Wife For Him: A Possessive Mafia Romance

by Hamel, B. B.

  “You want me to come with you to murder someone. That would make me an accomplice.”

  “Darling, you’re married to me. You’re already an accomplice.”

  “There’s a difference between being married and being at the scene of the crime.”

  I spread my hands. “Your choice. You can come and make sure I take care of our problem, or you can trust me. What do you want?”

  I watched her take a couple deep breaths, trying to calm herself, and a strange look came over her face. It was determination and anger and—something else, something I couldn’t quite define. She took a step toward me.

  “Fine,” she said, almost spitting out the word. “I’ll come with you. But whatever happens, it’s on you.”

  I shrugged and gestured with my glass back toward the staircase. “Better go get yourself ready, darling wife. We’re leaving for the party in an hour.”

  She made a face, but turned and left the kitchen.

  I stared at the whiskey. I decided against more, even if I desperately wanted it.

  * * *

  I parked outside of a rundown apartment complex a half hour north of the city. High brick walls, utilitarian windows, balconies with black railings—the place looked like it was half-rotting and filled with rats. I parked in the lot and looked over at Cora. She frowned out the window then looked at me.

  “Where are we right now?”

  “Glenside,” I said.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Small town. Kind of cute.” I opened the door. “Not that you could tell by this place.”

  She let out a breath and followed me into the night. The bushes were well kept and the grass was cut short, which meant the building was properly managed at least, but the vestibule smelled musty and the carpet was old, dark blue, and stained. I walked to the elevators, hit the call button, waited longer than I liked to admit, then gave up and took the stairs to the third floor. Cora trailed behind me, silent and tense.

  Our footsteps echoed up the concrete stairwell as we climbed. I felt out of my element, almost as though leaving Philadelphia County and coming to a surrounding suburb threw me off my game. I didn’t know the cops here, didn’t know the layout of the streets, but none of that mattered. Jarvis was holed up in apartment 36, allegedly alone, and that was all I cared about.

  We walked down a long hallway past doors marked with their numbers. I heard the soft murmur of lives, of voices, televisions, radios, video games. I heard laughter and an argument, and for second I wondered if we had the right spot.

  I stood in front of number 36 and stared at the door before turning to Cora.

  “Stay out of sight.”

  She made a face. “What are you going to do, knock?”

  “Of course not, but we don’t know what’s waiting for us in there. So please, take a step back and away.”

  She let out a breath then pressed herself up against the wall on the same side as the door. I nodded, knelt down, and fished the lockpick set from my back pocket. I wasn’t great at it, but these locks weren’t high quality either, and I managed to get the handle open in a few minutes.

  I turned it and the door swung open. He hadn’t bothered to lock the bolt—maybe didn’t think I could follow him into the suburbs.

  The smell of decay and sick hit me like a wave. I made a face and stepped into a tight hallway. On the right was an open doorway that led into a small bathroom. The toilet seat was up and the bowl looked cloudy, and I decided not to investigate any further. I moved deeper into the apartment, past another open door that peered into a bedroom, the sheets a tangled mess, beer bottles and fast food containers on the floor.

  I stepped into the main room at the end of the hallway, a combination living room and kitchen. There was one light on, casting a dull glow across filthy counters and stacks of soggy magazines on a small round table. A body was lounging back on the couch half-covered in a blanket, the television glowing like a full moon, flickers of shadows cast across the space. I watched as the body itched itself and I realized it was Jarvis—though not quite.

  Cora came in behind me. I shot her a look, but she shrugged, like what else would she do. I slipped my gun from my waistband and walked toward the body, or Jarvis, or whatever the hell it was now—and stood over him, staring down with a strange, sickening feeling in my gut.

  Half his face was melted off. The skin beneath, if it could be called skin, was a bright pink and horrifying. I realized the smell was coming from him, and he should’ve been in the hospital. He shifted and looked up at me, blinking awake as I stood there, and for a moment we regarded each other. He didn’t move, but he didn’t seem surprised.

