The Killer's New Wife by Hamel, B. (uplifting novels .TXT) 📗

I sucked in a breath then nodded. I was nervous, and my stomach did flips, and I knew he was right. Hell, I didn’t even want to speak up—I didn’t know why I pushed back.

Maybe because I was terrified to go inside, and maybe Ewan would let me stay in the car if I was going to be a liability.

But that was childish and I knew it. He got out and I followed. The grass was a shimmering green, a thick perfection, and I had the insane urge to take off my shoes and run through it barefoot. A fountain with a fat baby angel bubbled nearby and bright flowers ringed along the porch.

Ewan knocked on the door and it opened a second later. An older woman, very short, very square, with dark eyes and pale skin smiled up at him.

“Hello, Ewan,” she said.

“Hello, Bea,” Ewan said. “He called for me.”

She nodded to herself, wiping her hands off on an apron. She wore a simple house dress and dark shoes, and I guessed she was in her late sixties, her frizzy white hair was up in a bun on the top of her head. I couldn’t tell if she was the house maid or the Don’s wife, and I guessed a little bit of both.

“Come on in,” she said, and led us inside.

The house was incredible. Sleek, dark hardwood floors contrasted with the light-colored walls. Oil paintings hung in odd patterns, and plants were perched on almost every surface. The place was suffused with light and green, and it wasn’t at all what I imagined a mafia Don’s home would look like. It was rich, of course, and the rugs probably cost more than my entire life, but it was also cozy.

Bea led us down a side hall and stopped outside a set of French doors. She knocked once then winked at Ewan and walked away.

“She’d been with the Don for a long time,” Ewan said softly, watching her go. “She was his mistress once, a while back. They said she was pretty. I don’t know, I guess I can see it.”

“What is she now?” I asked. “His wife?”

He shook his head. “Housekeeper. Maid. Fixer. All of the above. She keeps his schedule and runs his life. I think she has a heavy hand in the Valentino family’s business, but I can’t prove it. Anyway, be careful of her.”

The doors opened then and Dean grinned out at Ewan. “Glad you could make it,” he said. He wore a black suit and his hair was slicked back. They shook hands and he gestured us inside.

The study was brightly lit with a large overhead chandelier. Bookshelves stuffed with books lined the walls, along with several paintings of ancient Rome and the Colosseum. Dean moved over to a small bar off to one side and offered Ewan a drink, which Ewan declined. I remained near the door while Ewan stepped further into the room and stood directly in front of the large desk, and the older gentleman behind it.

The Don was in his seventies. He was thin and sallow, and the skin around his jowls sagged. He wore a suit that was baggy and ill-fitting, like a young kid going to his first prom. His face reminded me of a human candle left out in the sun for too long, melting like rubberized wax. He frowned at Ewan and ignored me completely. Dean stood with a drink near the bookshelves, leaning up against it and swirling the brown liquor absently.

“Thank you for coming,” the Don said, and his voice was a deep rasp. “I know it’s not easy to come up here, to my country estate.” He smiled a little as if he were making a joke.

“Of course, Don Valentino,” Ewan said. “I come when called. You know that.”

“And you brought the girl.” His eyes shifted to me, and a chill ran down my spine. He was creepy and I felt like I was being watched by a giant lizard, a cold-blooded Komodo Dragon, hungry and on the prowl. “Step forward, girl, let me see you.”

Ewan glanced back at me and I did as I was told. I stood with my hands in front of me and my heart racing so hard I thought it might fly up into my throat and come spurting out of my mouth. The Don frowned deeper and grunted once.

“Pretty,” he said. “Shame she’s an Irish bitch. But I suppose you like that, don’t you, Ewan?”

The muscles in Ewan’s jaw worked. “I have no strong preference for Irish girls, Don Valentino.”

The Don laughed. It was an ugly cackle. “Did my son tell you why you’re here today?” he asked.

Ewan shook his head. “No, sir. I didn’t think to ask.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Don Valentino said. “That’s typical of you, isn’t it? Loyal Ewan, loyal to a fault. You do as you are told. And yet I still don’t fully trust you. It isn’t fair, is it?”

Ewan flinched slightly, and glanced toward Dean, who stood immobile, looking everywhere but at his friend. I chewed on my lip to keep myself from making any noise, as if the Don were a T-Rex, and standing still would keep him from seeing me. But the old man was intensely aware of every inch of his office.

“All I know is, I’ve never given you cause to doubt me,” Ewan said stiffly.

The Don laughed. “That’s true, you know. Years of good service. You’ve been efficient and brutal when necessary. Men fear you on the streets. The fuck girls all adore you, since you have a soft heart for them. And yet here I am, questioning you. I suppose it’s foolish of me.”

“I understand your perspective, Don Valentino,” Ewan said, and I felt a sudden flare of anger. Why didn’t he push back at all? He stood there with his hands clasped like a schoolboy, taking this bullshit from this old weird melted doll of a human. If Ewan wanted, he