn hoop to make this bastard loyal. He should’ve fallen into line from the start, but this was the mafia. I couldn’t simply take over without proving myself, despite everything I had already done for this family, all the men I killed, the drugs I sold, the deals I made, none of it mattered.
I was the Don and I had to act like it.
“Lead the way,” I said.
Roy took me out into the hall. I knew this house like I knew my own body, but it felt strange to me all of a sudden. Maybe because I owned it, and I could change it at will. Yet I kept it the same, and the quiet, brooding wealth of it seemed oppressive.
I stepped past him when we reached the door to the game room. “Stay here,” I said. “I won’t be long.”
“Take all the time you need, Don Valentino,” Roy said and leaned up against the wall with a huff. “She’s your problem now.”
I opened the door and stepped inside.
The game room was relatively modest by my father’s standards. Two pool tables, a bar on the right side of the room, and a big screen TV hanging above a working fireplace. The carpet was green and lush, and the walls were covered in sports memorabilia. My father loved Philadelphia teams, and he had an admittedly impressive collection of signed jerseys framed and hung.
The girl stood next to the bar looking at the bottles pensively. I felt rooted in place like my shoes were covered in tacky glue. She was small with deeply black hair and pale skin. She wore tight jeans and a dark blue sweater that hung off her body in a loose wave. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and when she turned to look at me, I felt a pang of excitement roll down my spine.
Bright green eyes, full lips, sculpted eyebrows, short, round nose, sharp jaw.
She was pretty, very fucking pretty.
Her eyebrows knit down as she glared at me like she wanted to ram me through with a pool cue and skewer me against the wall.
“You must be Dean,” she said. “Whatever my uncle offered, you should know that I’m not interested.”
That snapped me out of it. I took a step closer, head tilted. I saw a distant family resemblance in the hair and maybe the shape of her chin, but otherwise she looked nothing like her uncle. The girl was curvy, wide hips, gorgeous chest, and a mouth that made me want to sacrifice a lamb.
“What’s your name?” I asked. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”
“Maggie,” she said. “Everyone calls me Mags.”
“All right, Mags,” I said. “What do you think your uncle told me?”
Her jaw worked. “He’s got some outdated notions about how relationships work,” she said. “He thinks I’m cattle. Like he can bring me to market and sell me.”
I walked closer. She didn’t move, her side leaned up against the bar, but she watched me warily. I stopped a few feet away.
“And you’re not for sale,” I said.
“No,” she said, “I’m not for sale.”
“That’s good to know,” I said.
I couldn’t believe I’d never seen her before—but admittedly, I was never paying much attention to Roy’s family. He had six brothers and three sisters, and they all had their own kids, so it was hard to keep up. It was possible I’d met Mags before, but she could’ve been too young to remember.
She wasn’t too young anymore. I pegged her at early twenties, no older than twenty-five at most. Ten years younger than me.
“I know what’s going on,” she said, sounding more annoyed. “I know I should say that I’m sorry your dad died and all that, but I’m not.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. That only made her frown deeper, but goddamn, what an insane thing to say. I was a mafia boss and I just lost my old man, and the girl had the nerve to say she didn’t give a shit.
She was either stupid or very brave, or maybe both.
“I’m not sorry either,” I said, still smiling, unable to help myself. “He was a real piece of shit.”
“You’re all the same, you know,” she said, raising her chin with false bravado, but it was cute. “My dad, your dad, Uncle Roy, the rest of them. They’re all the fucking same.” Her jaw worked again and I could see the anger radiating off her like waves off hot pavement.
“You think so?” I asked. “I don’t think you know me at all. In fact, I think you’d be pleasantly surprised if you decided that you really were for sale.”
Her mouth opened but she clamped it shut.
I moved closer, and she finally stepped back. She was small, maybe five foot five at most, and I towered over her—nearly a foot taller.
“You’re not seriously considering my uncle’s insane offer?” she asked. “I’m not going to marry some stranger just to make sure this crazy family sticks together. I hate the Valentinos. Why the hell would I try to help it?”
&nbs
p; I reached out, faster than she could pull away, and grabbed her wrist. She gasped, surprised, and I pulled her toward me. I slipped one hand along her lower back and pressed her tight against me.
She stared in shock for one glorious second before the surprise turned to absolute rage.
And I kissed her.
She tasted like bubblegum and mint. I held that kiss, her lips soft and delicious, and she returned it—and I could’ve sworn, she released a soft, gasping moan.
Until she shoved me hard in the gut with her free hand.
I laughed and released her. She staggered back, glaring at me like she wanted to rip my head off. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked. “You psycho asshole.”
“Just giving you a taste of what you’d miss out on,” I said. “And testing you a little bit. I’m not the man you think I am.”
“You’re exactly what I think you are,” she said, shaking her head, and went around the bar. She grabbed a bottle, checked the label, then took a long drink straight. “God, you’re all the same.”
I held my hand out. She hesitated then passed the bottle over. I drank—cheap whiskey. Tasted great, mingling with the memory of her lips and tongue.
An idea hit me then.
It was crazy, maybe even reckless, but it could solve all my problems.
I liked this girl, liked the way she glared at me, the way she kissed me back, even the way she shoved me away. She had fire and anger, and I appreciated that.
Hell, I wanted it.
So I’d pay for it, and make this marriage worth her time.
“How about this,” I said, handing the bottle back. She took a pull. “I’ll make you an offer. You don’t have to accept it, but think about it first, okay?”