Wife For Him: A Possessive Mafia Romance

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Now, come here and press your ass against my crotch. I want a prom-style photo.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What are you—”

  “Relax. I’m kidding. At least pretend like you’re not disgusted by me.”

  Her face softened. “You’re not disgusting.”

  I pulled her against me, arm around her shoulder. “I know that. I’m the most handsome man you’ve ever been married to.”

  I glanced down and saw her smiling, just a little bit, as the photographer continued to snap photos.

  I might’ve been the dumbest man alive. I thought the hard part was going to be the wedding. I figured the moment where I saw her for the first time would be the toughest bit, and then everything after would sort itself out.

  As I stood there, smiling next to my new pretty wife who very clearly despised the shit out of me, I realized that the hard part hadn’t even begun yet.

  2

  Cora

  The wedding was a nightmare.

  And my husband was a monster. A handsome, charming monster, but still a monster

  Like everyone else in that horrible church.

  I sucked it up and after that one embarrassing outburst, I smiled and played the part of the happy bride on her wedding day—while inside, I was crumbling to ash and dust.

  Drinking helped. I had five glasses of champagne and the fizzy alcohol made my head light enough to get through the evening. I had a first dance with a stranger, cut a cake with a stranger, even did one of those kiss things where everyone clinks their glass with a total stranger.

  And in the morning, I woke up in a strange room in a strange bed and realized my nightmare was far from over.

  I rolled onto my side and stared at the clock. I had a hangover headache and my mouth tasted like the underside of a used sandal. I licked my lips and sat up, rubbing at my temples. The room was sparse—bureau, nightstand, closet, bathroom—with nothing hanging on the white walls. A single rose peeked out from a blue vase, but the petals were already beginning to wilt. I looked around for Reid but couldn’t find him anywhere, and for half a second I thought we might’ve slept together.

  Except the room was empty and the other pillow was cold.

  I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. My hazy memory of the end of the night began to come back to me. I vaguely recalled getting into a cab with him, laughing at some joke he made, letting him carry me inside, letting him help me up into this room—and leaving me there to sleep.

  Which was actually sort of surprising. I thought a guy like Reid would try to take advantage of me, but instead he made sure I was safe and comfortable before turning out the light and telling me goodnight.

  I had on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt, which meant I got changed at some point. I got up and found my bag tucked in the corner of the room. I got out fresh clothes and my toothbrush, then stumbled into a small but nice bathroom to shower and brush my teeth.

  When I was done, I lingered in my room and stared at the closed door.

  My husband was somewhere in this house. My husband, a man I didn’t know, but a man I was legally married too—and obligated to live with for a few years, at least if I wanted to get what was owed to me. Anger sparked in my chest all over again, fresh anger mixed with fresh embarrassment. The memory of slapping Reid in the vestibule after the ceremony flooded back and I felt like such an asshole.

  I shouldn’t have done that. I wasn’t mad at him, not really. I was mad at the situation, at Vincent for pushing me into it, at my father for rolling over and letting it happen, and at the family in general— for being violent pieces of shit. I closed my eyes and tried to think of what Alex would say if he were still alive, and found I could barely picture his chubby, boyish half-smile and his floppy mess of brown hair.

  No, the memory of him on the ground riddled with bullet holes, his brains splattered on the side of a silver Nissan Altima, was much easier to recall. Dead Alex, murdered Alex, that version of him always seemed to come back whether I wanted it to or not—but living Alex, happy Alex, my former best friend Alex, that version of him seemed like it was fading into nothing.

  I groaned and rubbed my head then stormed to the door and threw it open. The hall stared back at me, dim and bare. Wood floors flowed to the right toward more doors and to the left toward stairs. I hesitated then headed to the stairs, the floorboards creaking under my bare feet. My toes were painted pink and I smiled a little, remembered sitting in my tiny apartment painting them while I stared at the wedding dress hanging on the back of the door across from me, and wondering if I could go through with it.

  Now I knew—I could do it, even if it hurt.

  I went down the steps and found a comfortable, well-lit living room. The couch was low and gray, the coffee table was wooden and covered in neat, orderly magazines, and several potted plants hung from the ceiling and were placed on the deep front windowsill. I walked toward the back of the house, passing a blank flatscreen TV, and entered the kitchen.

  Reid sat at the table with a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee in front of him. I stared into his eyes—then let my gaze drift down to his shirtless torso. He leaned back, that infuriating, handsome smile drifting over his lips, and tilted his head as I looked at his muscular chest and defined abs.

  “Morning, wife.”

  That snapped me out of it. I looked away. “Morning.”

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine.” I walked over to the coffee pot, found a mug in the cabinet above it, and poured some for myself. I took a long sip of it black as he watched me, a curious look in his eyes.

  “I’ve got to admit, this is pretty weird.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. Him stating the obvious like that seemed to break some kind of strange dam that threatened to block me up completely, and I shook my head as I took another long sip. The coffee was black and hot and tasteless, but it woke me up and helped with the headache.

