Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

Gian grinned at me. “It’s official now, Don Valentino,” he said. “How’s it feel?”

“Like shit,” I said. “I’m the Don, and now the real work begins.”

He laughed and got up to have another drink. Mags came closer, leaning in to speak over the music. I felt a slight thrill at her lips so close.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “This went well, right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, then stood up. “I need air. Come on.”

She hesitated, but followed. I left, stumbling out into the night. I hurried down the block away from the gaze of the bouncers and around the corner before I leaned up against the front of a row home and leaned my head back against the brick.

Maggie stood next to me, staring with uncertainty.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Have you ever worked your whole life for something, and then gotten it, only to realize that what you wanted means you shackled yourself to a future that might be more difficult than you imagined?” I asked.

She laughed once. “No,” she said. “I’ve never gotten something that I want in my whole life.”

I stared at her, pretty Mags. I didn’t know why the girl went through so much shit. I reached out and grabbed her and tugged her against me. She sucked in a breath and pushed away. “Stop it,” she said.

I let her go and she stood at the curb, arms over her chest, not looking at me.

“You don’t have to hate me, you know,” I said.

“I don’t,” she said. “Not you, anyway.”

“Who do you hate then?”

“My father,” she said, still staring down at the curb. “My uncle. The rest of your crew.”

“So what are you going to do for the next five years?” I ask. “Hide out in that house?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know. It’s a nice house.”

“True,” I said without smiling. “You probably could sit around and feel miserable if you wanted, but I’m not sure that’s the kind of person you are.”

“I’m not sure you know me at all,” she said, looking up and meeting my eyes.

I smirked and pushed off the wall. “You’ve had it hard,” I said. “But you know what? We’ve all had it hard.”

“Did you father ever sell you?” she asked, eyes narrowed, tone harsh.

“No,” I said. “But he beat me so badly that I couldn’t leave the house for a week or else people would see the black eyes and the bruises. His belt buckle left a nice, thick scar on the side of my head. I’ll show it to you sometime.”

She glared back at me. “So your daddy hit you. I’m sorry about that, but I can’t imagine you think you had it worse than me.”

“I’m only saying that nobody’s life is easy,” I said. “You’re not unique in your misery, Mags.”

“I feel so bad for the big, strong Mafia Don,” she said, dripping sarcasm as I approached her. She faced me, eyes blazing. “You haven’t been through half of what I’ve been through.”

I stopped inches in front of her and leaned down. She looked up, chin tilted in my direction, face set and defiant. “You have no clue, little Mags,” I whispered. “My life’s been pain and drugs and blood. I’m sorry your daddy was mean. But you shouldn’t make comparisons.”

“Show me,” she said. “If you’ve had it so hard, show me.”

“All right then,” I said, and grabbed her by the hair—and kissed her.

She sucked in a breath, kissing me back for one moment, before shoving me away. I released her, smirking, and she glared holy hell. “Don’t be an asshole,” she said. “God, you can’t help it, can you?”

“No, I really can’t,” I said. “You’re too easy to rile up, and fucking hell, are you sexy when you’re pissed.”

“What a cliché,” she said, rolling her eyes. “God, you’re so typical.” She started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Away,” she said. “I don’t know. Somewhere away from you.”

I caught her arm. “Stop,” I said.

She tried to pull away, but I held her tight. Her jaw clenched and fire raged in her eyes. “Let me go,” he hissed.

I squeezed harder. “How many times do I have to say this? You’re in danger every time you walk away from me,” I said. “We’re at war, Mags, and I’m officially the Don now. You’re my wife. That puts a target on you.”

“Let me go,” she said again.

“Promise you won’t run.”

“No.”

We stared at each other. I liked the spirit, the rage, but fuck, she was going to get herself killed. I wanted to keep her from danger but she insisted on running headlong into it.

I moved closer to her and put my hand on her hip. She batted it away, glaring at me, and I put it back.

“Dean,” she said.

I pulled her tight against me. “Mags,” I said. “Promise you won’t run.”

“Asshole,” she hissed as I kissed her neck. She struggled, but I held her tight. “What the fuck are you doing?”