Falling for the Killer: A Dark Possessive Mafia Romance B.B Hamel (best thriller books to read .txt) 📖

Falling for the Killer

A Possessive Mafia Romance

BB Hamel

Contents

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1. Ash

2. Gian

3. Ash

4. Gian

5. Ash

6. Gian

7. Ash

8. Gian

9. Ash

10. Gian

11. Ash

12. Gian

13. Ash

14. Gian

15. Ash

16. Gian

17. Ash

18. Gian

19. Ash

20. Gian

21. Ash

22. Ash

Also by BB Hamel

Untitled

Copyright © 2021 by B. B. Hamel

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1

Ash

“Ashleigh Brooke Adamson, you will mind your manners or—”

“You’ll mind them for me,” I said, rolling my eyes with a smile. “I know, I know. You’re going to have to come up with a new threat.”

Mother gave me an intense frown and ignored my laughter. She looked out the window of the town car and kept her back perfectly straight.

Evie Adamson, my mother, my second-least-favorite person in the world, was born into wealth and breeding and luxury and loved every moment of it. I guess I wasn’t so different—my family was filthy rich and part of the Main Line dynasty of aristocratic Philadelphia, but while I always pushed up against the boundaries of what was expected of me, my mother accepted and embodied it.

“You know how important this is for your father,” mother said, staring out the window.

It was always about what was good for father and the fund. Adamson Associates was my family’s investment shop and the source for our wealth. My life was built around ensuring that the fund did well and that I did nothing to embarrass my family in high society.

So far, I’d been good. I went to the right schools, made the right friends, went to the best college money could buy only to come home and find out that I would not be working, but would instead get married as soon as possible.

That was two weeks ago, and I was still reeling from the news.

“I’ll do my best,” I said, smile dying down. “Will Stuart be there?”

Mother nodded. Her large, dangling diamonds jingled with her movements. She wore a tasteful dark blue dress and her blonde hair was piled up on her head. She must’ve been a beauty years ago, and she still clutched to youth with the tenacity of a woman that defined herself by her image.

“Of course,” she said. “The whole Plight family will be there. I expect you’ll be polite.”

I didn’t answer, only pursed my lips and looked away as the town car parked outside of the Four Seasons in downtown Philadelphia.

Stuart Plight was a total dick. I knew him from high school, even though I went to an all-girls private school, we still mingled with the boy prep schools in the area. He was the captain of the lacrosse team, which says so much about his personality, and I hated him even back then.

Unfortunately, the Plight family was rich as all hell, and my father wanted to set himself up for a comfortable business arrangement with them. I was informed that I would marry Stuart, whether I liked it or not, for the good of the family.

I told my father he could go to hell. There was a lot of screaming. But eventually, I was informed that I would be kicked out of the family, that my inheritance and trust fund would be revoked, and that I could kiss my own ass goodbye.

So I fell in line, like I always did, because that was expected of me.

Because since the moment I was born, my parents drilled into me every day and every night that the Adamson family was more important than any one person, that our money and our power came before our own happiness, and that we were expected to do whatever we could to increase the family’s status.

As much as I despised it all, I didn’t know any other way to live.

“Come, Ashleigh,” mother said as she climbed out of the car. “Let’s get this over with.” She sounded almost as tired as I felt.

The ballroom in the Four Seasons was magnificent. I didn’t know what event was happening, but simply did what was expected and dressed appropriately. I had on a dress similar to my mother’s, wore tasteful diamond studs in each ear, had on a very simple gold necklace, wore uncomfortable heels, and smiled like an idiot. Mother navigated through the crowd like a shark in the ocean, shaking hands, waving to other socialite women, kissing cheeks and laughing like she cared about the gossip and the niceties. I followed her around like a lapdog, because the thought of doing this alone made me want to scream.

“Hello, Ash.” I turned and saw Stuart standing behind me with a drink in each hand. He was tall, square jaw, perfectly groomed chestnut hair, light blue eyes, and straight, perfectly white teeth. His suit was expensive, and he looked like the kind of guy that killed homeless people for fun. “Want a glass of wine?”

He thrust it at me and I took it, since I’d rather chug down some roofie swill than have to deal with him consciously.

“I guess your family dragged you here too,” I said, crossing one arm under my opposite elbow and held my drink up next to my face where I could easily access it.

“Oh, of course,” Stuart said. “Uncle Barry only retires from the Federal Reserve once, you know.” He grinned, teeth gleaming, and I remembered what we were doing here: his rich, well-connected uncle’s retirement party.

“To Uncle Barry then,” I said, holding up my drink, and knocked it back in several big gulps.

Stuart’s smile never left his face. “Looks like you haven’t changed at all, Ash,” he said.