Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

And he shared that grief. I saw it in the slump of his shoulders each time we got back in the car and went to a new location. It hung heavy on him, like he held a mountain, and each new stop only made that weight so much heavier. He was exhausted by the time we finished and parked outside of a house I didn’t recognize. The sun was setting over the buildings, and couples walked down the street with little dogs on leashes, yapping and jumping at each other. We were somewhere in Society Hill, one of the most exclusive neighborhoods. The houses were pristine and expensive, and there were no bars on the windows.

“Can I admit something to you?” I asked as we sat in silence.

“Sure,” he said, leaning his head back on the seat. He shut his eyes and sat very still, like he was falling asleep.

“I know you call this a family,” I said, looking down at my hands in my lap. I wondered when they’d gotten so thin and old-looking. “But I didn’t really get that until today.”

He turned his head in my direction and opened one eye. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, I mean, it’s a mafia,” I said. “It’s a gang full of guys trying to make money doing crime, right? That’s the whole thing. You guys do crime. That doesn’t sound like a family to me at all.”

“But today you saw something different,” he said, his voice sounding thick.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “The way the guys talked about Lorenzo. They’re really upset, you know?”

“He was well liked,” Dean said.

“I mean, I guess I thought it wouldn’t be such a huge deal, you know? Since you all live with the threat of violence all the time. But you all care about each other.”

He laughed softly and ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it gently. “Sometimes I forget most people don’t grow up in this shit,” he said. “I think it warped me, you know? I think it stained me somehow.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, and reached out on impulse. I took his hand in mine and squeezed it.

“The mafia’s always been my family,” he said. “They raised me as much as my father did. But I guess from the outside, we seem like a bunch of heartless criminals.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I said quickly, but it was what I meant. They did seem like monsters to me—Dean was a killer, they were all killers to some degree. Even the nice ones were hiding some darkness beneath their smiles.

Ash said she thought they were all broken men, but they could be fixed. She said she thought they could be redeemed, that Gian showed her they all have that spark inside. A potential for something better. It was an intense conversation, even if she was smiling the whole time.

She might be right. Dean had that same spark, buried under years and years of danger and death and killing, beneath his father’s conditioning, his brutal life. I could see it, and I wanted to learn more about it.

I wanted that version of him to come out. I got a hint when he stroked my hair, when he kissed me. When he looked at my body and whispered in my ear.

There was tenderness, real tenderness.

I got another glimpse that afternoon when he spoke to his soldiers, consoled them, promised to get revenge. It was there beneath the bravado.

Real caring. Real family.

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “I understand. You grew up in this shit just like I did, except from right outside. You saw the worst of the family, didn’t you?”

I nodded slightly and stared down at my shoes. I pulled my hand away and leaned against the door. “I saw only what my father showed me,” I said softly, staring out the window. “I saw a sad strip club and an asshole that was always one step behind where he wanted to be. I saw a bitter man turn even more bitter and angry. And I saw my uncle growing more powerful and terrifying. I never wanted to be a part of this, you know? I hated all of you.”

“Do you still hate us?” Dean asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Another silence. This one felt different, like he was considering something. I looked at him and he smiled, and god, he was so handsome. Those eyes had a way of drawing me in, and I wished I could pull myself back out.

“Come on,” he said, pushing the door open, and climbed out of the car.

I followed him. “Where are we going?”

“There’s one more errand,” he said, and walked up the stoop to a simple row house with dark shutters and a big navy-blue door. He took a key from his pocket and opened it, and I followed him into a nearly empty house.