The Killer's New Obsession: A Possessive Mafia Romance

by Hamel, B. B.

  She hugged herself and stepped aside. “Come in quick,” she said.

  I stepped into a cramped living room. The furniture was second-hand, but clean, and the TV was decent enough but covered in scratches and dents. The walls were bland white, but the place was spotless, despite the overall sense of shabby decay.

  Irene drifted over to a big easy chair and hovered over it. Linc stayed by the door, hands folded in front of him, looking like a big tough guy. Asshole wanted to be intimidating.

  “Let’s sit,” I said, and guided Luiza over to the couch.

  She was nervous and kept looking to Irene. I figured having a woman around would likely make things better.

  “Kira said you can help me,” Luiza said, shifting on the seat. “I don’t know if that’s true. This place, Ronan pays for it. I don’t know where I’d go, if I stopped.” She chewed her lip and looked down at her hands.

  “Let’s worry about that later,” I said and Irene shot me an annoyed glare. “Right now, I need to hear your story. Where do you come from, and how’d you end up here?”

  Luiza took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’m from Ukraine, like Kira,” she said. “From a village near the one she grew up in actually, small world, I guess.” She talked about meeting a man online, then meeting him in person, accepting small gifts of cash, before finally taking a flight over to Turkey, where she got on a boat that carried her in a cramped cargo container with six other girls.

  The voyage sounded like a nightmare. Seven women in total, living in cramped, hot conditions, eating whatever the crew tossed in for them, barely surviving. They were all sick and emaciated when they finally arrived in Philadelphia.

  “I was so stupid, I thought my real life would begin,” Luiza said, then abruptly put her face in her hands.

  “It’s okay,” Irene said softly. “We want to help.”

  “Ronan took me then,” she said. “He was nice at first, but he didn’t stay nice.”

  “Do you remember names?” I pressed. “Any of the other girls. Men that brought you over. Ports you went through.”

  “I think so,” she said, glancing nervously at Linc. “Do you really need all that?” She stared down at her hands and kept nervously tugging at the hem of her shirt.

  “Please,” I said.

  She rattled off some information and I did my best to write it all down in a tiny notepad I kept in my back pocket. I recognize some of the names from those profiles, though a few of them were new. She gave some phone numbers, but mostly she shook her head when pressed and claimed not to know how to get in touch with them.

  “They’re street girls,” she said. “They don’t use phones most of the time.”

  I looked at Irene and she shrugged. “I still don’t have a phone,” she said.

  Luiza smiled a little. “You spent time out there?”

  “Years,” Irene said. “We really do want to help you.”

  For one moment, Luiza’s smile got bigger, but then it slowly faded away as she deflated and leaned back against the couch. She crossed her arms and looked down at the floor with a sullen frown, and her entire demeanor suddenly shifted.

  “I don’t know what I can do for you,” she said. “I was just some Healy whore.”

  “Don’t say that,” Irene said. “We want to hurt them. Get some revenge for you and the other girls they took advantage of.”

  “Not for me, you don’t,” Luiza said. “I’m not a part of this.”

  “Kira said you wanted to help,” I said, glancing back at Linc, who frowned deeply.

  “Yeah, well, maybe Kira doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does.” Luiza glared up at me. “Maybe you people should go.”

  I opened my mouth, surprised at the abrupt shift, then turned to Irene. She seemed as taken aback as I felt, but she stood up and held out her hands in a plaintive gesture.

  “If you change your mind, get in touch with us,” Irene said. “Talk to Kira.”

  “I don’t think I will,” Luiza said. “This was just a mistake, you know? The Healy family doesn’t take this sort of thing lightly. You people should just get out of here right now.”

  I felt a suddenly twist of something. It was instinct, undefined, nonspecific, but it was triggered by Luiza’s sudden urgency. Minutes ago she seemed happy to keep talking, maybe a little nervous and uncomfortable, but she wanted to get involved and help out at least.

