Page 6 of Married to the Mafia Devil

“Don't scream,” I say as I clamp my hand over her mouth.

The noise growing in her throat cuts off as she stares at the gun in my hand.

The plan was simple: get in, kill Mark Thompson, get out. Except, nothing about this is simple anymore.

She woke up as I moved through her room and I’ve got to stop her before she warns him. I can’t have him running.

I look into her eyes and I’ve seen them somewhere before. Then it hits me. The girl from the bookstore. The one who made me stop dead and stare in through the window.

The first woman to make my cold dead heart feel anything since my parents died ten years ago. Fate sure has a sick sense of humor. She’s in the apartment of the man I’m here to kill.

She stares up at me with those fear filled eyes, her beauty striking me like a physical blow. It's like looking at a light so bright, it blinds me. For a moment, I see myself as she sees me, a monster in the darkness tempted by a light I have no right to touch.

It’s her innocence. That must be it. I’ve spent so long dealing with scum, I’ve forgotten what innocence looks like.

“I'm not here to hurt you,” I hear myself saying. Why do I care what she thinks? I’m here for him, she means nothing to me. Yet every fiber of my being rebels at the thought of ever causing her distress.

“Mark Thompson, where is he?” I ask, realizing she can’t answer. My hand is still clamped over her mouth. What’s going on? I’m always in control. Why am I just staring at her, wanting to tell her she’s going to be okay?

Her fear is palpable, a living, breathing thing that fills the room. She’s gasping like she’s choking. I loosen my grip, not sure if it’s a trick. She keeps gasping, her whole body shaking. “Easy,” I say, doing my best to look comforting. “Just relax. I know a panic attack when I see one. Deep breaths. In and out.”

She’s still gasping for air, her face white. The clock’s ticking. I need to get to him before he runs. “I just want to speak to your father,” I lie.

“He’s not here,” she manages to say between gasps.

“Where is he?”

“Probably out drinking somewhere,” she replies, her voice resigned.

I frown. “You’re lying. I can hear him breathing next door.”

Her breathing slows a little. “That’s my sister.”

Even better. Two daughters about to lose their father thanks to me.

“I’ve been watching this place. There’s only been you coming and going. It’s him, isn’t it? Don’t lie to me.”

“She’s got agoraphobia,” she replies, her eyes darting away, a mix of shame and protectiveness in her gaze. “She doesn’t go outside.”

Agoraphobia. The word echoes in my head. “I used to have that,” I say, no idea why I’m telling her such an intimate secret. “I’ll get my therapist to call her.” What am I going to offer her next? The key to my bank vault? “When’s your dad back?”

“I’ve no idea. Please, leave us alone. We haven’t got any money. There’s nothing in here worth stealing.”

“I can see that. What’s your name?”

“Emma.”

“Do I look like a common thief to you, Emma?”

“Please, don’t hurt me.”

I feel her words like a stab to the heart. As if I could ever hurt something so pure. “Your father stole something from me. I need it back.”

I hear keys rattling in the front door. “Don’t leave this room,” I warn her before stepping away from the bed.

She stares at me in such terror that I want to wrap her in my arms, carry her away from this shitty stinking apartment, give her the life she deserves.

Not happening. The last thing I need is a woman in my life, messing things up. I’ve got the deal of a lifetime in a week. We’re talking a billion dollars in real estate down by the river. City’s selling a load of wasteland but I’ve already got things lined up to turn it into premium office space.

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