Perfect Monster: A Dark Mafia Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  Especially Roman and those ice eyes.

  A car slowly slid onto the street behind me. I drifted over toward the sidewalk to let it pass, but it didn’t speed up. Its main lights were off, only the side parking lights, and that wasn’t enough for the driver to see with. I felt a sudden chill and took a quick turn down a side street, but the car followed.

  It was a black sedan. The front looked old and worn. I pedaled harder, across to Central Avenue. The houses on the bayside looked newer, sleeker, more modern, but just as empty. I was suddenly very aware that there was nobody nearby.

  My apartment was on 86th Street. 56th flashed past.

  I went faster. The car stayed right behind me. I felt panic rise in my chest and my legs began to burn. I wished I was in better shape.

  I thought back to what Roman said.

  About being in danger.

  But he also said he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me, and I believed him.

  Maybe that was stupid.

  He said it himself—he was more dangerous than a gangster.

  That house was seductive. Roza was nice. His hands felt good on my body.

  I let myself believe the pretty lies.

  And now I was paying for it.

  Dia’s skull, blown to pieces, and Manzi’s wild, crazy eyes.

  I worked harder. Sweat beaded on my skin, despite the cold. A harsh wind blew in off the bay, bringing the stink of stale plant life with it.

  The car stayed right behind me for ten blocks.

  When I reached 68th Street and the relative dark and quiet of the empty tourist homes, the car’s headlights suddenly blazed. The high beams bathed me in brightness and I turned my handlebars in surprise, veering off to the side and bounced up over the curb. I let out a shout, rolled over a rocky front yard, and rolled down a dead end street.

  The marshy grass spread out in front of me as I slammed on my handlebars, lost control of the bike, and toppled over. I screamed as I hit the pavement and smashed my shoulder on the pavement. I would’ve lost a layer of skin all down my arm if it weren’t for the thick, oversized jacket I had on.

  The car rolled to a stop right in front of me, the high beams still blazing.

  I groaned and pushed myself up onto my hands then scrambled into my pockets.

  The car door opened and a figure stepped out. It came toward me, walking into the blaze of the headlights, and as it got closer the sharp realization made me nearly throw up.

  It was the creepy guy from the bar.

  The one that smiled at me. The one I imagined dating.

  He stood over me and pointed a gun at my face.

  “Hello, Cassie. You’re a terrible bartender.”

  “Who are you? What are you doing?”

  “This is nothing personal. It’s just that Giatno ordered me to kill you and even though I don’t really love shooting girls in the face, I can’t say no to my Don. So here we are.”

  My heart raced wildly. I saw Dia on her knees in front of Manzi. I heard her pleading for her life—the little Spanish pet names she used for him, the seductive curl to her voice—and knew there was nothing I could do.

  Almost nothing.

  Once upon a time, I almost died.

  A horrible man sliced me open, side to side. Back then, I saved myself by blasting him in the face with pepper spray.

  They say history repeats.

  It’s not supposed to repeat like this.

  I ripped the can of Mace from my pocket and threw myself to the side as I pressed down on the trigger.

  The creep fired his gun a split second after. I heard the bullet whizz past my face and slam into the pavement behind me. I kept spraying the Mace, screaming so loud my throat was raw.

  “Oh, you fucking BITCH,” the creep shouted and fired again, missed again. I rolled sideways, sprayed more Mace. He spit and wiped at his eyes with his free hand and shot his gun a third time, the noise so loud I thought it might make my ears explode, and missed again. I tried to run but my ankle was swollen from the crash and I staggered down to my knees in a shock of pain.

  Tired burned along the pavement. Another car hurtled down the street. It was a black SUV, shining and dangerous. It slammed on its brakes and stopped inches behind the creep’s car.

  “What the fuck is this?” The creep retched and spit again, still pawing at his face. He raised the weapon, aiming it at nothing. “Who the fuck are you?” he shouted.

  Someone stepped out from the back seat.

  The creepy squinted. His eyes were swollen and bright red like he’d been stung by a hundred angry bees. I scrambled away and put the creep’s car between him and me in case he decided to start shooting again.

  The man walked forward and I let out an audible shocked gasp.

  It was Roman.

  What the hell was Roman doing?

  Another person stepped out from the driver’s side. Erick, the bodyguard. He met my gaze and walked over casually, like we were meeting at a mall. He smiled warmly and knelt down next to me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. Just my ankle.”

  He looked down at my leg and shook his head. “Lucky girl.”

  The creep took a few steps toward Roman then stopped. His hand shook and his gun lowered slightly, though still pointed at Roman’s midsection. “What are you doing here? I thought you were back in Manhattan. Giatno said—“

  “Fuck what your boss said.” Roman’s voice was like a chorus of hammers. “Put that gun away.”

  The creep hesitated, but he obeyed.

  I stared in complete shock. I half expected the creep to start shooting at Roman.

  “I’m following orders.” The creep’s voice took on a pleading edge. “You know I don’t have a choice in any of this, right? Giatno told me—“

  Roman drew a gun from his waistband. He held it out casually and aimed it at the creep’s face.

