The Killer's New Wife

by Hamel, B. B.

  She emerged an hour later, wearing sweats and a sweatshirt. I offered her a glass of wine as an apology. “I really didn’t mean to walk in on you like that,” I said.

  “Then what did you mean?” she asked, though she didn’t sound angry. She accepted the wine and sipped it.

  “I thought you might’ve run away,” I said, shrugging a little. “I wanted to make sure you were still there.”

  She eyed me and held her wine between her hands, then turned and walked to the balcony. Her fingers combed through her still-damp hair as she frowned at me.

  “I don’t plan on going anywhere,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about what you showed me.”

  I nodded slightly and leaned against the counter. “About your father.”

  “Tell me everything you know about him.” She sucked in a deep breath and turned to face me. “I want it all.”

  I studied her, not sure what to say. Instead of answering right away, I grabbed a glass and poured a whiskey. I figured I’d need the hard stuff if I was going to get through this alive.

  “I told you most of it already,” I said, not meeting her eye, but I knew I wouldn’t get out of this that easy.

  “Tell me again.” She came closer, and drank down half her glass. “Please, Ewan. You seem like you gave a shit about those girls. Try to give a shit about me.”

  I looked up and felt a stab of surprise and anger. “If I didn’t give a shit about you, I would’ve fed you to the wolves already. There are people in this family that would easily sell you to the highest bidder and be done with it all.”

  “But that’s not you,” she said softly.

  I clenched my jaw.

  It could’ve been me, if things shaped up differently, if I’d been born to a different mother, or if I’d had a different father, then maybe trafficking girls and selling them for sex wouldn’t bother me so much. Killing never seemed to affect me the way it got to other men, and sometimes I thought there was something broken deep inside my soul—like I was filled with rot where there should’ve been light.

  “Your father was independent,” I said, and let it rush out, all the gory, ugly details. I told her about the cargo ships, about the long trips, about the girls that didn’t survive, their bodies tossed overboard into the water, about the drugs and the addictions, about the cat houses filled with the poor and the forgotten, and her father at the center of it all, working from the shadows.

  She stood back and listened, and as I finished, she sank down onto the couch. Her wine remained cradled in her hands, then she tipped her head back and drank it down in several deep gulps.

  “I never noticed,” she said, looking at the coffee table. “How can I call myself a good person if I lived with a monster like that and never noticed?”

  “Monsters don’t walk around with a sign around their neck,” I said softly, and thought of my own father, and his dead eyes, and my mother, sobbing on the bed. That was one of the few memories I had of her.

  “Still, I should’ve seen it. I mean, an accountant? God, I’m so stupid.”

  I walked over and sat down next to her on the couch. She stared at her empty wine glass, and I held out my whiskey. She frowned a little but took it and threw it back, and groaned as it hit her stomach. I put the empty glasses down on the coffee table, and she leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

  I sat back next to her. I didn’t touch her, but our legs were close, and I was so aware of that proximity. I thought of her smooth skin, that memory of her beautiful naked body still fresh in my mind, and I wanted her to want this as much as I did, but I knew I wouldn’t push her into it.

  She’d come to me all on her own soon enough. And once she did, I’d taste her, I’d feast on her, every inch of her gorgeous lips down to the thick black hair between her legs.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “He’s dead.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “That doesn’t make me feel better, you know?”

  “I know,” I said, and felt genuinely sad about it. “I know what happened wasn’t your fault, none of this was your fault. You got sucked into this hell because your father was a bastard, and he paid the price for it. He deserved what he got, but that doesn’t fix anything, does it?”

  “No,” she said, “it really doesn’t.”

  “I’m sorry, you know. Not that he’s dead, but that your life was turned inside out because of it.”

  She looked at me with a deep frown and tears glistened in her green eyes. I reached out hesitantly, and she didn’t stop me when I touched her cheek. My fingertips buzzed electric along her skin as I wiped away the tears and kept my palm there. She nuzzled against my hands and for a moment, I thought about pulling her to me, pulling her into my lap, but she looked away and stood up before I could have her.

  I watched her pace across the room, arms over her chest. “How long is this going to last?” she asked. “How long are you going to keep me in here?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I spoke with Dean earlier.”

  “He’s the Don’s son, right?” she asked.

  “That’s right,” I said. “You’re a test. I have a complicated past, and the Don isn’t sure he can trust me now when the fight with the Healy family is getting hot.”

  “Complicated past?” She laughed like it was the most absurd thing in the world. “You’re a killer. You’re a damn hit man. Who cares if you have a complicated past?”

  I looked away, out toward the balcony, then leaned forward, elbows on my knees. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. “My mother was Irish,” I said. “She was distantly related to the Healy family.” Tara let out a strangled sound, and I laughed gently. “Don’t worry, it was by marriage. Her cousin was married to a Healy cousin back in the Old World. It’s tortured and barely counts, but I’m technically part of the Healy clan by marriage.”

  I finally looked at her, and she stared back at me in pure surprise. She didn’t move, and I wasn’t sure if there was fear in her stillness, or if she was seeing me in a new light.

