The Killer's New Wife

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Come on in,” she said, and led us inside.

  The house was incredible. Sleek, dark hardwood floors contrasted with the light-colored walls. Oil paintings hung in odd patterns, and plants were perched on almost every surface. The place was suffused with light and green, and it wasn’t at all what I imagined a mafia Don’s home would look like. It was rich, of course, and the rugs probably cost more than my entire life, but it was also cozy.

  Bea led us down a side hall and stopped outside a set of French doors. She knocked once then winked at Ewan and walked away.

  “She’d been with the Don for a long time,” Ewan said softly, watching her go. “She was his mistress once, a while back. They said she was pretty. I don’t know, I guess I can see it.”

  “What is she now?” I asked. “His wife?”

  He shook his head. “Housekeeper. Maid. Fixer. All of the above. She keeps his schedule and runs his life. I think she has a heavy hand in the Valentino family’s business, but I can’t prove it. Anyway, be careful of her.”

  The doors opened then and Dean grinned out at Ewan. “Glad you could make it,” he said. He wore a black suit and his hair was slicked back. They shook hands and he gestured us inside.

  The study was brightly lit with a large overhead chandelier. Bookshelves stuffed with books lined the walls, along with several paintings of ancient Rome and the Colosseum. Dean moved over to a small bar off to one side and offered Ewan a drink, which Ewan declined. I remained near the door while Ewan stepped further into the room and stood directly in front of the large desk, and the older gentleman behind it.

  The Don was in his seventies. He was thin and sallow, and the skin around his jowls sagged. He wore a suit that was baggy and ill-fitting, like a young kid going to his first prom. His face reminded me of a human candle left out in the sun for too long, melting like rubberized wax. He frowned at Ewan and ignored me completely. Dean stood with a drink near the bookshelves, leaning up against it and swirling the brown liquor absently.

  “Thank you for coming,” the Don said, and his voice was a deep rasp. “I know it’s not easy to come up here, to my country estate.” He smiled a little as if he were making a joke.

  “Of course, Don Valentino,” Ewan said. “I come when called. You know that.”

  “And you brought the girl.” His eyes shifted to me, and a chill ran down my spine. He was creepy and I felt like I was being watched by a giant lizard, a cold-blooded Komodo Dragon, hungry and on the prowl. “Step forward, girl, let me see you.”

  Ewan glanced back at me and I did as I was told. I stood with my hands in front of me and my heart racing so hard I thought it might fly up into my throat and come spurting out of my mouth. The Don frowned deeper and grunted once.

  “Pretty,” he said. “Shame she’s an Irish bitch. But I suppose you like that, don’t you, Ewan?”

  The muscles in Ewan’s jaw worked. “I have no strong preference for Irish girls, Don Valentino.”

  The Don laughed. It was an ugly cackle. “Did my son tell you why you’re here today?” he asked.

  Ewan shook his head. “No, sir. I didn’t think to ask.”

  “Ah, yes, of course,” Don Valentino said. “That’s typical of you, isn’t it? Loyal Ewan, loyal to a fault. You do as you are told. And yet I still don’t fully trust you. It isn’t fair, is it?”

  Ewan flinched slightly, and glanced toward Dean, who stood immobile, looking everywhere but at his friend. I chewed on my lip to keep myself from making any noise, as if the Don were a T-Rex, and standing still would keep him from seeing me. But the old man was intensely aware of every inch of his office.

  “All I know is, I’ve never given you cause to doubt me,” Ewan said stiffly.

  The Don laughed. “That’s true, you know. Years of good service. You’ve been efficient and brutal when necessary. Men fear you on the streets. The fuck girls all adore you, since you have a soft heart for them. And yet here I am, questioning you. I suppose it’s foolish of me.”

  “I understand your perspective, Don Valentino,” Ewan said, and I felt a sudden flare of anger. Why didn’t he push back at all? He stood there with his hands clasped like a schoolboy, taking this bullshit from this old weird melted doll of a human. If Ewan wanted, he could stride forward and snap the old man’s neck right now.