  Suddenly, she’s totally different, like learning that Irene spent time on the streets just like her changed things.

  I stood up and grabbed Irene’s wrist. “Let’s go,” I said, tugging her behind me.

  “Hurry up,” Luiza snapped, like she was angry.

  That sent a chill down my spine.

  Linc gave me an odd look as I hustled past him with Irene in tow.

  “What’s wrong, boss?” Linc asked. “Why we running? That girl might know more.” He slammed her front door shut behind him as I walked past into the street and toward the truck.

  Omar stood up straight as we approached, hand scratching the back of his head.

  “You done already?” he called out.

  “Get in the truck,” I said, pointing. “Get it started. We’re leaving.”

  “Cam,” Irene said. “What the hell’s going on? Why are you rushing out of here like that?”

  I hesitated then, and wondered if maybe I was overreacting. Sometimes I paid my gut a little bit too much attention and people thought I could be erratic and crazy. But no, I heard the urgency in her tone, and it happened the second she felt a slight connection to Irene.

  That had to mean something.

  “I’ll explain later,” I said, pulling her around to the passenger side. Irene stepped up onto the sidewalk and started around behind the bed—

  And that was when the van came hurtling around the corner.

  Omar said something as he got out of the truck, the stupid bastard. “Get down!” I yelled, and grabbed Irene, pulling her against me. Linc dove behind the red sedan parked behind my truck, but Omar was caught out front.

  The gunfire ripped a hole in the air around us. The smell of burning powder, the rattle of bullets on pavement and metal, it wrenched my ears to pieces. Irene screamed beneath me, but I couldn’t hear her, I couldn’t hear anything.

  I pushed Irene down into the pavement to make sure she’d stay put before diving for the passenger side. I got the door open and grabbed my gun from the glove compartment. A bullet ripped through the door and narrowly missed my face, lodging itself in the speaker to the right of my ear.

  Cursing, I threw myself back and to the side. I came up and returned fire over the hood of the truck. Omar was down, body riddled with holes, bleeding like a gushing river from his chest and mouth and nose and eyes. I shouted for him, the noise lost in the shooting. Three men crouched in the back of the van, the door slid open, and I managed to hit one in the chest. He fell backwards, and the van door slammed shut.

  The smell of burning rubber drifted up as the van fishtailed, hit a car on the opposite side of the street, and started away. Linc shot at them, shouting curses the whole time. I turned back to Irene and she stared at me with wild, terrified eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, kneeling down next to her.

  “I’m fine,” she said, looking down at herself with surprise.

  I ran around the truck and crouched down beside Omar. He was still alive, breathing shallowly, gasping and gurgling on his own blood. I took his hand and held it, and his eyes rolled toward me, but he didn’t move. He tried to say something, and it only came out a croak.

  “You’re okay,” I said, leaning toward him. “You’re okay, man, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” Which was a fucking nasty lie and he knew it. His blood pumped out of him and he’d be gone in a few moments. His eyes were glassy already, but his hand squeezed mine, and I squeezed it back.

  He slipped away as Linc knelt down on his other side.

  “Omar,” Linc said, shaking the dead ma
n gently. “Wake up, man. You gotta stay awake. Cam, you gotta call someone.”

  I dropped Omar’s hand. It fell to his side. “There’s nobody to call,” I said and stood up. “Can’t fix him now.”

  “No,” Linc said through his teeth. “Fuck. Omar.” He stood up, gun clutched between his hands.

  I grabbed him by the arm. “We have to go,” I said.

  “That girl,” he said. “She knew this was going to happen.”

  I took a deep breath and stared at him. “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “What do you want to do about it? Go in there and put a bullet in her face?”

  “Yeah,” Linc snarled. “I do.”

  Sirens blared in the distance.

  “Go ahead,” I said, releasing him. “You go kill that girl. Then you can spend the rest of your life in prison, you stupid fuck.”

  “She can’t get away with this,” Linc said.

