The Killer's Fake Bride (Possessive Dark Mafia)

She nodded and chewed on her lip then walked to me and threw her arms around my shoulders. I hugged her back and buried my face in her hair.

“It’ll be okay,” Nessa said. “I love you, Sammie poo. I promise we’ll get through this.”

“I’m afraid I might be fucked, Monster,” I said. “Not in the good way. Don’t make a stupid joke.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She kissed my cheek. “Go on, go get hot. I’ll see you here in thirty.” Then she let me go and stalked off, hurrying back home.

I watched her go and wanted to cry.

But she knew where I could find Matteo. This baby was a real problem, but at least there was one person in this world that might help me, or at least might listen to my issues. Matteo got me into this, and maybe he could get me out.

Or maybe he’d tell me to fuck off and I’d be right back where I started. It was worth a try, anyway.

I only had to hope that the man I slept with that night was the real man, and not some liar just trying to get into my pants.

3

Matteo

McCloud’s was a quiet little dive joint deep in the heart of the Healy family territory. The floors were sticky gray tile and the seats were all ripped green leather. Random Irish shit hung on the walls: shamrocks, football team scarves, pictures of famous dead guys that I didn’t recognize. The drinks were cheap though and the bartender didn’t talk much, which I liked. It was a good spot to get intel, although ever since I murdered my best informant, getting good tips had gotten a little tough.

The Healy guys were smart. They kept to their own little groups, and even though I was a regular at McCloud’s, drank there almost every night and made nice with all the gangster guys I could find, it didn’t help me much. They were still suspicious, and few of them were drunk or stupid enough to start spilling secrets.

Which was good for them, since the last guy that did ended up with a knife in his throat.

I sipped my beer and watched a group of young Healy soldiers out of the corner of my eye. I’d seen them around here lately and though I might’ve recognized one of them from a fight I got into almost a year ago. I was worried he’d realize that I was from the Valentino family, but he didn’t seem to have any clue, and I started to relax a bit. Some old-timers sat near me talking about the football game on TV, but I didn’t bother looking up at it. Sports weren’t all that interesting, not when my job was to gather bits and pieces, and eventually kill everyone in this whole place.

I finished my beer and asked for another when the door opened and the room went quiet.

I looked over, expecting some high-ranking Healy with a bright red face and the desire to get even drunker than he already was, which happened surprisingly frequently, but instead two girls stood in the doorway. I felt my mouth open and had to snap it shut before she noticed.

The one on the left was small and pretty with short dark hair and tan skin. But my gaze barely glanced over her before resting on the other girl—

It was Sam, the girl of my dreams.

The girl that hadn’t left my head for one second since that night.

She looked incredible. Another tight dress, high heels, hair simple and down, makeup understated and plain. Her skin was smooth and, my god, she was as gorgeous as I remembered, maybe even more so. My heart did a double lurch in my chest and I felt my cock stir just thinking about the evening of sin we spent together.

I couldn’t remember the last time I reveled in a girl like that. Sam made me want to fuck again, and again, and again, and no matter how many times I came, inside of her, in her mouth, on her perky little tits, I kept wanting more. When the sun finally rose and we caught a few restless hours of sleep, I woke up still hard, and still yearning for her to slide her wet little pussy up and down my shaft.

Instead, she slipped away, and I thought that was the end of that. I got one selfie to remember her by—and agreed that we’d never speak of it again.

Instead, there she was, looking perfect.

And she stared right back at me.

I couldn’t read her face. It was almost sad, in some strange way, like seeing me was the last thing she wanted—which was confusing. We parted ways on good terms, and though we promised it was just one night, it was still one damn good night. Seeing her again was fantastic, and I would’ve thought she’d feel the same way.