  I didn’t know why it bothered me. Something about seeing big, powerful, gorgeous Ewan cowed like this sent a thrill of rage through me. I didn’t understand Ewan’s dedication to this man or this family, and maybe that was my problem. I couldn’t understand loyalty and love like this.

  “What do you need from me, Don?” Ewan asked, and I heard the slightest hint of impatience, which was good. At least he was still human.

  The Don cackled again. “To the point then. I suppose I owe you that much.” He glanced over at his son, who continued to look at his drink like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

  Dean cleared his throat, and finally turned his gaze up. “My father and I have a request,” Dean said, like he was trying to pull his own tooth at the same time. “More of an order, I suppose.”

  The Don cleared his throat. “What my son’s trying to say, and failing so pathetically, is that I want you to marry this girl.”

  The Don pointed one crooked, arthritic finger at me, and my eyes went so wide, I thought they might burst up through my forehead.

  Nobody moved. Dean drank his whiskey. Ewan’s body tensed up, the muscles straining against his clothes. I felt like I might fall over at any moment. That would be typical—woman faints under pressure. It would only cement the Don’s sexism, and I wouldn’t give him that. It was a small rebellion, but I’d keep my dignity, as much as I could.

  “Marry her?” Ewan finally asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “I want you to marry the girl,” the Don said. “Turns out, the Healy family likes her for some reason. They already made overtures to me about getting her back. I’m thinking I’d rather cement my claim over her, and what better way than to marry her off to one of my most loyal soldiers?”

  Ewan remained still. Dean coughed once, sipped his drink again, and coughed some more. I wanted to turn and run as fast as I could.

  The Healy family wanted to rescue me. That only confused me even more. They were barely around when I grew up, and maybe my father sold girls to them, but I didn’t know why that meant they thought they owed me something. And yet apparently that made the Don want to marry me off to Ewan, and this whole situation turned from a nightmare into the deepest, darkest pits of Hell.

  “I won’t marry her,” Ewan said, and his voice was surprisingly firm.

  The Don’s face slowly fell into confusion. “Excuse me?”

  “I won’t marry her,” Ewan said, and glanced back at me. “I won’t touch her. I won’t do anything without her permission. If she wants to marry me, then I’ll fly her to Vegas tonight. Otherwise, I won’t do it, sir, with all due respect.”

  The Don gaped, and for one second, I thought he might pull a weapon. Dean looked pained, but unsurprised, and the Don started laughing.

  The tension didn’t break, but it dissipated somewhat. Ewan relaxed, and I began to let myself believe we weren’t about to get bullets in the head for our trouble.

  “I had a feeling you’d say that,” the Don said. “I don’t hold it against you, you know. A man’s got to have a code, or else what is he, but a dog? No, Ewan, I respect your stance toward women, even if I don’t understand it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ewan said, but he didn’t sound thankful, not at all. Simmering beneath his tone was anger, so much anger that it surprised me to hear it. He was doing a poor job of masking his rage.

  “Unfortunately, this isn’t an option. You will marry the girl, and you will do it whether you want to or not. I need this from you, Ewan, to prove that you’re as loyal as you claim, and to keep this girl from the Healy family. If they want her, then I have to keep her.” The Don showed his teeth, perfectly straight and
white—and I realized they were veneers.

  “I understand, sir,” Ewan said. “But I won’t marry her unless she accepts it.”

  The Don looked at me then. “What do you say to that?” he asked. “You want to keep breathing, girl? Marry the man and be done with it.”

  “No,” Ewan said through clenched teeth. “Don’t put her on the spot now. She’ll do it to save her life, but I’m not going to coerce her into it.”

  The Don made an annoyed sound and waved his hand. “I won’t sit here and waste my time arguing with you about details,” he said. “You have one month to marry the girl. Figure out between the two of you how you want to make it happen, but you will make it happen. I will see you both wearing rings. Do you understand me, Ewan?”

