Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

She shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d want it.”

“What about Uncle Roy?”

She hesitated and sighed. “He’s here,” she said. “He insisted as part of the deal.”

I nodded once. “That’s okay,” I said and tried to smile. “This dress really is amazing.”

“And you’ll look amazing with it on. Go ahead, get dressed. I’ll be right outside.”

Bea disappeared into the hallway and shut the door with a soft click.

The bridal suite was just my room with a new vanity brought in. Bea spent the morning helping with my hair and makeup. She was surprisingly good and gentle, and as I stripped off my clothes and slowly tugged the strange dress up over my hips and breasts, I marveled at myself in the mirror.

I never thought I’d get married. That seemed like something for other girls, for girls with stable lives and good families and boys that cared about them for something more than just fucking. I was the daughter of a cheap mafia asshole. I was a bartender at a freaking strip club. I didn’t know a thing about marriage or about having a stable relationship.

But as I zipped the dress and stared in the mirror, I felt that maybe it could be okay.

Maybe it could work.

“And if it doesn’t work, ten million dollars,” I whispered to myself.

That was my mantra for the day. Ten million. Ten million. Enough to change my life forever. Ten million.

I stepped out into the hall. Bea beamed at me and put her hands to her mouth. “Oh, honey,” she said. “You look incredible.”

“I have to admit, I am very impressed,” I said, adjusting the top slightly. “This fits me. I mean, really fits me.”

“I paid a woman to stay up all night making alterations,” Bea said. “Wasn’t cheap. But Dean’s paying.” She laughed and shook her head. “Come on, he’ll love you in that dress.”

I blushed a little, thinking of my future husband.

Dean Valentino.

“Am I going to take his name?” I asked as we descended the back steps.

“I suppose so,” she said. “The Valentino family isn’t very progressive, I’m afraid. I think he’d want that.”

“Maggie Valentino,” I said and it sounded wrong to my ears. “I’ve never been anyone but Mags Paganini before.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Bea said, patting my arm.

“Were you ever married?” I asked.

“Once, a long time ago,” she said. “He was a nice boy, but he died too young.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She waved a hand. “It’s ancient history now. Robert died and by the time I felt ready to marry again, I was an old lady working in this house, and I suppose it just never happened for me. Not that I mind, terribly. I helped raise Dean like my own son, and I suppose that’s more than a lot of people can say.”

I looked at her and tried to imagine what life must have been like for her, working in this house after losing a husband at a young age, raising a child that wasn’t her own, but it didn’t seem so different from my own situation. The world forced people to make decisions, and we chose whatever would help us survive. It wasn’t always the ideal path or the prettiest life, but survival wasn’t always about that.

We paused down in the kitchen. “Wait here,” Bea said, and disappeared out the back door. It smelled like cooking steak and baking bread. The chef was a small man in white and black trousers and he grinned at me and winked. I smiled back awkwardly. I didn’t think he spoke English, but then again, I never heard him speak at all.

“Okay, come on out,” Bea said, waving a hand.

This wasn’t how I pictured my wedding growing up. When I was a little girl, before life broke me, I imagined flower petals, organ music, pews packed with friends and families. As I got older and reality set in, I pictured a courthouse, an old judge and some meth-head asshole that got me pregnant.

Instead, I stepped out onto the beautiful patio, and stared down at the big oak tree where three men stood. There was the priest, Father Giovanni, wearing his priestly robes and holding a Bible. Next to him was Dean, in a slick black suit looking incredible. And to Dean’s other side was Uncle Roy, also in a suit, grinning like he won the lottery.

“Careful, dear,” Bea said, offering me her arm, and we walked down the path together to where the men stood.

Dean stared at me the whole time, and I looked back, smiling a little. His eyes burned like red hot coals and they raked up and down my body. I felt a little shiver, and I hoped he liked what he saw—because he was going to be stuck with me for a while.

I stopped across from him, on the other side of the priest, and Bea stood behind me. Dean turned to face me and the whole world disappeared, except for him. We held hands and the priest cleared his throat, then started to read a shortened version of the wedding ceremony.