  “She won’t. We know where she lives.” I looked over his shoulder to where a pair of terrified eyes peered out at me through the blinds of the first-floor apartment. “We’ll be back.”

  Linc helped me drag Omar’s body onto the sidewalk. I crossed his hands over his chest as the sirens got closer. Irene sat in the passenger seat of the truck and stared out the windshield like she’d gone blind.

  I drove away with Linc cursing in the back.

  Irene’s hand found mine as we drifted through the city and away from Omar’s body.

  11

  Irene

  I’d seen a lot of things on the street.

  That wasn’t my first taste of death.

  Overdoses, heart attacks, freezing, and worse. Disease and murder.

  But there was something about Omar getting killed that hurt even more than any of that.

  Maybe it was because Cam saw it coming, and still couldn’t save his guy in time. Or maybe it was Luiza’s betrayal.

  Either way, I could still hear the gunshots, could still see the horrified, rage-filled look on Cam’s face as he drove away. I could still hear Linc’s silent sobs as he struggled to hold himself together.

  I could still feel the pavement pressing against my body as the air around me burst full of killing lead.

  Cam didn’t talk much for the rest of that day. He dropped me off back home then disappeared with Linc until late. That night he came in drunk and exhausted and passed out on the couch. I stood in the hallway and stared at him, breathing deep with a look of anguish on his face even deep in sleep, his large chest rising up and down, and I wondered how much he’d given up to become what he was, a killer for the Valentino family, and how much more he’d have to lose.

  In the morning, he made breakfast, poured coffee, and stared at me with his hands on his hips. “We’re going to talk to Kira,” he said.

  I nodded slowly and ate my eggs. “Is that a good idea?” I asked. “After what happened with Luiza.”

  “Someone’s got to pay for what happened,” Cam said.

  I met his eye, and I wanted to argue. I wanted him to understand the immense pressure these women felt, how the Healy family held a knife to their throats at all time, how they knew their bodies weren’t their own. Luiza only did what she had to do, and in retrospect, she probably tried to rush us out to save our lives. If I had to guess, the plan was probably for her to keep us there long enough for the Healy family to send their little hit squad.

  If she hadn’t changed her mind, we might’ve been killed in that little grimy living room.

  And yet she still turned on us, and Omar was still gone, and I couldn’t deny any of it.

  “When?” I asked.

  “After I shower,” he said. “Finish eating.” He disappeared into the bathroom and I sat there picking at my eggs, drinking my coffee, and listened to the water running.

  On the street, I had to make choices. Sometimes the choice was obvious: run, fight, scream, that sort of thing. But sometimes the choice was more ambiguous.

  I could share my blanket with a stranger for more warmth, but he might end up trying to hurt me. I could sleep under a bench in the park, but a cop might pick me up. I could steal from that store, but their cameras might be working.

  All of life was a series of choices, and more often than not, I made the wrong ones.

  Like choosing to steal from Ronan. Like choosing to run away to begin with.

  Now though, I felt like my choices had finally led me somewhere decent. Cam wasn’t the man I left two years ago, but there were pieces of him still inside begging to get back out. His innocence was gone, and that would never come back, but that didn’t make him bad.

  It only made him twisted and broken.

  Just like me.

  He came back out in fresh jeans and a shirt with a gun slipped into his waistband. I silently followed him outside and into a black sedan. It smelled new.

  “Where’d you get this?” I asked.

  “Bought it,” he said. “Couldn’t keep driving that truck with all the fucking bullet holes in it.” He pulled out from his spot and rolled through the city. I watched buildings flash by and tried to remember the last time I sat in a brand-new car, or even knew someone that could afford to buy one with only a day’s notice. He probably paid cash and probably got a family discount, but still.

  Being a Valentino clearly had its perks.

  We parked out in front of a quiet apartment building in a shady South Philly street. He killed the engine and squinted up at a dark blue door with multiple addresses listed on the right side.

  “Cute place,” I said, looking around. “Kira lives here?”