  Not that it would matter. I was a killer in her eyes, and maybe I was a half-Irish killer, but still only a killer. I was broken in some fundamental way, and I knew she saw it, could practically taste it on me.

  “So I guess we’re not second cousins then,” she said finally.

  “No,” I said. “Fortunately for you.”

  “Right.” She laughed nervously and tugged at a strand of her hair as she paced over toward the kitchen. She took out the bottle of wine and refilled her glass, then drank it down.

  “The Don wants to see what I’ll do,” I said once she refilled her glass for the third time and put the bottle away. “He wants to see if I’ll take your side, my mother’s side, and turn against the Valentino family.”

  “Will you?” she asked, and it was sadly hopeful.

  “No,” I said. “The Valentinos are my family now.” I decided not to tell her that I despised the Healy clan for abandoning my mother to my father and for abandoning me to them both.

  If they wanted me, they could’ve come, back when I was a child. It wasn’t unheard of for the Healy clan to take in a stray Irish boy with distant ties to them. I was sure they knew about me, since my father was a known entity in the Philadelphia underworld, but they never bothered to do anything for me or for my poor mother.

  No, I wouldn’t turn on the Valentino family. Even if the Don didn’t fully trust me, I’d still never turn my back on them, not for anything. They rescued me when my life was blackest, and I’d give anything to the family now. I sacrificed my life for them, and gave up a piece of my soul to become their killer.

  No light, only rot in me now.

  “That’s a shame,” she said, smiling a little. “For a second, I had a fantasy about us running away to join the Healys together.”

  “It won’t ever happen,” I said, and stood up. I walked over to the bags I had tucked in the corner behind the k
itchen table, and began bringing them up, one by one. “But maybe this’ll help with your isolation.”

  She drifted over. “What is all this stuff?”

  “Clothes,” I said. “I don’t know your size, so I guessed. Tops, bottoms, underwear, whatever you might need. And if there’s more stuff you want, I’ll get it, just ask.”

  Her eyes went wide as she began to look through the bags. Expensive shirts and hoodies, designer underwear, lace and tulle and soft colors, all beautiful and cost a fortune.

  “How can you afford all this?” she asked, holding up a button-down satin top against her chest. It suited her, brought out her eyes, and complemented her hair.

  “I live simply,” I said, gesturing around. “I don’t buy a lot of things. I like to support local artists. I like good whiskey. Otherwise, the Valentino family pays me very well, and I save most of what I earn.”

  She chewed her lip as she stared at the bags then shook her head. “This isn’t going to fix anything, you know.”

  “I don’t need it to,” I said. “I only need you to be happy enough to keep playing along.”

  “Pretty clothes won’t make me forget.” She met my eyes and her expression was hard. “You’re my kidnapper.”

  I stared right back and stepped forward suddenly. She didn’t flinch as I reached out and grabbed her arm. I pulled her close and my lips almost brushed against hers before moving back to her ear.

  “You can run whenever you want,” I whispered. “But don’t act like I’m keeping you in jail.”

  I held her for a moment longer and let that electric desire arc between us before releasing her arm. I stepped away with some difficulty. Her smell flooded me, flowers and clean linens.

  “If I’m supposed to feel bad that your Don’s testing you, I really don’t,” she said.

  “I don’t need or want that,” I said. “I only need you to stay put and behave. If we can both pass this test, then you’ll walk away alive. Can you do that for me, Tara?”

  She worked her jaw then glanced at the clothes. “I want a TV in my room,” she said. “And upgrade your cable package. It sucks.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. She smiled a little bit and started collecting the bags.

  “All right,” I said. “Any other requests?”

  “Better food,” she said. “You eat like an animal. And it wouldn’t kill you to buy some nice towels.”

  She carried her bags back to her room and slammed the door behind her. I stood and grinned to myself as the quiet of the apartment closed in around me. For the first time since this all started, I felt certain that she wasn’t going to do something stupid, even if she had every right to. And I’d give her whatever she asked for, because she didn’t deserve to be my prisoner, and because I wanted her to be happy and comfortable.

  More than that, I wanted her naked again, dripping wet, lying on her back, legs spread, tongue licking along her lips.

  6

  Tara

  For the next few days, I fell asleep to the glow of a small flat screen TV turned to Bravo with designer clothes spread around me like pillows. I’d never owned so much expensive clothing before in my life, and although half of it wasn’t my taste, and didn’t totally fit, and was honestly a little too revealing, it felt good to touch the fabric and to think about how much money it cost.

  I wasn’t about to forgive Ewan for killing my father just because he bought me some nice clothes, but if I was going to stay in this prison, at least I was going to do it in comfort.

  He came to me one afternoon while I brushed my teeth after lunch and knocked on the doorframe. “I need you to get dressed,” he said.

  I looked down at myself. I had on yoga pants and a tank top. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “As much as I love your ass in a pair of tights, we’re going to see the Don,” he said.

