Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

He stepped up to me and grabbed my wrist before I could pull away. His grip was hard and he dug his fingers into the small bones, a growl in the back of his throat, his eyes wide with fury. I hissed with pain and tried to pull free but he grabbed me with his other hand, digging into my forearm.

“You have no fucking respect,” he said.

“Get off me,” I said, and screamed in pain when he elbowed me hard in the chest.

A door at the far side of the room slammed open. Dean came running into the room, eyes wide with surprise, a gun in his hand. Dad dropped me right away and stepped back, hands going up in the air. I rubbed my wrist in shock as Dean walked toward us, gun down at his side, eyes darting from me back to my father.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Family disagreement that got out of hand,” Dad said. “I’m sorry, Don Valentino. I never meant—”

Dean held the gun up at Dad casually. “Shut the fuck up,” he said and looked at me. “Are you okay, Mags?”

I nodded a little. “I’m fine.”

“You want me to kill him?” He tilted his head, and for a second I thought he was joking.

But he didn’t smile and the gun didn’t waver. I met his gaze and realized that he’d do it if I asked him to. If I told him to murder my father, he’d pull that trigger, and be more annoyed that he had a mess to clean up than anything else. I was sure that Bea would help him get the blood out of the carpet, and she’d dig the grave herself down by the creek.

“No,” I said. “Don’t kill him.”

He shrugged and lowered the gun as my dad let out a groan. Dean turned, took a step to my dad, then bashed the butt of the gun down into his head. Dad crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain as he grabbed at his skull.

“If you touch her again, I won’t ask next time,” Dean growled and kicked him in the stomach. “Now get up and get the fuck out.”

Dad struggled to his feet. He staggered toward the door, not bothering to look in my direction. I stared in shock as Dad disappeared.

Nobody had ever stood up to him before. Not in all the years at the club, not when I was younger and he’d yell at me in public. Not once did anyone ever try to stop him when he cursed at me and slapped me in the head.

Dean would’ve killed him for me though.

The thought sent a thrill up through my stomach, and I thought of what Bea said. Unflagging loyalty.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, scowling toward the door. “I can make sure he never comes in here again.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He nodded. “It’s done.”

I sat down on the couch and put my hands between my knees to keep them from shaking. I felt like a jolt of adrenaline ripped through my body then drained out again just as fast, leaving me a hungover husk. He sat next to me, knee touching mine.

“You don’t need to protect me, you know,” I said softly. “I can handle myself.”

“I believe you,” he said, then grinned. “Although what do you call that move, where you get beat up? Seemed really effective. I might want to try it.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m just saying, I know this whole marriage thing isn’t for real, but you’ll still be my wife. That means nobody will ever touch you again.”

I let out a long breath. It was tempting, so tempting.

Protection. Safety. And when I was done with him, money, lots and lots of money.

“I just don’t know,” I whispered.

He put his hand on my knee and said nothing. We sat like that in silence for a few seconds while I tried to gather my thoughts. He was a killer, willing to murder a man right in front of me, willing to shoot my own father in the face if I asked him to. That sort of power, loyalty, and intensity was attractive and seductive, but it also scared the hell out of me.

That was why I hated mafia guys. They walked that line between sane and insane, deadly and friendly. They could be your best friend, or they could put a bullet between your eyes without thinking twice. Dean seemed so kind and gentle, but I saw exactly what he was in that moment.

He was a killer beneath that handsome veneer.

Maybe he didn’t want to force me into marriage. But he sure as hell would buy me.

“Take as much time as you want,” he said. “But don’t make me wait forever.” He squeezed my knee and stood. “I need your help, Mags.”