The Killer's New Obsession: A Possessive Mafia Romance

by Hamel, B. B.

“It’s a long story,” I said. “What’s going on right now?”

  His face hardened as he glanced back to the door. “Raid on a safe house. We weren’t expecting you.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you, either,” I said. “How about you get me out alive and I tell you everything that happened?”

  He put an arm around my shoulders. It was such a familiar gesture that I was tempted to lean against him.

  Cam, my former best friend, the man I loved and hated, the ghost of my past storming back into my life.

  “All right then,” he said. “I’ll take you home and we’ll talk.”

  “No,” I said, “I’m going back—”

  His arm squeezed tighter, and I remembered why I hadn’t seen him in a couple years, ever since I ran away from home.

  Cam was not the man he used to be, not even close.

  “Back to my place,” he said. “Then we talk.”

  “Fine,” I whispered.

  He dragged me out of there, arm tight around my shoulders.

  We stepped over blood and a few bodies in the hallway. The rest of his crew gathered in the living room. There was Linc, the guy with the scarred face, and a skinny man with a hooked nose and a big smile named Franco, and a short bald man named Alvaro, and the deeply tanned Omar and his big gold chain.

  “Found him?” Cam asked.

  Linc shook his head. “He’s not here,” he said.

  “Fucker got away,” Cam hissed.

  “I saw Ronan,” I said. “Right before you came in. He was in that room with me.”

  Cam stared at me, then nodded at Linc. “Fan out, check the neighborhood. He might still be close.”

  “You got it,” Linc said, voice like gravel in a dryer.

  The men left me alone with Cam and the several dead bodies, their blood pooling on the floor. He smiled down at me and tilted his head as if he were studying me for the first time.

  “You look good,” he said. “Aside from the fact that someone beat the shit out of you.”

  “Ronan,” I said.

  “Sounds like him.” Cam laughed softly to himself. “Irene, I have to admit, you keep on surprising me.”

  “Yeah, well, I keep on surprising myself.” I stared down at my feet. I wasn’t sure if this was a better situation or not. At least Cam wasn’t going to murder me.

  But the conversation with Ronan kept playing in my mind. Those USB sticks had something important on them, and I still knew where they were. I’d be safe with Cam, for a little while at least.

  I couldn’t stay with him. Not after what had happened between us, and I definitely couldn’t trust him.

  Cam was a killer for the Valentino family, and they were in a war with the Healys. I came within inches of getting caught in the crossfire.

  “Let’s get you back home,” he said. “And do me a favor. Don’t try to run. I don’t feel like chasing you tonight.”

  I said nothing as he led me down onto the street and helped me into the passenger side of a black truck. I could’ve made a break for it right then and there, but I had a feeling the streets would be worse for me than wherever Cam lived. If whatever was on those USB sticks really was as important as Ronan made it seem, then he’d keep hunting me down.

  Sooner or later, if I didn’t have some help, he’d find me.

  For a while at least, I was stuck with Cam.

  The nightmare from my past, come back to terrify me.

  He put the truck in drive and we rolled through the city.

  I really shouldn’t have tried to steal from the Healy family.

  2

  Cam

  Irene looked incredible.

  She also looked like shit, considering the broken nose and the bloody, puffed-up lips.

  But she was the same girl I remembered, only grown leaner, more dangerous. The change was in her eyes: she cased my apartment as soon as I let her up the steps with the casual glance of a professional. I’d seen that look so many times in the mafia that it was hard to miss.

  Little Irene wasn’t so pure anymore.

  Not that I could blame her. I had no clue how she’d ended up in the back room of a Healy safe house with Ronan Healy himself, but I had a feeling it would be an interesting story. The last I saw her was two years ago, three nights before she ran away from home.

  It was raining. The gutters were overflowing. In the distance, a car alarm blared. I stood under the front awning of her parents’ porch and leaned against a pole. She told me she didn’t want to see me ever again. She told me I’d changed too much.

  I’d never forget her then. The hurt in her face, the anger on her lips. I loved her and wished she could understand that I joined the Valentino crime family to make something of myself. We were both from shit parents in a crappy neighborhood and had no chance. She barely graduated high school and I dropped out in tenth grade to start working odd jobs all over the city. For a guy like me, it was either minimum wage or blood.

  I chose blood. I’d always choose blood.

  She couldn’t handle it back then. “I don’t want some mafia asshole hanging around me, do you understand?” she said. “Just go away and don’t come back.”

  So I left her that night, thinking she’d cool off and I’d see her again.

  Except she disappeared, and it took me two years to find her again.

  “You want something to drink?” I asked as she drifted over to my kitchen table. I had a place at the top of a row home in South Philly, deep in the heart of Valentino territory. It was about as safe as it could be.

  “Anything,” she said.

  I poured two glasses of whiskey and passed her one. She sipped it, winced a little bit, and put the glass down.

  She wore dark jeans and a black tank top. I let my eyes drift down her body. She was thinner than I remembered, leaner and more muscular, but with the same soft curves in all the perfect places. God, I used to daydream about her, about tasting her lips and skin.