  I went very still and rinsed out my mouth. My mind raced wildly—this was the Don that ordered my father’s death. It was the Don that was in a war with the Healy family. He was the man truly responsible for all my suffering, all my pain and my anger. And I was about to be placed directly in front of him.

  “What does he want?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from trembling, but couldn’t quite manage.

  If Ewan noticed my discomfort, he didn’t show it. “I don’t know,” he said. “Dean called and told me to come to the house and to bring you.”

  “What house?” I asked.

  “They have a mansion in Mt. Airy,” he said. “Far north of here. They have other places in the city, but that’s where we’re going.”

  I put my toothbrush down and leaned against the sink. Of course these gangsters had a mansion in Mt. Airy, where else would they live? This was so absurd and I could barely believe that I was drifting through this world. I felt like it was happening to someone else on my little TV.

  “What should I wear?” I asked, and felt dumb for saying it.

  He smiled a little bit and shrugged. “Something nice. I can pick it out for you, if you want, but you’ll have to try it on while I watch.”

  My cheeks flushed. “No thanks,” I said. “Asshole.”

  He laughed and walked off to his room. When the door clicked shut, I hurried to get dressed.

  The Don wanted to see us. I didn’t know what the head of a powerful crime family wanted with me, but I knew this wouldn’t be good. He was testing Ewan by using me, and I could barely understand all the strange, intersecting connections between us. He spoke about his mother, and said she was related to the Healy family by marriage, in the same way that I was distantly related to them. I could understand that the Don might worry that Ewan would turn to his mother’s side in all of this, but then again, I wasn’t sure if his mother was alive at all.

  Most of Ewan remained a mystery to me. There were no personal photographs around the house, and he always kept his bedroom door shut and locked when I went out. He never left a phone around, or his laptop, or anything that could give me some information about him. All I knew was what he told me, and that wasn’t very much. His life seemed sad and quiet and lonely, and he had almost no friends, aside from Dean. He spent a lot of time out around the city, and left me alone for hours at a time. When he was in the apartment, he watched sports and looked at his phone and listened to music, and sometimes he read old science fiction paperbacks.

  I tried to avoid him, but it was hard, since we were living together. I sat with him a couple of times on opposite ends of the couch. We didn’t talk, and it was a strangely comfortable silence, like he didn’t need more from me than I was willing to give.

  And yet as I changed into a decent pair of jeans and a dark blue button-up top that fit me just right, I thought about his eyes when he walked in on me naked, the way he stared at my body, and seemed hungry. I’d never seen a man look at me like that before, but it was pure lust, dripping with desire.

  Later on, he touched me, and his fingertips left an indelible mark on my skin, like an electric burn. It felt good, and it scared me all at once.

  My clothes must’ve been acceptable, since he nodded once and smiled at me when I joined him in the living room. We got into his car and headed north, driving with the windows down. I had a million questions about the Don, about the family, about Ewan and Dean and everything, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask them.

  The city turned into the suburbs. Mt. Airy was an old neighborhood, and most of the houses were Victorians built in the twenties and thirties. The Don’s place was at the end of a long driveway, set back away from the other houses on a plot of land that took up the entirety of a residential block.

  The house was a light brown with green accents. A large tower stood up on the left side, the peak looming above everything else. A porch wrapped around the bottom with wooden floors and gleaming metal accent pieces. The windows were large and dotted the front, and there were at least three floors. It stretched back and out of sight, and it was the biggest house I’d ever seen in my life.

>   Ewan parked and killed the engine. “Try not to talk,” he said, squinting up toward the front door.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, bristling slightly.

  “The Don is very old world,” he said. “Women are better seen than heard in his mind, and you’re a captured enemy. If he addresses you, respond to him, but otherwise smile and don’t talk.”

  I ground my jaw. “I’m not a fan of that toxic masculinity bullshit,” I said.

  “And I’m not a fan of watching the Don’s soldiers beat you to a pulp for speaking out of turn,” he said, looking at me with a straight, serious face. “So make sure you watch your mouth.”

  I sucked in a breath then nodded. I was nervous, and my stomach did flips, and I knew he was right. Hell, I didn’t even want to speak up—I didn’t know why I pushed back.

  Maybe because I was terrified to go inside, and maybe Ewan would let me stay in the car if I was going to be a liability.

  But that was childish and I knew it. He got out and I followed. The grass was a shimmering green, a thick perfection, and I had the insane urge to take off my shoes and run through it barefoot. A fountain with a fat baby angel bubbled nearby and bright flowers ringed along the porch.

  Ewan knocked on the door and it opened a second later. An older woman, very short, very square, with dark eyes and pale skin smiled up at him.

  “Hello, Ewan,” she said.

  “Hello, Bea,” Ewan said. “He called for me.”

  She nodded to herself, wiping her hands off on an apron. She wore a simple house dress and dark shoes, and I guessed she was in her late sixties, her frizzy white hair was up in a bun on the top of her head. I couldn’t tell if she was the house maid or the Don’s wife, and I guessed a little bit of both.