Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

Ten million dollars for five years of my life.

“There’s a lot wrong with me,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair looking almost pensive. “I’m short-tempered. I drink too much. I like to fight and I love to fuck.” He tilted his head. “We’ll probably do both, although I hope we fuck more than we fight.”

“Jesus,” I whispered.

“I don’t go to church,” he said. “I’m a shitty Catholic. I’m violent when I need to be. I use money when I can. I’m not afraid to hurt people to get what I want.”

“You’re really selling yourself,” I said.

“I’m loyal,” he said. “And I like to fuck. I mentioned that already, but it’s also a good thing, so I’m mentioning it again.”

I felt myself blush again. “Good for you,” I said.

“Thanks.” He sipped his drink. “I’m smart and ambitious. I’m driven and protective. I’ll give you whatever you want without hesitation. I’ll listen to you when you’re having a bad day and I’ll probably be too eager to try to help, so I apologize in advance. I’ll go for walks with you. I’ll make you laugh. But most of all, I won’t force you into anything, and we’ll be partners if you want it.”

I sucked in a breath and stared at him, trying to make sense of this all. That was the strangest speech I’d ever heard, and I wasn’t sure if his description of himself was at all endearing. He sounded like a monster, to be totally frank, and I was terrified of what it meant to be with him, if I was sacrificing myself for money, and if I’d ever get myself back again afterward.

“What are you getting out of this?” I whispered.

“A politically expedient wife,” he said. “Sorry, I know that isn’t romantic, but it’s the truth. I’ll take care of you, Mags. I’ll make you feel good when you’re down, and I’ll fuck you whenever you want. I’ll pay you, and maybe we build a real relationship, or maybe we don’t, but either way, we both walk away from this with something we need. So come on, let’s do this together. You get rich and I hold my family together.”

I wanted to laugh. His offer was so absurd, and he kept talking about fucking like it was no big deal, but the heat between my legs suggested it was a big deal, an absolutely huge deal. He was gorgeous and rich and powerful, but he didn’t treat me like a piece of trash.

I was used to men like him talking to me like I was a big dog or a fur coat. My father was better, but even he saw me as a burden.

Dean looked at me like a woman.

“I don’t want my uncle to get any of my money,” I said. “He’s going to try.”

Dean nodded slightly and opened a drawer. He took out a stack of paper. The top page was covered in small, dense type, and I couldn’t make out what it said. “I have a contract drawn up,” he said. “A prenup. I can make sure it says in here that Roy gets nothing, not a cent, no matter what.”

“Same with my dad,” I said. “Nothing for him.” I felt a stab of guilt for saying it, but he didn’t deserve my money.

“Okay,” Dean said. “I’ll add that in.” He turned the paper toward me. “You want to read this?”

I hesitated, staring into his blue eyes, not moving. He really was handsome—rugged, actually, cut in a hard way, but still pretty. I didn’t know if I could trust him.

I didn’t know if it mattered.

I had nothing to go back to. I could keep working in that strip club making minimum wage plus shitty tips. Maybe one day I’d earn enough to move out of my dad’s depressing house. Or maybe my dad would end up dead, killed in a mob war, or the drinking might finally catch up with him. My life was a dead end already, and there was nothing to lose.

So I walked forward, snatched a pen from a jumble of them in a Phillies mug, flipped to the end of the contract, and signed it.

Dean laughed softly. “You have to initial each page and—oh, never mind, we’ll hammer that out later.”

I dropped the pen and blinked away my tears.

I just sold myself to a mafia Don. And now I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. I walked over to the drink tray and poured vodka in a tumbler. I threw it back and savored the horrible, throat-clenching burn.

“You want a minute?” he asked, standing.

“Please,” I said, not looking back at him.

At my future husband.

He left the room. I stood alone in a strange office surrounded by strange things, and realized that my life would never be the same, that I might never walk away from this deal—and if I did, I’d walk away an entirely new person.