  “You know who I am.” Not a question. A statement.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then you know how I deal with problems.”

  “Roman, I didn’t have a choice. I was given a job, I had to—“

  Roman pulled the trigger. The fourth gunshot of the night barreled through the creep’s face. He crumpled backwards and slammed down against the pavement.

  Blood splattered on the hood of the car.

  Roman put the gun away and frowned with a slight distasteful curl of his lip before turning toward me.

  “Is she okay?”

  Erick stood up and raised a hand. “She’s okay. Shaken up, but not hit.”

  “That’s good.” Real relief in his voice.

  I got to my feet. My knees trembled.

  That was the second person I watched get shot in the face, and it hadn’t gotten easier yet.

  “What’s going on?” I looked between the two men, trying to keep myself under control. “I thought I was safe. You said they wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Things changed.” Roman stared at me like he wanted to stride over, throw me over his shoulder, and carry me off to whatever cave he called home. “You need to come with me.”

  I looked at the car and shook my head. “I don’t do cars.”

  “It’s not an option.” He walked toward me, stepping over the creep’s body. He didn’t seem to mind if he tracked blood along behind him.

  “How are you here? I thought you left.”

  “I got a tip that Giatno might make a move on you soon. I had men watching, but I decided to come myself. You’re lucky I did.”

  “Lucky.” The word felt like a brand on my tongue. “I don’t think any of this is lucky.”

  He stopped right in front of me. Erick walked off and got back into the SUV. Roman didn’t move, only stared down into my eyes.

  I looked back and almost wished I hadn’t.

  Something trembled in that gaze. Something shivered.

  Or maybe that was my hands and my lips.

  Heat radiated off of him like a fever.

&nb
sp; Or maybe that was just my own sickness driving me crazy.

  His mouth opened slightly and his tongue rolled across his lower lip like he was hungry for something.

  Hungry for me.

  And I loved it, loved the way he seemed to swallow me down, wanted to digest me, bring me into his world, make me all his.

  His voice was velvet and a pinch.

  “I know you didn’t want to get involved, but here we are. You have a choice to make. You can come with me and live through the next few days, or you can stay here and take the risk. Things are happening and I can’t promise I’ll always be around to stop Giatno or Manzi or any of the others from silencing you. Do you understand? This is your once chance.”

  I tilted my chin up. I felt my knees go weak. “I really hate cars.”

  “I know. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  I closed my eyes and nodded once. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  He took my hand. I opened my eyes and looked at him, surprised at the tender way he pulled me along. His fingers were rough like he worked with his hands but his grip was soft, like I was a delicate peach and he wanted to avoid bruising my flesh.

  Or like I was a prize and he didn’t want to ruin me, not yet.

  I climbed into the back with him. My core started to tremble.

  He buckled me in then looked at Erick. “Jersey City,” he said

  Erick nodded, the car pulled out, and I felt the panic rise up and threaten to crush me into nothingness.

  7

  Roman

  It was all so familiar.

  And I hated it.

  I wanted the girl to have a normal life, or as normal as her life could be. But Giatno had other plans.

  “Breathe. Just breathe.”

  The drive to Jersey City was torture. Over two hours in the car, though Erick drove as recklessly as he could and shaved off some time. Each second seemed like it ripped through Cassie, over and over again.

  She calmed after a while, and just when I thought she might fall asleep, the cycle happened all over again.

  My hand on her leg. My hand on her hands. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

  In and out, our chests in sync.

  I stared at her lips, at her throat. At her breasts. She was still covered by thta damn coat.

  I wanted all her secrets. And I knew she had plenty.

  The past month hadn’t been easy for me. Not remotely.

  Business was busy, as always. The Liberto Mafia and the Drozdov Bratva were making things as difficult as possible, and the Ramos Cartel was threatening an all-out war if Giatno couldn’t make things right.

  Negotiations were still on-going. And meanwhile, the MacKenna Family spread their influence through Atlanta, taking over drug corners that had been run by smaller local gangs for generations.

  My plans were like water in my palms and could easily slip through my fingers at any moment.

  Yet all I thought about was her. Cassie every morning when I woke and Cassie again at night when I closed my eyes, and all the hours in between. I thought of her lips, her voice, her angry smile, her aggressive conversation.

  So few women in my life ever challenged me.

  And none lingered like she did.

  It was disorienting.

  I spent so much time controlling everything around me—making sure circumstances were perfect, ensuring that my time was spent on the optimal actions, building my empire into a sprawling continent-spanning machine, and yet this girl, this stranger, she woke something up that I didn’t know was slumbering.

  Something I thought was dead.

  Desire, pure and hot. My humanity. My need for connection.

  I thought I lost that a long time ago on the ice.

  Beneath my father’s hand, under his tutelage.

  In the freezing water, my lips bright blue.

  My old brother’s gasps, his chokes.

  But my heart beat again and I didn’t know what to do about it.

  I tried ignoring her, tied to throw myself into my plans and my work, but even Erick noticed that something was going on.