  “Hello, Jarvis,” I said. “You don’t look so good.”

  He managed a horrible smile and grimaced. “I don’t feel great, if I’m being honest with you.”

  Cora stayed near the kitchen, her face a mask of horror. I thought she might be sick, but she stayed standing, not moving, barely breathing.

  I knelt down next to Jarvis. “Hedeon said you’ve been around town.”

  “I made the rounds.”

  “From the looks of you, that wasn’t easy.”

  “I wanted to make sure you burned—just like me.” He gave a little chuckle then groaned in agony.

  “Why aren’t you in a hospital?”

  He made a face like I’d kicked him in the gut. “What the fuck could a hospital do for me? Keep me alive?” He pushed his blanket off and struggled to sit up. The right half of his body was covered in bandages, some of them yellowed and sick-looking. He coughed a wet, deep, hacking cough that sounded like glass deep in his chest. I watched him settle into a seated position and his eyes focused on me again.

  “They could’ve done something for you at least.”

  “I’d never look the same. I’d be a fucking monster. And for what?”

  I stood up. “You made this choice, you know.”

  “I never chose for you to burn me alive.” His tone was harsh and there was a real layer of emotion behind his words. “I never wanted that.”

  “If you want me to feel sorry for you, it won’t work. You tried to murder me in the street over a bag of drugs. You came for me, Jarvis. You begged for this.”

  He laughed then groaned. “I thought you wouldn’t have the balls, not with your pretty little wife around.” His eyes flicked to her then back to me. “Interesting you decided to bring her along.”

  “She’s keeping me in check.”

  “Lucky me.”

  I held the gun out and aimed it at his head. I didn’t know how I felt about this, whether I should pity the broken creature, or if I should be elated that it was finally over. With him dead, there’d be no more violence in the city, and we could move forward with our lives again.

  “Reid.” Cora spoke up, pulled my attention away. A little smile sparked along Jarvis’s mouth but I ignored him and turned to her. “Don’t shoot him.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

  “It’ll be too loud.” She frowned and looked around. “We’re in the middle of the suburbs, right? They’ll find you.”

  I cursed softly. She was right. Folks around here weren’t used to gunshots—they’d call the police right away, and I’d be caught out in the open. At least in the city we had safehouses scattered all over the place where we could lie low for a while.

  “We’ve got no other choice.” I held the gun closer to him.

  “Look at him, we can just, we can let him die, right?”

  “No, we can’t.” I knew what she was doing, but I couldn’t let her talk me to of this. “I’m sorry, Cora. If you don’t want to watch, leave the room.”

  “Reid—”

  “This is necessary and you know it. You heard Hedeon. You know what happens if I don’t do it.”

  “Listen to him,” Jarvis said, “put me out of my misery.”

  Cora flinched. “I can’t watch.”

  “Then go into the hall.”

  She to
ok a sharp breath then turned away. “I hate this. You know that?”

  “I know,” I said. “But sometimes, violence is a mercy. Sometimes, it can’t be avoided.”

  Jarvis’s smile sent a chill down my spine. Cora walked out into the hall, and once she was gone, I pulled the trigger.

  No talking, no final words. One second alive, the next second dead. His blood splattered across the couch and the wall behind him.

  I shoved my gun away and walked fast into the hall. I grabbed Cora by the arm and we hurried away. I didn’t hear any doors open, which was good. Maybe everyone thought it was a firework, or someone’s TV. We reached the stairwell, reached ground level, and made it out to the parking lot.

  Once we were in the car and on the road back into the city, Cora turned to me, her eyes wet and glistening. “I know you had to do that. I just wish you didn’t have to.”

  I gripped the wheel. “Sometimes I do too. But that’s not our life.”

  She nodded, turned to the window, and went silent.

