Possessed by the Killer

sports memorabilia. My father loved Philadelphia teams, and he had an admittedly impressive collection of signed jerseys framed and hung.
The girl stood next to the bar looking at the bottles pensively. I felt rooted in place like my shoes were covered in tacky glue. She was small with deeply black hair and pale skin. She wore tight jeans and a dark blue sweater that hung off her body in a loose wave. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and when she turned to look at me, I felt a pang of excitement roll down my spine.
Bright green eyes, full lips, sculpted eyebrows, short, round nose, sharp jaw.
She was pretty, very fucking pretty.
Her eyebrows knit down as she glared at me like she wanted to ram me through with a pool cue and skewer me against the wall.
“You must be Dean,” she said. “Whatever my uncle offered, you should know that I’m not interested.”
That snapped me out of it. I took a step closer, head tilted. I saw a distant family resemblance in the hair and maybe the shape of her chin, but otherwise she looked nothing like her uncle. The girl was curvy, wide hips, gorgeous chest, and a mouth that made me want to sacrifice a lamb.
“What’s your name?” I asked. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”
“Maggie,” she said. “Everyone calls me Mags.”
“All right, Mags,” I said. “What do you think your uncle told me?”
Her jaw worked. “He’s got some outdated notions about how relationships work,” she said. “He thinks I’m cattle. Like he can bring me to market and sell me.”
I walked closer. She didn’t move, her side leaned up against the bar, but she watched me warily. I stopped a few feet away.
“And you’re not for sale,” I said.
“No,” she said, “I’m not for sale.”
“That’s good to know,” I said.
I couldn’t believe I’d never seen her before—but admittedly, I was never paying much attention to Roy’s family. He had six brothers and three sisters, and they all had their own kids, so it was hard to keep up. It was possible I’d met Mags before, but she could’ve been too young to remember.
She wasn’t too young anymore. I pegged her at early twenties, no older than twenty-five at most. Ten years younger than me.
“I know what’s going on,” she said, sounding more annoyed. “I know I should say that I’m sorry your dad died and all that, but I’m not.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. That only made her frown deeper, but goddamn, what an insane thing to say. I was a mafia boss and I just lost my old man, and the girl had the nerve to say she didn’t give a shit.
She was either stupid or very brave, or maybe both.
“I’m not sorry either,” I said, still smiling, unable to help myself. “He was a real piece of shit.”
“You’re all the same, you know,” she said, raising her chin with false bravado, but it was cute. “My dad, your dad, Uncle Roy, the rest of them. They’re all the fucking same.” Her jaw worked again and I could see the anger radiating off her like waves off hot pavement.
“You think so?” I asked. “I don’t think you know me at all. In fact, I think you’d be pleasantly surprised if you decided that you really were for sale.”
Her mouth opened but she clamped it shut.
I moved closer, and she finally stepped back. She was small, maybe five foot five at most, and I towered over her—nearly a foot taller.
“You’re not seriously considering my uncle’s insane offer?” she asked. “I’m not going to marry some stranger just to make sure this crazy family sticks together. I hate the Valentinos. Why the hell would I try to help it?”
I reached out, faster than she could pull away, and grabbed her wrist. She gasped, surprised, and I pulled her toward me. I slipped one hand along her lower back and pressed her tight against me.
She stared in shock for one glorious second before the surprise turned to absolute rage.
And I kissed her.
She tasted like bubblegum and mint. I held that kiss, her lips soft and delicious, and she returned it—and I could’ve sworn, she released a soft, gasping moan.
Until she shoved me hard in the gut with her free hand.
I laughed and released her. She staggered back, glaring at me like she wanted to rip my head off. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked. “You psycho asshole.”
“Just giving you a taste of what you’d miss out on,” I said. “And testing you a little bit. I’m not the man you think I am.”
“You’re exactly what I think you are,” she said, shaking her head, and went around the bar. She grabbed a bottle, checked the label, then took a long drink straight. “God, you’re all the same.”
I held my hand out. She hesitated then passed the bottle over. I drank—cheap whiskey. Tasted great, mingling with the memory of her lips and tongue.
An idea hit me then.
It was crazy, maybe even reckless, but it could solve all my problems.
I liked this girl, liked the way she glared at me, the way she kissed me back, even the way she shoved me away. She had fire and anger, and I appreciated that.
Hell, I wanted it.
So I’d pay for it, and make this marriage worth her time.
“How about this,” I said, handing the bottle back. She took a pull. “I’ll make you an offer. You don’t have to accept it, but think about it first, okay?”
“I’m not interested,” she said, but stared at me and didn’t move.
I leaned over the bar, staring into her eyes.
“If you marry me, I’ll pay you one million dollars for every year we stay together, for a maximum of ten years.” I tilted my head, smirking slightly, as her mouth fell open. I loved that look on her face. Delicious and almost sexy. Maybe this girl would be a treat to marry after all. “Ten million if you can stick