The Killer's Fake Bride: A Possessive Dark Mafia Romance by Hamel B. B

Author:Hamel, B. B.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

9

Matteo

With Sam back at the Valentino mansion, safe and sound, I went out on the hunt.

Bea got her settled. It was obvious that Sam was uncomfortable, but Bea was the sort of person that made people feel at ease, and she promised that she’d make Sam feel as welcome as possible. Once I was sure Sam was being taken care of, I left the house with my gun tucked into my waistband, and drove back into the city.

Night fell, heavy and dark. West Philly had more street lights than some neighborhoods, though the block I stalked down was dimmer than most.

In my time hanging around the family, I learned a few things. Most of it was trivial stuff—where the guys hung out, who was in leadership, the sort of drugs they were selling—but some of it was supposed to be a secret. Thing about a mafia was most of them liked to drink, and some of them liked to talk. All I had to do was sit around and listen, even if I wasn’t part of the conversation.

This place was one of those secrets. The house was right on the corner of the block, a quiet row home with a brown door and shutters with peeling paint. A satellite dish was perched on the roof, staring down like a raven. A stone wall covered the back yard, and I had to brush broken glass off the top before jumping it. The glass was there to keep amateurs out—but I was no amateur.

I landed quietly on the stone patio. There was a metal table and some chairs. Lights were on in the windows, though they were covered by blinds. I crept up to the door and crouched down next to it, listening as intently as I could for any sounds from inside.

I heard voices, talking at a normal level. I thought I heard the clink of glasses, and guessed there were three men in there, all of them drinking.

This place was a stash house. The Healy family kept some drugs here, cocaine and heroin and some pills or whatever the hell they were selling at the time. I wasn’t there for the goods though—I had a more important task in mind.

I was a patient man. That was probably why the Don chose me to go undercover around the Healy family. I could wait it out, listen and watch and learn before making my move. So many mafia guys couldn’t sit still long enough to figure out who was worth watching and who could be safely ignored.

Me though, I was good at waiting. I hunkered down in that back yard and kept my ear against the wall, trying to pick up any scrap of information about the guys inside that house. They were quiet, didn’t make a whole lot of noise, and the minutes slipped past, turned into hours, and my legs and back started to hurt from where I’d been sitting and crouching, occasionally changing position when necessary, waiting for my moment.

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