  The drive back to the city was scenic—trees, nice houses, people walking through the little Glenside downtown. We didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. Jarvis was dead, and I could finally breathe.

  18

  Cora

  The house felt strained after Reid killed Jarvis, but at least the police never came knocking, and at least I could stop feeling like someone might break into the house at any moment and cut my throat.

  I dreamed of Jarvis, his melted face laughing, the sound of the gunshot, the blank expression in Reid’s eyes as he tucked the gun away and took my arm. I wanted to hate him for what he did, but even in my dreams I couldn’t manage to find the anger that used to fill me. It was like talking about Alex out loud had released something from my chest, something that had been blocking me up for so long, and now I could see that what Reid did was necessary—even if it was horrible.

  We slept in separate beds that night. The joy, the unbridled passion of the last few days, it was all gone, sucked away. I wanted to get it back—I still felt it, deep inside—but we seemed to both know that we needed a night apart to sort through our feelings.

  He went to work the next day and I lounged around the house trying not to think about the dream or about the sound of that gunshot. Jarvis was dead and that was a good thing. He wasn’t suffering anymore, and he couldn’t cause us problems—and the city wasn’t going to break down into anarchy and violence. Order had been restored.

  But I still couldn’t seem to settle myself down, no matter how many times I tried to rationalize it in my head.

  As I stared at the television, trying to distract myself with episodes of 90 Day Fiancé, I heard several car doors slam shut outside. I didn’t think much of it until a shadow fell across the front door’s small upper windows, and a loud, pounding knock resonated through the living room.

  I sat up straight, heart racing, sweat beading under my arms. My panic reaction started instantly.

  That wasn’t a friendly knock. That wasn’t the kind of knock from a delivery guy, or a friendly political canvasser, or someone looking to talk about Jesus—that was an angry pounding.

  I knew I should run. I could’ve gotten up and run out the back, jumped the fence, and tried to get away on foot, and maybe I would’ve made it, but something drew me back toward that door. I got up and drift over to it as another pounding knock slammed into my skull—and someone called my name.

  I recognized the voice, knew it instantly. I felt a pulse of something freezing cold ice through my feet. I took another step, sucked in a breath, and opened the door.

  Vincent stood there, flanked by two large guys I’d never seen before. Dante and three more men stood on the sidewalk.

  He didn’t smile. “Hello, cousin.”

  “Vincent. What the hell—”

  He didn’t let me finish. He pushed into the room, knocking me back. I stumbled, ran into the wall, and almost fell onto my butt as he stormed toward the kitchen. The guys followed him inside, ignoring me, and began to tear through Reid’s stuff, ripping paintings off the wall, smashing picture frames, kicking the TV until the picture flickered and died, ripping books off the walls, ripping open couch cushions. I stared in horror and struggled to my feet as Dante stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

  “We never should’ve sent you here,” he said, his voice soft, almost sad.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Vincent’s pissed. They found Jarvis’s body out in the county, and you know what sort of trouble that causes? Philly cops, they’re bought and sold, but county cops are different.”

  “This is about Jarvis? But he’s dead, he can’t cause more problems.”

  “He already caused enough.” Dante sighed and rubbed his temple. “Maybe it’s my fault. I tried to talk him out of it. I told him this wasn’t the goddamn Dark Ages where you can marry off a daughter or a sister like they were cattle, but he didn’t listen. He thought the old ways could still work.”

  “Dante?” My voice was shaking and I felt fear spiking all through me. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s over, Cora. Sorry.”

  Vincent came stomping back. “Where is he?” he snapped.

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head, panicking now, unable to help it. Two guys shoved past me and went upstairs with Vincent on their heels. I heard them breaking things, smashing glass, snapping furniture and wood. I wanted to scream as several of the dresses Reid had bought me came flying out of my room and fell into the hallway in tatters.