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  He spread his hands. “Help yourself to whatever you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Since we’re living together, I figured I’d go out and do some shopping today. You know, get you some food.”

  I tilted my head. “You’re going to do the shopping?”

  “One of us has to.”

  “I figured that would be a woman’s job.”

  His smile widened. “Well now, I’m not entirely sure what your job’s going to be, if I’m honest with you.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take that, so I looked away and covered my discomfort by drinking some coffee.

  “Can I admit something?” I asked.

  “Admit away.”

  “The details of last night are a little hazy.”

  He barked a laugh and I grimaced then glared at him. “No kidding,” he said. “You got a little drunk.”

  “Can you blame me? I married a stranger last night.”

  “Yeah? Me too. Guess we have that much in common.”

  I refused to be charmed by him. “So what happened?”

  “Nothing special. We danced a little, you told me you loved me, then—”

  “I did not.”

  “—we made sweet love on a bed of roses. Afterward, you told me you’d never been with a man so gentle, yet so strong before.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Dick.”

  “Cock was the word you used. ‘Give me your big, thick’—”

  “Okay, enough, I get it.”

  He grinned and ran a hand through his sandy brown hair. I refused to let myself gaze at his muscular bicep.

  “Don’t worry, nothing happened. I got us a car home and put you to bed.”

  “How’d I get out of the dress?”

  “I’m not sure. I tossed your bag on the floor and I think you handled it from there.”

  I nodded, feeling a little bit better. Part of me worried he’d helped get me undressed.

  “Well, thanks, I guess.”

  “No problem.�
�� He tilted his head, watching me as I tried to pretend like I was invisible, but there was nowhere to run or hide—not in my marriage.

  At least his kitchen was light and airy. The cabinets were a light grayish color and more plants were lined up behind the sink. I was surprised that his place seemed so stylish and orderly, considering the way he handled himself—like a typical mafia asshole.

  “Let me ask you something now,” he said.

  “What?”

  “How’d you get roped into this?”

  I let the question linger there for a second. I considered giving him the long answer, starting with Alex getting murdered, but decided I didn’t want to talk about him, couldn’t talk about my dead best friend with this total stranger, so I settled on a part truth.

  “My cousin made me.”

  “Sounded like you made a deal.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, what was the deal?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t need to know.”

  He snorted. “I feel like I do, since we’re stuck together for a while.” He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. I glanced at his chest again then looked down at my bare toes.

  “It’s not going to affect you, okay? So don’t worry about it.”

  He was quiet for a long moment and I felt him studying me. I itched to get the hell out of that kitchen—but I had no clue where I’d go. Maybe up into that room, but that wouldn’t keep him away, not if he wanted to keep talking.

  I was trapped, and it was my own damn fault.

  “Thing is, I don’t really trust you, and I’d feel a lot better if I knew why you were willing to marry a total stranger.”

  I looked up at him and let out a surprised laugh. “You don’t trust me? Are you joking?”

  He shrugged and let his hands drop. “Hate to admit it, but we didn’t start out on the right foot.”

  My cheeks flushed crimson. “I shouldn’t have hit you, okay?”

  “That’s not an apology.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So what is it? He got something on you? Or is this just old-fashioned loyalty?”

  “None of the above.”

  He sighed and picked up his coffee, studying me some more. I was suddenly very aware of the thin t-shirt and short cotton shorts I wore, showing off my legs.

  “All right then, but sooner or later you’ll have to tell me.”

  “I doubt it.” I looked over toward the refrigerator and desperately wanted to change the subject. “So why did you do it?”

  “I wanted to.”

  I looked back at him, frowning. “Excuse me?”

  “I wanted to marry you.”

  “You didn’t even know me.”

  He waved a hand. “Not you, you, but the idea of you.”

  “So loyalty then. Typical mafia machismo bullshit, right?”

  A flash of anger flickered through his eyes and it surprised me. I don’t think I’d seen him angry before—not even when I slapped him across the face. He’d been annoyed and surprised, but not angry. When he pinned me against the wall, his knee between my legs, his muscular body against mine, I expected to see rage, and instead I saw resignation and regret. He was a confusing man and I felt like I was walking myself in circles trying to figure him out.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “How’s it like, then?”

  “I owe Hedeon a lot, and when he asked for volunteers—”

  “You volunteered for this?” I made a face.

  “—when he asked for volunteers, I jumped at the chance to step up.”

  I shook my head. “Sounds like blind loyalty to me.”

  “Blind loyalty is baseless. This means something.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  He clenched his jaw. “So is this how it’s gonna be, then?”

  “Seems like it.”

  Silence descended. He drank his coffee and took a few bites of his cereal, which had to be soggy at that point. I stayed where I was trying to decide what I wanted to do, if maybe I could leave and stay at my apartment for a while, or maybe I could lock myself in the room upstairs and stare at TikTok until time slipped away—but those were only temporary solutions to what was a very, very long-term problem.

