Brutal Power: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Bianco Crime Family)

I honestly thought he was fucking with me.

But when I walk into his house for the second time, I’m absolutely stunned.

It looks like someone lives here.

And not just anyone, but someone with really good taste. There’s lots of vintage-looking art on the walls, new furniture, even some fresh flowers on the coffee table. Little plants line the front windowsill, and even the kitchen’s been covered in small touches, like a little rooster statue next to the butter dish.

“Who the hell did all this?” I ask him, perplexed, because there was no hint of stuff the last time. “Seriously, there’s no way you did this alone.”

“I hired people,” he admits, looking pleased with himself. He steers me back into the kitchen, his hand on the small of my back, and pours us wine. “And they were obscenely expensive. That’s before all this shit.” He waves a hand in the air.

“This shit looks great. I mean, I can almost believe you have a personality.”

“I have a personality. Not everyone can be just overflowing like you are.”

“I don’t overflow.” I swirl my wine at him. “I’m just a lot to handle.”

“You’re not kidding,” he mumbles and takes a drink. “Does this solve our problem? You didn’t want to live here because it was too plain. Now it’s full of fucking stuff.”

I lean back against his counter, head tilted to the side. “You did this because you want me to move in?”

“We can’t keep living in separate houses.”

“And why not?” I cross my arms, once again flashing back to earlier. “We’re not a real marriage, right? Nobody really expects us to sleep in the same bed and pump out babies.”

He grimaces and rubs a hand over his face. “You have to know how this looks, don’t you? I marry a Bianco girl, but she still lives with her family. I’m the boss of my family, a powerful man, but I can’t even get my own wife to stay with me.”

I chew my lip and don’t respond. He’s got a point. The mafia world’s not exactly known for their open-minded ideas toward marriage and gender. I’m sure there are already whispers and rumors running wild all over the city, but what the hell do I care about that? Brody’s a means to an end, just like I’m a means to an end for him in return. He scratches my back, I scratch his. He fucks me⁠—

Nope, dirty mind at work once again. I glare at the wine. It’s making my brain go all mushy. I take a long drink. Stop making me horny, stupid wine.

“You’re more than welcome to come live at the oasis,” I tell him.

“My people are all here. You saw what it’s like on Sundays. The Irish expect their boss to be available, and you better believe they won’t love if I suddenly go off and live with my Italian wife’s family instead of sticking around the neighborhoods we’ve been calling home for generations.”

I gesture at him, exasperated. “But you’re a fancy lawyer.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He grunts and comes closer. “I want my wife in my house. I need my wife in my house.”

I know he’s only saying this because the optics are bad, but my god, that need sends a shiver down my spine. He’s very close now, and I’m extremely aware of how alone I am in his kitchen, in his very nicely decorated kitchen, and the wine’s going straight to my brain. I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly watering at the smell of his skin, and I want him to touch my hips again. I want him to grab me, pull me against him, and show me exactly how he can make sure my needs are always met.

“The oasis has always been my home. I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“You won’t be far. You can visit as often as you want.”

“But—” My brain searches desperately for an excuse. “We haven’t even kissed.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement and I’m mentally stabbing myself in the neck.

We haven’t even kissed? What the hell is wrong with me? My stupid horny brain is now messing everything up.

Brody’s fingers tease across my cheek. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“No, I just mean, living together… it’s a lot,” I say quietly.

“I can do something about the kissing.” He tilts my chin up and he’s staring into my eyes. “Everything else we’ll figure out together.”

“Brody,” I whisper.

“You just spent the day with my big, obnoxious family. Don’t pretend like you haven’t thought about what it would be like to be my wife for real.”

“I liked your family,” I murmur.

“I like them too. And you can be a part of that.”

“That’s not what you want.” I dare him to deny it. Every time we talk about our relationship, he’s always quick to say that we’re only an arrangement, only a business deal. He’s so damn cold, except right now, he’s burning fucking hot, and I don’t know what to do. My horny brain is betraying me.

“I want you to live with me. That’s what I want. If that means kissing you—” He leans in closer. Oh my god, that mouth, those lips. My eyelids flutter. “If that means giving you what you need⁠—”

His mouth buries mine and I’m done. I’m totally done. I’m so far gone it’s like my brain’s floating up on the roof leaving my body behind to turn to jelly. But I have enough strength left to kiss him back, and to make this absolutely pathetic whimpering sound into his lips, which makes him groan in return as his tongue laps against mine and his taste floods my mouth.

That kiss. My god. That kiss. It shouldn’t be this good—I’ve kissed plenty of men in my life and it’s never, ever been like this before.

My heart is pounding and he has to feel it. I can feel his heart racing too, and I feel him getting hard against my belly, fuck, so freaking hard, and I can do terrible things to that dick if I wanted, delicious and incredible and fucked things, but I’m maybe a little more drunk than I realized, and this relationship isn’t about that.

It’s about business. It’s about getting what I want.

I pull away from the kiss and it’s like snapping my own neck.

He stares at me, breathing hard, his kiss-reddened lips still parted. He doesn’t move. It’s like he’s restraining himself.

“We shouldn’t.” The words tumble out of my mouth even though I really want to say take me upstairs.

He closes his mouth. His lips press flat. “We could,” he whispers.

“I can’t.” I move past him and hurry to the door.

“Wait. You said you’d stay the night.” He follows me and stops beside the steps.

I stare up and look back at him. “Is that a good idea?”

“I have a guest room.”

“Does the door lock?”

“It does, but I doubt it would keep me out.”

“That’s not very reassuring.” I chew on my lip. It’s late and I’ve been drinking, and maybe it is a good idea to crash here right now. Not to sleep with him—but to get used to this house. If that’s something we end up doing.

It’s amazing how much I can rationalize.

“Fine, but you keep your hands to yourself.” I straighten my spine and try to regain some of my dignity. “And this isn’t one of those times where I say one thing but mean another.”

He’s fighting a smile. “I never thought it was.”

“Good.” I hesitate on the bottom step. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

He says nothing and I hurry upstairs. I find the guest room, close the door, and lock it.

Then I proceed to get under the covers and take care of my own needs, my eyes squeezed shut, Brody’s name on my lips as I come in the darkness of my husband’s unfamiliar home.