  “So,” I said, sitting down across from her. “I think you’ve got a story to tell me.”

  She shrugged a little and twirled her glass. She glanced around my place again, this time a little slower, making a show of it. “Kind of empty in here,” she said. “You sure this is your place?”

  I laughed and gestured. “I’ve got everything I need,” I said, which was more or less true. I had a couch, a TV, and a coffee table in the living room. I had a little second-hand kitchen table near the barebones kitchen. And in the bedroom, I had a bed.

  “Life of a bachelor, I guess,” she said, smiling to herself.

  “Where’ve you been staying since I last saw you?” I asked, unable to help myself. “You disappeared.”

  “I’ve been around,” she said, closing up. She hunched over her drink and glanced at me. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

  “You’re the one that left me,” I said softly.

  She let out a breath. “I don’t want to have this argument.”

  I shrugged and let it go. I knew how this went, and it wasn’t worth the effort. She’d never admit that she was wrong, no matter how hard I pushed, and I’d never admit how badly it hurt when she disappeared.

  Not worth getting into it.

  “All right then,” I said, sipping my whiskey. “How about you tell me how you ended up in Ronan’s back room?”

  She chewed on her lip, probably thinking up some story. Something happened to her in the last two years, something that hardened her, and I wanted to peel away all those layers to get at the girl I used to know.

  The girl I used to spend all my time with before I joined the family. The girl I wanted to marry.

  She was still in there. I saw her in all those little gestures: the way she touched her hair when she was anxious, how her lips pushed together, the little shrug she did, her laugh, her teeth, her eyes. It was all Irene, but it wasn’t Irene. She’d changed, and I didn’t know how or why.

  I’d changed too. Two years in the Valentino family and I was already moving
up the ranks, especially since the new Don took over. Lots of the old guard had retired and moved on, making space for the young guys to take control. There was opportunity now, and I wanted to grab hold of as much power as I possibly could.

  That was why my place was so barren. All my money went back into the crew, back to my guys. I wanted them well paid and enthusiastic. I wanted to make sure I could trust them.

  So I lived on a lot less than I otherwise could have.

  “Ronan and I had a disagreement,” Irene finally said, not looking at me.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” I said, leaning toward her. I reached out to touch her swollen lip but she swatted my hand away.

  “He’s not exactly the gentle type,” she said, and cocked her head, glaring at me. “Something you know a lot about, don’t you?”

  I laughed and took another drink to cover my frustration. She wasn’t wrong about that—I was a killer for the Valentino family, which meant I got my hands dirty. I took care of the trash, the dreck, the dirt and the mud of the city. I did what the family wanted me to do, and for that they rewarded me and my crew handsomely. I was making something of myself, earning a place in the family, building a name for myself.

  I was doing it with death. But I was still doing it.

  “Might be something I know about,” I said, and forced myself to grin at her. “So what did you do to land you in that room?”

  “I stole from him,” she said.

  I snorted. “No shit. Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” she said, not smiling. “It’s been a rough few days, okay? Do you have some place I can crash?” She glanced toward the couch.

  “You can have my bed,” I said. “But we’re not done with this conversation. What did you take from him?”

  “Money,” she said and threw the drink back. “He wasn’t happy about it.” She stood and drifted into the living room.

  I stared at her, at the long, lean line of her legs and hips, at the way she shoved her hands into her back pockets. She hesitated in front of a framed picture above the TV, one of the very few decorations I had in the place.

  “Recognize it?” I asked, and drifted over to stand behind her.

  It was a generic black and white landscape. Long, sloping hill, pine trees, mountain in the distance. Apparently, some dead guy named Ansel Adams took the picture, whoever that was.

  Back in the day though, that picture had hung in her bedroom. She’d look at it and sometimes talk about how she wanted to escape and live in that valley. We’d have long fantasies where we discussed building a cabin and living off the land. We were city kids and didn’t know how to light a fire to save our lives, but it was fun to pretend for a while at least.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “You took it?”

  “Found my own copy,” I said. “Your old man threw all your shit out.”

  “Sounds right,” she said, slumping in on herself again, shutting down. “Look, I’m exhausted and my face hurts. Can I just crash?”

  “I still want to know what you’ve been doing all this time,” I said.

  She didn’t meet my eye. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

  “Maybe in the morning,” I said.

  “I’ve got to get back,” she said.

  “No,” I said softly. “I think you need to stay here for a while.”

  She turned to face me, hands balled into fists. I raised an eyebrow—she looked like she wanted to fight me. Little Irene, pretty little Irene, half my size and a third of my weight and thought she could fight me. I almost wanted to see it.

  Back in the day, she hated violence. Maybe now she was starting to understand.

  Violence always found you, whether you wanted it or not.

  “You’re not keeping me here,” she said.

  “I’m not going to force you to stay,” I said. “But you just got your face beaten by Ronan Healy for trying to steal from him. I can’t imagine you want to be out on the street right now.”

  She relaxed slightly and glanced to the side. She must’ve had that same thought.

  “You’re right,” she said grudgingly. “You don’t mind if I stay here?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” I said. “It’s good to see you again.”