  “You mentioned ground rules after the ceremony.” He looked up at me. “Maybe now’s a good time to make some.”

  I felt myself relax a touch. Rules were good. Rules could make sure we didn’t do something stupid.

  But rules were only important and worthwhile if they were followed.

  “First rule is no touching.”

  He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. What’s next?”

  “I’m serious. We’re not sleeping together. We’re not kissing, not hugging, not holding hands. As far as you’re concerned, I’m your gay roommate. Can you deal with that?”

  “Fine.” He waved a hand. “Next.”

  “Boundaries. You don’t come into my room, I don’t go into yours.”

  “Done.”

  “We split everything. You buy groceries and I’ll pay you back. We’ll split bills.”

  “Just like a roommate.”

  “Exactly.” I put my coffee down and crossed my arms. I felt like I was putting on layer after layer of protective armor and trying to get away from him—but his lazy smile still drove me wild, despite it all. He turned to face me, leaning against the wall and sticking his legs out, ankles crossed, arms over his muscular chest.

  “What else?”

  “We live separate lives. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.”

  He shrugged. “That’ll work to a point.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know why we’re married.”

  I made an impatient gesture. “I’m aware.”

  “Your cousin and my boss want to strengthen the bond between our two crews, which means they’ll want us to show up places together, remind people that we’re a couple.”

  “Show up places? Like a charity gala?”

  “Things like that. Block parties, meetings, anywhere public.” He made a face and tilted his head. “Did your cousin not talk about this?”

  “I guess not,” I said through a clenched jaw.

  Although he might have, if I were being honest. He talked a lot before the wedding, told me a lot of things—but I listened to maybe half of it at best. I was too angry, too desperate, and too nervous to process everything he said, and I really wanted him to just disappear and leave me alone.

  Which was part of our deal, after all.

  “The whole point of us getting married is an image thing. You and me, we gotta show up places, smile and hold hands, pretend like we fucking like each other.” He stood up abruptly and I flinched back, surprised at how fast he moved. He was a big man, well over six feet tall, with a square jaw, dark eyes, and thick dark hair. I hated that my heart sped up when he stepped toward me wearing nothing but a pair of loose black sweats, his arms and chest chiseled and covered in muscles.

  “Show up where? I didn’t know the mob threw fundraisers.”

  “It does, of a sort. We do community outreach events to try to endear us to the local population. See, we can’t do our jobs if people are constantly ratting us out—so we make them love us instead.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. We’ll go to some barbecues together. Sounds like it’ll be a blast.”

  “You’ll get used to it.” He came closer, but stopped six inches away. I stared at him, humming with excitement and anticipation, wondering if he already planned to break the rules. “I can tell you hate this. I don’t know what your cousin offered you to get you to go through with our wedding, but it’s done and you’re here now. There’s no turning back.”

  I chewed on my lip but didn’t turn away. “I know that.”

  “So we’d better learn to deal with each other, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That room you slept in is your room. I won�
��t bother you and you won’t bother me.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” He stared down at me with an intense, unreadable expression, then his eyes moved down toward my chest, my hips, and back up. I felt exposed and naked, and for some reason it set my chest on fire and made my breath come in fast hitching gasps. He smiled and for a split second I thought he might close the distance between us and press his lips against mine—just like he did back in the chapel, back when we got married, the memory of his taste still fresh in my mind, like mint and juniper and soft leather.

  Instead, he turned and left the room. I watched him go and felt myself deflate as he disappeared upstairs. I heard a door shut and I groaned as I leaned up against the granite countertop.

  I shut my eyes and tilted my head back against the cabinet. My headache pulsed and all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and pretend like this never happened.

  Except it had happened, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I refilled my coffee and slunk back upstairs to sulk until I felt like a human again.

  3

  Reid

  I gave her a few days to acclimate. During that time, I had her things moved over from her apartment, though I was surprised by how few boxes there were—she lived in a tiny place and her wardrobe was shockingly small. I expected a lot more from the daughter of a prominent mafia guy, but maybe I shouldn’t have.

  The thing with mafia families is they look good from the outside. There’s wealth and power and luxury, but all those things are built on foundations of death and violence and stress, and that shit can drive people crazy. Besides that, being a made man doesn’t exactly draw in the best and the brightest, and they tend to be abusive assholes, or egomaniacs, or just plain sick fucks—myself excluded, of course.

  She didn’t come out of her room much and I didn’t push her. I left her home alone as much as I could and ran my normal business like always, but I made sure to come back at night so she knew I wasn’t fucking around on her.

  Not sure why that mattered to me, but for some reason I didn’t want her to think I was cheating.

  I’m not even sure it would be cheating, anyway, considering she made it perfectly clear that we’re not a real couple, that we’ll never be a real couple, and I might as well find whatever I need somewhere else.