  “The more you help us, the easier it’ll be on you,” Dante said. “Not that we really blame you, of course, but someone’s got to be punished for this shit, you know? The city needs a sacrifice. It always does.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Sacrifices? Dark Ages?” I stared at Dante and wanted to shake him. “What’s happening?”

  “I told you, this is done, you’re leaving Reid. Either you’re going to pay for what happened or he is, but either way, the city gets its pound of flesh.” He moved closer to me, his voice pitched softer. “A little piece of advice: when I grab you, don’t struggle, and don’t scream. It’ll only piss him off more.”

  I stared at him, mouth hanging open. He smiled, almost apologetic—

  Then grabbed my arm in an iron grip.

  My first instinct was to fight. I didn’t know I had that in me. Every other time I’d been faced with something like this, I’d curled up and frozen like a scared baby deer—but now, faced with the prospect of being dragged away by these mobsters, by Dante himself, I wanted to claw someone’s eyes out.

  I managed to pull it back. He wrenched my arm behind my back and I let out a gasp of pain. He whispered an apology, but didn’t let up as he shoved me against the wall.

  Loudly, he said, “Where’s Reid?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He pushed harder. I cried out in pain. “Where. Is. He?”

  “I don’t know!”

  He relaxed his grip, apologized again. “Come on,” he said louder, and yanked me from the wall.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s a nice hotel.”

  One of the thugs laughed as he knocked the TV off its stand. Sparks flew up into the air as the rest of the screen shattered into pieces.

  Dante dragged me from the house. I caught one last glimpse of Vincent standing up at the top of the steps, looking livid, his face red, his eyes wide. I stumbled down the stoop and into the afternoon light, but nobody seemed to notice the fact that Dante had my arm in a death grip, or nobody seemed to care. He opened the back door to a black SUV and shoved me inside.

  “The worst is over,” he said. “Stay there, don’t make noise, and you’ll be fine. We’re going to the mansion.”

  Then he slammed the door and leaned up against it, arms crossed over his chest.

  I sat in the back seat hyperventilating.

  It was over, it was over, and Vincent was ripp
ing apart Reid’s house. Just when we’d finally decided that we were going to do something about all the simmering need and desire between us—it was over.

  All because of that bastard Jarvis. All because of this damn city.

  It took and it took, and it gave me nothing back.

  They never did.

  Vincent and the other thugs finished a few minutes later. They piled out and got into the cars. I was pinned between two of them, one smelling like trash, the other leering with me. Dante got behind the wheel, and Vincent sat in the passenger side seat. He turned around to stare pure hate at me.

  “If only you’d been stronger,” he said, then shook his head and faced forward.

  Dante pulled out and we drove away from my home.

  19

  Reid

  All afternoon, as I drove from drug house to strip club and back again, ferrying shipments, taking payments, directing my guys, I kept thinking about that night, but not about Jarvis—no, that melted shit could rot in hell for all I cared.

  I kept thinking about Cora and the look on her face, like she was torn between love and hate, lust and revulsion. That dichotomy, that split, it drove me crazy, and I wanted to make her understand that killing Jarvis was good for us, good for both of us—and in some ways, it was a mercy to him.

  I got home late that night. I parked out front and felt a strange stab of excitement, thinking about seeing Cora. Maybe we’d make up and tumble back into bed together, and if we didn’t, at least she’d be there, sulking on the couch and studiously ignoring me. I’d gotten used to having her around, gotten used to her being mad at me, gotten used to her coming down into the kitchen and drinking my coffee and eating my eggs and smiling at me while I read the paper—and commenting about how mafioso shouldn’t read the paper, since we’re all dumb morons. As much as she drove me crazy, goddamn, did I like having her around.

  It made me feel good. She made me feel like a normal human instead of some monster.

  I walked up the stoop and grabbed the knob, thinking I’d have to unlock the bolt, but the door pushed open without issue. I realized with a start that it hadn’t been closed, and my gun was in my hand before I consciously realized I’d pulled it.