  She looked at me and tilted her head. A small smile pressed against her lips. “I bet it is,” she said, and walked away then. The bathroom door slammed shut, and I lingered in the hall, staring down at the bare wood floor.

  The was the same Irene I remembered, but something had happened to her. I didn’t know where she’d been for the last two years, but if she was stealing from a man like Ronan Healy, then it couldn’t have been good.

  I wanted to help her. Most of all, I wanted to keep her. She got away once, but I couldn’t let that happen again, not when she was finally back in my life.

  She was the first and only woman to ever make me want to change.

  I couldn’t, and I lost her for it, but I wanted to at least.

  The shower started and I left her to it. I sat back on the couch and called up Linc. He gave me a quick update, everything was quiet, they didn’t find any trace of Ronan, and everyone was headed back in for the night. I hung up and stripped off my blood-splattered shirt, tossing it on the floor.

  Fucking hell, Irene. She was going to be trouble, I could already feel it, but my stomach did flips at the thought of her naked in my shower, the water dripping down the body I’d always wanted, the body I craved for years.

  Back in my life, but dangerous, and definitely hiding something.

  I’d pull her secrets out like teeth, then never let her escape me again.

  3

  Irene

  I woke up to find a shirtless and absolutely ripped and gorgeous Cam sleeping on the couch. I stood in the hallway that led back to his bedroom staring at his body, wondering if I could make a break for it.

  I had to remind myself that I was safer with him than I was on the street. Running away was an old habit, one I’d have to forget about.

  “You can stop staring, I’m awake,” he said and opened one eye.

  I felt my cheeks color. “Sorry,” I said, and quickly walked into the kitchen. I found the coffee machine and set about getting some brewed while Cam stood in the kitchen door watching me. I wished he’d put a freaking shirt on but I studiously ignored him as I opened the refrigerator, took out some eggs, and started cooking. I figured at least I owed him a good breakfast for saving my life.

  And besides, it’d been a while since I saw a refrigerator with more food than cheap alcohol inside of it.

  “You seem different,” Cam said after a while.

  I looked over my shoulder and forced a smile. “Yeah? Am I glowing?”

  He smirked back. “That’s it, you’re glowing.”

  I stared down at the eggs as I moved them around. “Two years is a long time, you know,” I said. “You don’t exactly look the same, either.” Which wasn’t totally true: Cam had always been gorgeous. He’d added some muscle to his already bulky frame, but he was otherwise his usual self.

  “That’s true,” he said. “I’m a big, strapping young man now.”

  I snorted. “Hardly.”

  He leaned up against the counter. “Where have you been, anyway?”

  I shrugged and gestured in the air with the spatula. I was careful not to look at him—he always could tell when I was lying.

  “Around,” I said. “You know.”

  “Sure, around,” he said. “I’ve been around, but I haven’t seen you.”

  “I left the neighborhood, found something better.”

  “Of course.” He hopped up and sat on the counter, staring at me. I glanced back at his muscular arms then quickly looked away. I found two plates and divided the eggs evenly, though my stomach rumbled. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a fresh cooked meal like this.

  “Here you go,” I said and put the plate down next to him. I stood away and dug into my food with a shocking hungry. It wasn’t
anything special: salt, pepper, a little butter, a little milk, and boom, scrambled eggs, but they were warm and delicious and better than the prepackaged stuff I’d been living off for the last month. I stole a crate of those cheap apple pies from the back of a bodega and they kept me going when things got rough.

  He studied me and didn’t eat. I shifted from foot to foot and when the coffee finished, I poured a big mug. All his stuff was mismatched and chipped like he’d bought it from a bunch of different second-hand shops. I found it hard to believe that a made man like him would have to be so frugal, and yet that had always been Cam’s way.

  He was never flashy, even when he could’ve been. Cam was a big guy and girls always drifted to him like hungry bears to a campfire. He could’ve had his pick whenever he wanted, as much as he wanted, but he tended to keep his hands to himself—most of the time, at least. When he started earning a little money and had enough cash to get a halfway decent vehicle, he bought some piece of crap rundown truck, the same truck he used to drive me home the night before.

  That was just Cam. He could’ve had whatever he wanted, but he only wanted certain things. He didn’t settle for second best.

  “At some point, you’ll have to talk,” he said as I slipped past him and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “There’s not much to say.” I swirled my black coffee around and chugged half of it down despite the heat. My tongue burned but it was a good feeling, reminded me that I was alive. My lips were puffy and cracked where Ronan hit me, and my tongue felt heavy and swollen, but at least I was in one piece.

  Cam sat down across from me and watch me eat then pushed his plate over. I hesitated, but my stomach rumbled and I couldn’t help myself.

  “You eat like a homeless girl,” he said.

  I looked up, fork full of eggs poised at my lips. “Excuse me?”

  His eyes tore into mine like claws. “Where have you been, Irene? Why the hell did you try to steal from Ronan Healy? How the hell did you even meet him?”

  I shoed my chair back. “It’s none of your business, okay?” I carried the plates back into the kitchen and rinsed them off. “We don’t all have the Valentino family to fall back on.”