The Killer's New Wife by Hamel, B. (different e readers .TXT) 📕

“Stay away from me,” I said, voice hard. “I don’t know anything. Go tell your father I’m not working for the Valentinos, and I’m not going to work for him.”

“He won’t believe you,” Ronan said. “But I’ll try, if you like.”

“Try then.” I turned my back on him. “And leave Ewan alone.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve seen Ewan’s handiwork to know what he’s capable of.”

I began to walk away, shaking and terrified. I was so scared he’d follow me and take me as soon as I was away from the crowd, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of looking back over my shoulder. I kept my chin held high, and strode toward the sidewalk—

“Tara,” Ronan called.

I looked back, hesitating a few feet away.

“Think about the sort of man your Ewan is,” he said. “Think really hard about what kind of man could drown a person in a toilet. Think about that, Tara, and ask yourself why you’d feel any loyalty for someone like that.”

I left then. Several people stared at me and had clearly overheard what Ronan said. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger, and I walked fast, almost jogging to get away from him.

The trip back to the apartment was terrible. But I reached the front door of Ewan’s building and threw myself back inside, then sprinted to the stairs and took them two at a time.

Ewan sat on the couch watching baseball when I returned. He looked up and smiled slightly, hand raised in greeting.

“Got back early,” he said. “Skipped out on the part of the meeting where they fucked hookers and did blow.”

“That’s a shame,” I said, distracted, breathing hard and sweating and not sure if I should tell him about meeting Ronan out in the park, and terrified that he’d take it the wrong way.

Everyone had an idea about me that wasn’t true. The Healys thought I was in league with my father and the Valentinos, and the Valentinos likely thought I could give them information that I didn’t have. The only person I halfway trusted was Ewan, but even he was a killer.

He was the man that murdered my father.

And I watched him drown another human in a toilet bowl.

Fuck, I was shaking. Ewan’s smile faltered slightly, and I made the snap decision to keep my mouth shut. Ronan got in my head, and I hated him for it.

“You okay?” Ewan asked.

“Fine,” I said, and walked to the hallway. “Didn’t sleep well last night so I’m taking a nap.”

I disappeared into my room and shut the door behind me. I got into bed and curled up under the blankets, and I knew that Ewan could come in whenever he wanted, could kick down that door and force himself into my bed—and the thought sent a strange, horrible shiver along my legs.

13

Ewan

Tara’s quiet on the drive out to the Don’s suburban mansion and I’m not sure why, but I don’t press her too hard.

At least she looks perfect. Hair down and thick, slightly curly, brushing against her shoulders and back. She wore a black dress that hugged her curves and was cut low enough in the front to show a hint of her breasts. Her high heels made her legs ten feet long and her lips were colored a light red that made her look delicious and inviting.

I had on my best suit. Armani, cut to fit like a glove, and cost more than a car. Tara complimented it when I came out of my room, and blushed a little when I returned the praise, but didn’t talk much after that.

Which was fine. She was probably nervous. The last time we came out to the Don’s, she was told that she’d have to marry me, whether she liked it or not, as some test of my fucking loyalty.

Tonight was different though. The Don was turning seventy, and he’d invited every important member of the Valentino family out to celebrate, along with other rich and powerful people from the city. I barely made the cut, and Tara had only been invited along as my guest. This was the sort of gathering where great deals were made, where the players in Philadelphia’s politics got together to make new rules, to carve up the kingdom into pieces, and to fight each other for the best bits.

The Don loved this sort of thing. He was a master of politics, and though he’d gotten slower over the years, his mind remained sharp. He could play a police chief like the man was a rookie, or manipulate a mayor into doing his bidding at the snap of his gnarled, arthritic fingers. The Don was my mentor, and I still felt like I only understood half of what he knew at best.

There was a reason the Valentino family ran the city.

Other mob families came and went over the years. The Leone family was in charge for a while until their older members moved to Chicago, and their younger leaders decided to carve up what was left of the empire. The Valentino family stepped into the vacuum they left, and took charge of the drug trade, turning a massive profit each year.

Now, the Don was thinking about his future, and the future of the family.

I parked at the end of a long row of expensive-looking cars. I helped Tara out and we walked together, her arm through mine. The house was done up and perfect, and a couple guys in black shirts and black slacks stood out in front of the doors with visible guns holstered at their sides. I nodded to them and they let us in through the front, into a crowd of well-dressed men and women packed throughout the house.

Tara followed me without talking much. I snagged glasses of champagne and we did a quick circuit. I said hello to some of the mafia guys I knew, saw the underboss Roy Paganini, who was a longtime friend of the Don’s