Falling for the Killer: A Dark Possessive Mafia Romance by B.B Hamel (books to read for beginners .txt) 📗

She climbed back up, shaking, and curled into a ball, hugging her knees.

“That was fucking awesome,” Tomaso said, laughing wildly. “Did you see that shit, boss? Holy fucking shit. The way you snuffed those guys out. Then that getaway driving? Oh, fuck, this is amazing.”

I gave him a sharp look but he kept grinning. Psycho Tomaso couldn’t help himself. I drove through West Philly, crossed the bridge to South Street, and stopped in front of a friendly bar.

“Tomaso, get out,” I said.

He saluted me. “It was a pleasure, boss,” he said. “And Ash, well done.” He kicked open the back door and got out. When he shut it again, I pulled out, heading back to my place.

Ash didn’t say a word. I should’ve left her behind, but I wanted her to see that. I needed her to understand what she was getting into. This mafia shit wasn’t all fun and games. It wasn’t a bunch of cheeky pranks where we smashed some furniture and broke some bottles.

It was life and death. I killed them. It was part of who I was, and if she was going to come into my world and stay here, she had to understand.

I parked the truck and got out. The side was riddled with bullets. I’d have to get that shit fixed, but it could wait. For now, I opened Ash’s door and carried her inside. I took her into the bathroom, started the bath water, and placed her down on the floor.

She let me undress her. I did my best to be as business-like as I could. Once she was naked, I got her in the water, and she stretched out with a sigh. She blinked at me, shaking her head from side to side like she couldn’t believe where she was.

“Why?” she asked, and so much was packed into that question.

I took her hand and held it, and kept my eyes on hers. “Because I want you to understand,” I said. “And I need you to know what kind of man I really am.”

She seemed to accept that. She sank deeper into the water and I sat with her, holding her hand in silence, until she was ready to get out again.

17

Ash

I felt like I was rushing headlong into a brick wall with no way to stop.

I kept seeing Gian kill those guys over and over. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see him pull that trigger without flinching, like it wasn’t a big deal to murder people. I knew Gian was a monster, but seeing him act like that—it scared the hell out of me.

I didn’t leave my room at all the next day. Gian didn’t push me—he kept the door shut, and I only slipped out into the kitchen when I knew he’d gone for the day. I stared at the ceiling, trying to come to grips with what I’d witnessed and running myself in circles like a dog chasing its tail.

Except in this instance, I was chasing my desire for this deadly gangster, while being terrified about what kind of monster I’d become if I let myself get sucked deeper into his world.

That night, I had to do something. I couldn’t sit around feeling sorry for myself, so I flipped through my contacts on my phone and started sending out some texts. I had friends in the city and some of them I’d known for a really long time, and some part of me hoped that seeing someone from my past might somehow reconnect whatever part of my humanity I’d managed to lose ever since getting pregnant with Gian’s baby.

Fortunately, Cleo got back to me almost right away. We went to prep school together and stayed friends through college, but we hadn’t seen each other much lately. She lived in a condo with her boyfriend, who was apparently out of town, and agreed to meet me downtown at Monk’s Cafe.

I got dressed and hurried out of Gian’s place. I was so anxious that I might run into him that I forgot to lock the door behind me and had to double back before practically jogging eight blocks. Monk’s was a long building with a black roof that was made to look like some ancient Bavarian pub. The inside was quiet and dim, though the small bar was packed. I spotted Cleo in the back sitting at a booth with uncomfortably narrow wooden benches.

Cleo was a pretty girl with thin blonde hair and wide, bright blue eyes. She stood and squealed and kissed my cheek and made all the appropriate noises about how we hadn’t seen each other in forever, and oh, my god, I looked so good and skinny, and god, wasn’t she so gross and fat now that she had a gorgeous boyfriend that was going to propose soon, and did she mention that she went ring shopping with him recently and he made partner at his law firm and they’re rich and happy and perfect.

“So what’s up with you?” she asked, beaming, as the waitress returned with her beer and a glass of water for me.

“Not a lot,” I said. “I’ve been a little adrift lately, if I’m honest.”

“Oh, girl, don’t worry about that,” Cleo said, waving a hand. She wore twenty different gold bracelets and they jangled like a janitor’s keyring. Her clothes were expensive and designer and fit her like a dream. “I think everyone’s a little lost in their twenties, right?”

“You don’t seem to be,” I said. “And a lot of the girls from prep have jobs or boyfriends or something.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re talking about Katie Mathis then that bitch can go to hell.”

I hadn’t thought about Katie Mathis in almost a decade. “What’d she do?” I asked.

Cleo launched in some petty story about wearing the same outfit to a party and talking shit about each other and as I listened, I realized something with a horrible, startling clarity.

She