The Killer's New Wife

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.

“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.