  “That’s right,” Cam said and glanced at me. “You should wait in the car.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said with a laugh. “You dragged me here so I’m coming.”

  “I just realized it might not be safe.” He clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his hair. I saw the anxiety rippling under the surface. “My head’s not straight right now.”

  “Then you need me in there even more,” I said and touched his knee.

  He looked down at my hand then met my eyes again and nodded. “All right, just stay close.” Then got out.

  I followed him. He stood at the top of the stoop and buzzed every apartment except for one. A chorus of voices came out of the intercom, but he said nothing, only stared at the door grimly.

  Until someone just buzzed him in.

  He pushed it open and held it for me.

  “How’d you know that would work?” I asked.

  “Sometimes doesn’t,” he said. “Guess I got lucky.”

  I rolled my eyes as he led me up to the second floor then down a short hall to the back apartment. He pressed his ear against the door listening, the nodded to himself and knocked.

  Silence from inside. Then footsteps. Cam pressed his hand over the peephole.

  “Uh, hello?” Kira’s voice, muted by the door. “Sorry, is someone out there?”

  Cam nodded at me. I felt a moment of panic. He wanted me to say something, but I didn’t know what.

  “Uh,” I said.

  “Hello?” Kira again, sounding anxious.

  “Package,” I blurted out. “Amazon.” I made a face and shook my head, cringing at my own stupidity.

  But a lock clicked open and the door cracked open enough for Cam to shove it hard.

  Kira let out a shocked grunt as the door pounded into her face. She fell back into her apartment and let out a strangled scream as Cam loomed over her. I followed and shut the door as quickly as I could.

  “Oh, shit,” Kira said, dabbing at her face. “I think I’m bleeding.”

  “You’ll live,” Cam said and bent down to get closer to her. “Unlike Omar.”

  Kira made a confused face. “Who the fuck is Omar?”

  Cam looked at her silently for a second before he walked past her toward the living room. “We need to talk,” he said.

  “You could’ve fucking called,” she said, slowly getting to her feet. She glared at me and I smiled sheepishly
. “Did he drag you into this?”

  “Sorry,” I said, feeling dumb. I didn’t know why I apologized.

  She made a disgusted face and dabbed at the red line of blood on her forehead from the door. She followed Cam into the living room and I drifted after them, going slow, and stayed on the edge of the room.

  Her place was cute. Light filtered in through a big back window. Plants hung on every surface and covered every shelf. Her couch was small but cozy with lots of pillows and blankets, and her coffee table was teak and glass. It looked like it belonged in a magazine, and I might’ve wanted to curl up near the TV and watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer with her all day long if it weren’t for the death-stare Cam gave her.

  “Sit down,” he commanded.

  “You going to tell me what the fuck this is about?” she asked, but she obeyed, lowering herself heavily onto a beat-up easy chair with a colorful throw over the back.

  “We saw your girl yesterday,” Cam said, pacing like a wildcat. “And on our way out, a bunch of Healy guys showed up in a van and murdered one of my guys.”

  Kira’s mouth fell open. Her hand dropped into her lap and her skin paled. “You’re joking,” she said. “That’s not possible.”

  “Luiza turned us in,” I said. “I saw it. I was there.”

  Kira stared at me then shook her head. “Luiza hates them,” she said. “Luiza’s on the outside.”

  “You’re fucking wrong about that,” Cam said. “Luiza’s dead by now. You can forget about her.”

  I gaped at Cam but his face was a stony mask. I opened my mouth to say something but Kira let out a strangled groan before I could speak.

  “You didn’t,” Kira said. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t,” Cam said. “But Linc did. There was no stopping him, and you know what? I didn’t try very hard.”

  Kira let out a strangled gasp. She blinked as tears dropped down her cheeks. I felt hollow, my feet buzzing and light, like my head might drift like a balloon.

  I didn’t know they killed Luiza. Cam hadn’t told me.

  And I saw why. It was fucked up. Maybe she deserved it, but she tried to save us in the end, and I thought that counted for something.