The Killer's Fake Bride (Possessive Dark Mafia)

I was dead. Truly, totally dead.

So I turned to run.

But I didn’t get anywhere. The two Healy guys my dad brought with him grabbed me before I could bolt. One wrenched my arm behind my back and the second guy grabbed my other hand. Together they dragged me back to my dad, kicking and screaming.

Dad stared at me for a long beat, then slapped me hard across the face.

Nessa jumped like she’d been the one hit.

My ears rang from the blow. Dad did it again, breathing hard, and looked like he wanted to hit me a third time, but stopped himself.

“Bring her home,” Dad said, and turned away.

The two guys followed, dragging me along with them.

I could scream. I could make a scene. But this whole area was Healy territory, and at least half the houses were owned by Healy members. Everyone else was sympathetic to the family.

None of the would help me, not if my dad told them to back off.

And so I was dragged off back to my father’s house, and I knew my life was about to be over for good.

Nessa never looked up when they pulled me past her, and she didn’t say a word.

7

Matteo

I didn’t see the whole show. Only the end, only the important part, when some guy slapped Sam twice in the face.

Probably her dad.

They dragged her off and I followed at a distance. I made sure I saw which house they took her into before I rolled past and down the block, head spinning, barely controlling the anger that flooded through my body.

Betrayed by her own best friend. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. If that was how the Healy family operated, then it was a miracle they’d lasted so long.

I circled the block for the next ten minutes before I realized I was being too conspicuous and parked a few blocks over. I sat there staring at the steering wheel trying to calm myself down, but my heart continued to pound, and my hands shook, and all I wanted to do was take the gun from the glove box, march into that house, and murder her father.

He slapped her. He hit her twice, right there in front of those guys and her best friend. I couldn’t imagine anything more degrading and demeaning than striking her in front of other people. I couldn’t picture what kind of man would do something like that to his own daughter. It filled me with a horrible anger, so much rage that I felt like a cup about to overflow.

And in that moment, something else hit me. Something strange, something I didn’t expect.

I realized that I was going to be a father soon.

Months from now, a little less than a year, and I’d have a baby. Sam was going to give birth, and that was going to make me a dad.

And I’d have a choice.

I could be a good man, teach my child, be gentle with them, raise them right, or I could be a real piece of shit like her dad.

The answer was obvious.

I wanted to be decent. I wanted to be better than my own parents, better than her parents. It was like we were stuck in a loop, doomed to be as terrible as our parents, but I was determined to get back out of it.

Determined to do better.

Which meant I had to bring her out of that house and make her my wife. Then we could deal with the fallout and the war.

I moved my truck again and sat there planning. I couldn’t hit the house in the middle of the day, so I grabbed something to eat, then as soon as it got dark, I walked over into her neighborhood, keeping my head down, gun tucked into my jeans. I didn’t kick down her door—instead, I went around the back, checking for an alley or some other way into the row home.

Unfortunately, the backyards weren’t accessible, which meant the front was my only option.

So I waited another few hours, killing time by walking through the neighboring streets, getting a sense of the area, getting a feel for the layout. I moved my truck and parked in a good spot, close enough to the house that we could run to it, but not so close that it’d get noticed, killed another then minutes, made sure my gun was loaded and ready, then hit the pavement again.

It was ten minutes past midnight. She’d been in that house for hours. I was sure she was still in there—nobody in and nobody out in all this time.

I stalked to her stoop and walked up to the door. I tried the knob, but it was locked.

So I knocked.

Not loud. Just lightly, enough that if someone were sitting in the living room, they’d hear it. I waited, listened, and all was quiet.