Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

“It’s all over the street,” he said. “Three fucking bodies. Three of them!” Hector paced back and forth as Dean poured him a drink. He accepted it, took a sip, and let out an annoyed grunt. “And they say you did it yourself.”

Dean shrugged. “I wanted to send a message,” he said.

Hector groaned and sank down into the chair beside mine. I glanced over and Bea stared at Dean with a frankly shocked and horrified expression. I’d never seen her like that before, and it sent a strange chill down my spine.

Hector wiped at his face with both hands then held them out in a pleading gesture. “You’re the Don now, Dean,” he said like he was talking to a little child. “I know you used to do this sort of thing before, but you’re the Don. You have to understand that you don’t go on hits anymore.”

Dean nodded slightly and faced Hector. The silence was still thick and heavy, but at least it wasn’t aimed at me anymore. I could melt into the background of this conversation.

“My grip on the family is tenuous,” Dean said slowly but clearly. “Roy gave me some power over the boys, but that power isn’t infinite, and it won’t last forever. I need to show the city that I’m serious. In particular, I need to show the Healy family that they can’t push me around.”

“If it had gone wrong—” Hector started, but Dean interrupted him.

“If it had gone wrong, then it wouldn’t matter,” he said. “I needed this, Hector. It was a risk, and I admit that it was a big risk, but it was calculated.”

Hector sighed and seemed to crumple in on himself. “The whole city’s talking about it. You achieved that much, at least. I’m going to spend the next year defending you and keeping you out of court.”

“And I’m going to pay you handsome,” Dean said, grinning hugely. “Come on, Hector. It worked.”

“You can’t be serious, Dean,” Bea said, and her tone was sharper than a steak knife. I blinked rapidly. I didn’t think she was capable of sounding like that.

Dean seemed surprised too. “What do you mean?” he asked. “The three guys that tried to kill me are now dead. I did it with my own hands and proved that I’m a man worth following.”

“You proved you’re a stupid, impulsive shit,” Bea snapped.

Dean gaped. I rocked back in my chair like she’d slapped me. Hector sputtered something and sat up straight.

“Bea,” Dean said. “You can’t talk to me that way.”

She grunted and shook her head, disgust etched into every wrinkle of her face. “I talked like that to your father all the time,” she said. “And he knew the value of hearing it. Sometimes you think you’re invincible, when you’re the head of a family like the Valentinos. But hear me, Dean. You’re not immortal, and what you do reflects on the rest of us. What you do matters.”

“I know that,” he said.

“Then grow up.” Bea turned away from him. “You can’t do things like that anymore. You’re the goddamn Don now.” She pulled open the door and stormed out.

I couldn’t handle the tense silence anymore. Dean looked stricken, like she’d stabbed him repeatedly, and Hector seemed like he wanted to bury himself under the desk and never resurface again. I stood, finished the whiskey which made me cough and gag, then followed after Bea.

“Wait, Mags,” Dean said, but I didn’t listen. I shut the door behind me and hurried off until I found Bea standing over the kettle in the kitchen, murmuring to herself.

I lingered close and opened my mouth a few times, trying to find the words. Bea noticed me and waved a hand, beckoning me closer as the water in the kettle began to boil and the whistle shrieked a wild pierce.

“Don’t just stand there and stare at me,” she said. “Go get some mugs and tea bags, please. The Yorkshire Gold, if you don’t mind.”

I obeyed, found the mugs, dropped in the bags, and place them down for Bea to fill.

“Did you really talk to Dean’s dad like that?” I asked.

She laughed, mostly from relief, or so it seemed. “All the time,” she said. “When he needed to hear it, at least. He hated it though. Told me he’d fire me at least once a week.” She smiled and put the kettle down.

I lifted my warm mug in my hands. The heat matched the spreading fire in my belly from the whiskey.

“Dean seems to think you’re nicer than that,” I said.

“Dean’s been sheltered,” she said with a sharp laugh.

I looked away, down at the floor tiles. “I saw him do it,” I said, my voice a tangled whisper than I barely recognized. There was a lot about myself that I barely recognized these days.

Bea watched me carefully. “He brought you in on a hit?” she asked.