  Roza said I should go back to her. I told Roza to mind her own business.

  Which she didn’t, of course.

  Eventually, I didn’t know what else to do. Days passed, and weeks, and still all I could do was torture myself thinking about Cassie, worrying about her safety.

  When I got the call about Giatno’s hitman heading out to Sea Isle to take Cassie out of the picture for good, I couldn’t keep myself away.

  And now, with her in my car, I felt like an animal, caged and desperate to break out.

  Still all I could do was breathe in and out with her and watch that mouth, lips slightly parted, that cute gap in her teeth, that tiny pink tongue pressed against her palate.

  I wanted that mouth against mine. Wanted to taste her skin and sink my fingers between her slick, warm legs.

  Wanted to make her moan and writhe along my cock.

  But all I did was breathe in, breathe out, until we reached my mansion.

  The most secure place in the world.

  8

  Cassie

  The drive was torture.

  Worse than anything I’d gone through before.

  I was so exhausted from the chase, but my adrenaline pumped hard and kept me in a perpetual state of panic. I’d start to calm down, get close to drifting off—then another spike sent me spiraling.

  Any bump, any sudden braking.

  I kept wondering why Roman put up with it. I was nothing to him, just some girl that witnessed a murder. I was inconvenient more than anything else.

  And yet he sat with me for over two hours, holding my hand, touching my leg, and breathing with me, in and out. He whispered softly, trying to be as reassuring and calming as he could, and it worked.

  At least, it worked more than anything else ever had before.

  It still felt like I was drowning, but Roman was there to keep me afloat.

  Two hours in a car was a nightmare. It was the worst thing I could imagine for myself.

  Roman made it bearable.

  I’d never been to Jersey City before and didn’t know much about it. The houses were old and built in a typical Jersey beach-style even though we were right across from Manhattan. I found it strange that Roman didn’t live directly in the city, but couldn’t think straight enough to ask him why not.

  We rolled through quiet residential streets at four in the morning and eventually dropped outside of a black wrought-iron gate. A man sat in a guard booth just inside and manually pulled the fencing back. He saluted as we drove past—and had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  The driveway reminded me of the Avalon beach house, but so much more. The grass was perfectly manicured, bushes and trees trimmed into idealized and controlled shapes. The house came into view at the top of a short rise and I sucked in a shocked breath.

  It was low and sleek. Long, sloped roofs. Mid-century style, like it as built in the fifties—but everything was new, shining and pristine. Exposed wood, natural brick, lots of grain and character.

  As soon as the car stopped I climbed out and threw up.

  I expected Roman to leave me there. Instead, I felt him rub my back.

  “God I’m so sorry,” I said, wiping my mouth. Heat pressed into my cheeks. As if having a panic attack for two hours wasn’t bad enough, now I had to get sick in front of him.

  “At least it wasn’t in the car.” He gently helped me stand up straight. “Let’s get you inside.”

  Erick gave me an apologetic smile like he as genuinely sorry to keep me prisoner inside of that death machine. I tried to smile back, but I was weak, shaky. Roman helped me down some steps toward where the house was sunk into the side of the hill, almost like a bunker. He let me in the front door.

  The floor was sleek and marble, the walls pristine plaster. I expected him to take me back into a kitchen—

  But instead, he approached a blank wall, pressed a hidden switch b
ehind a statue of a bull with its horns shorn off, and gestured as a set of elevator doors opened.

  “Going down.”

  I stared at him, stared at the elevator, then followed him inside.

  I hardly felt the motion at all.

  “What is this place?”

  “It’s my home.”

  “I was wondering why you don’t live in the city.”

  “I have an apartment that overlooks Central Park if you’d prefer that, but it’s difficult to build an underground fortress in New York. Much easier in New Jersey.”

  “Why do you even need an underground fortress?”

  He half smiled at me. “When your business is financing and running multiple criminal enterprises, security becomes a very important aspect of your life.”

  The elevator doors slid open and he stepped out into a beautiful open apartment.

  Or at least it looked like an apartment. Doors branched off into other places. He led me past a sitting room with a couch and a television and into a sleek modern kitchen. The decor was dark wood with antique rifles hung on the walls. Very masculine, very impressive. Expensive, thick rugs covered the otherwise sleek, metallic floor.

  There were no windows.

  “Welcome to my home.”

  “You live in a lair.” I accepted the glass of wine he offered. “This is a lair. Like a super villain or something.”

  “I was thinking more like James Bond or Batman.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those super masculine guys that’s also into comic books.’

  “No, don’t worry. I haven’t seen a single Marvel movie. Although I did get a producer credit on the first one.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  “Not under my real name, but yes, really. I have a lot of investments.”

  “God, you’re so strange.” I took several long sips of wine and stifled a yawn.

  “You’re exhausted. Would you like to see your room?”

  “I assume it’s going to be in a cave somewhere. Straw mattress, bare stone walls?”

  “I have a room like that if you’d prefer.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “It’s a fun room. Whips and chains and all of that.”