  Ewan only nodded once, then looked toward Dean, who stared down at the floor.

  “You can go,” the Don said, and Ewan turned toward me, and our eyes met. His expression was filled with pure loathing and anger, and I felt a sudden stab of fear. This man was a killer, a tiger pent-up and caged, and if the Don continued to push then I knew he’d snap, and break, and destroy any bonds that held him back. “But don’t forget what I said. You have one month.”

  Ewan grabbed my wrist on the way out and tugged me along. He stormed through the house, towing me behind him and out the front door. He slammed it shut and stomped down the steps, and was halfway to the car when Dean came running out behind us.

  “Hold on,” Dean said. “Wait.”

  Ewan released me. “Stay,” he said softly, then turned on Dean and walked toward him. “What the fuck was that back there?”

  “My father’s idea,” Dean said, holding up his hands. “I told him you wouldn’t do it, but he doesn’t care.”

  “What does marrying her gain?” Ewan asked, gesturing back at me. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”

  “Father doesn’t care,” Dean said. “He’s old world, you know that. He thinks that if you marry her, we might be able to split the Healy family, or at least make things more difficult for them. He’ll do anything to win this war. That’s how he is.”

  “I’m not going to marry her,” Ewan said, and I felt a strange sort of angry pang.

  “I don’t plan on marrying you either, you know,” I snapped. I figured I could talk, now that we weren’t supplicating ourselves in front of the Don.

  Dean grinned at me. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe you should consider it. She might be good for you.”

  “Stay out of this,” Ewan said, glaring at me, and looked back at Dean. “I have few rules in my life, and if I start breaking them, I’ll have nothing. You can’t ask this of me.”

  Dean spread his hands. “There’s nothing left for me to do,” he said. “My father’s word is law. That’s all there is. I suggest the two of you get to know each other and start making wedding plans.”

  Ewan glared for another few seconds before he turned away and stormed to the car. He got inside and slammed the door.

  Dean squinted at me and scratched the back of his head. “Ewan’s not so bad,” he said. “And hell, you might like being in the Valentino family.”

  “Go to hell,” I said.

  He only laughed and watched me get into the car.

  Ewan pulled out and sped back toward the city. We drove in silence for a while and I sat staring out the window as that meeting replayed in my mind.

  They wanted me to marry him. And if I didn’t, they were going to kill the both of us. I knew it as much as he did.

  I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t simply do it. Other men in his position would. Not that I wanted him to—I’d much rather him do anything else. Dean might’ve been right, Ewan wasn’t so bad, but I didn’t love him, and I didn’t want to marry him. He could avoid all of these problems simply by making me marry him and getting it over with, and still, he refused his Don straight to the old man’s face, even though he claimed to be unflinchingly loyal.

  I didn’t understand it, not even a little bit.

  I wanted to go home. I wanted my old life back.

  That was gone though. That wasn’t coming back.

  And now I had to choose between a life of misery with this strange killer, or losing my life entirely, and I wasn’t sure which was worse.

  7

  Ewan

  We didn’t talk about getting married. I didn’t run out and buy her a big, fat diamond ring.

  But something did change. She woke up early and made coffee the next day, and she was already working on breakfast when I got back from my workout. Normally, she slept late, but for some reason she decided to get up and make me pancakes.

  Not that I’d complain about pancakes, but it was odd. “Looks good,” I said and leaned up against the refrigerator.

  “You do all the cooking,” she said. “I figured I’d pitch in, you know, be a good roommate.”

  I laughed softly and was tempted to reach out and touch her, but kept it together. I didn’t know why she called herself my roommate—maybe it was black humor, or maybe something else. But we both knew the truth of our relationship, and the Don’s ultimatum hung between us like thick, unspoken silk.

  I showered off and ate while she did yoga on the balcony. I watched the long, lean lines of her legs and ass, her muscular back showing off every time she bent forward, the stupidly expensive crop top falling forward to show off a pink sports bra. I didn’t understand how half a shirt could still cost me six hundred dollars, but hell, I didn’t care, so long as she kept wearing it. I loved the way the sweat rolled down her pale skin and her downy blonde arm hair puckered up from the chilly morning air. I leaned back against my chair, sipping my coffee, enjoying the show.

  Until someone knocked at the door. I was startled up and into the kitchen. I kept a small gun under the sink, taped up and out of sight, and I pulled it down. I waited a few moments, standing near the door, and listened for signs of someone outside—but there were no more knocks, and no noise to give them away.

  When someone wanted to come to my place, they buzzed from outside. I didn’t get visitors knocking on my door like that. Maybe it was a delivery guy and someone else let them into the building, or maybe it was a neighbor, although I kept to myself and made sure my place was spotless and clean. The last thing I needed was someone complaining.

  Tentatively, I turned the knob and pulled it open a crack. My heart was steady and my hands didn’t shake, even though I had reason to believe someone out in the hallway meant to hurt me. I’d been in situations like this before over the years, though never at my own doorway. I was used to danger, used to death lingering beyond a threshold, and I’d managed to kill anyone that came after me, and there’d been more than a few. I had no reason to think anything would be different now.

  I was wired differently, I knew that. This sort of constant pressure and fear sat heavy on most men. It wore them down and eventually broke them. But I was like an ancient shark living at the bottom of the sea, already pressurized, already crushed to the core. I grew up in danger and fear, and everything now was simply extra.

  The hallway was empty as I swung the door open hard. It banged against the frame and I steadied it with my off hand, the gun sweeping my line of sight. I checked the opposite end, and there was nothing.

  I stepped on something that crackled and pulled back. It was a white envelope, business letter-sized, with my name written in black ink. There was no postage, and no return address.

  The place was dead quiet, and a chill ran over me. I crouched down and picked it up before retreating back inside. I locked the door, hit the extra bolt, and armed my security system.

  Tara was still on the balcony doing downward facing dog, and all I wanted to do was sit back and stare at her ass and picture her naked pussy throbbing on my long, thick cock, but the envelope took precedence. I tore it open slowly using a knife from my drawer and pulled out a simple piece of paper, thick and fancy, the sort with a little bit of texture and fibers woven into it.

  T
he message was handwritten in thick, dark pen. The writing was legible, if a little messy, and my eyes skimmed down to the bottom. The letter was signed Colm Healy and I felt my throat tense up.

  I put the gun down on the counter, steadied my suddenly skyrocketing pulse, and began to read.

  Dear Ewan: I know we haven’t met yet in person, but I do so hope we get the chance one day soon. I have nothing but respect for you and for what you do. I know it’s a difficult, bloody job, and the men in my family that undertake your sort of profession tend not to last so long. And yet you are an old pro already. I will say, your reputation is sterling.

  I write to you about Tara Donnelly. I know you have her. I reached out to your Don already, but he has not responded. I hope you don’t take this letter as a threat, for it isn’t intended as such. However, I want you to understand that Tara Donnelly is one of ours, and we intend to get her back.

  I propose a trade. You give me the girl, and I’ll give you something of equal value. Reply to me with your terms. Money would be easy enough, but I suspect a man like you isn’t interested in that. Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.

  I hope we can do business.

  Sincerely,

  Colm

  I read and reread the letter several times before slipping it back into the envelope. I rapped my knuckles on the counter and didn’t notice when Tara came back inside until she said my name.

  I looked up and she frowned at me, head tilted, her hair pulled up. Sweat glistened on her gorgeous skin and her cheeks were flushed red. My god, she was beautiful, and suddenly I wanted to tear the envelope and that piece of shit letter into tiny pieces and burn it into ash.

  Colm Healy was the head of the Healy family. He was the equivalent of their Don, though they didn’t call him that. Colm was a mean man and ruthless, and he’d earned his family’s power through blood and double dealings. He was a businessman, but he was also a killer and a shark, and I didn’t trust him, not for a single second.