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

My head is killing me the next morning. I don’t know how I drank enough to be hungover, but somehow it happened.

I walk of shame right the hell out of his house at the ass crack of dawn and call Matty to send a car to pick me up. The driver appears and brings me to the oasis, and I don’t have to face Brody at all, lucky me.

I don’t know what I’d say to him. Apologize for teasing him, or maybe beg him to kiss me again.

Maybe I’d just run the hell away.

Not the best option, but I feel like it’d be rational at this point.

I get dropped off outside of my place, and I try to sneak inside, but as I’m unlocking my front door, I spot Stefania standing in the street in her running clothes. She’s grinning like a maniac at me and I curse as I slip inside and shut the door⁠—

But she’s right behind me. “Caught you,” she says, barging into my house.

I groan and stumble into the kitchen. “Can you not right now? Please? We’ll talk about it later.”

She cackles with delight. “You’re hungover. You’re in the same clothes you wore yesterday. Oh my god, Elena, this is a walk of shame!”

I groan and collapse at the table as Stefania starts making coffee. She may be a pain in my ass right now but at least she’s still a good friend.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I whine when she joins me. “I did Sunday dinner with his family, and then he said he decorated his house for me, and then he wanted me to stay⁠—”

She’s practically brimming over with excitement. “Tell me you two had sex.”

“No, we did not,” I say and I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “He’s my husband. I’d just admit it, okay? But we didn’t.”

“Nobody would blame you if you boned down that stud,” Stefania says, sounding a little wistful.

“Extremely gross. You’re my brother’s wife.”

“And I am very happily married to Davide, but a girl’s got eyes, and Brody’s a very good-looking man.”

I want to bang my head against the table until I pass out. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not?” she asks, sounding genuinely curious.

I think back to all the excuses I made the night before. But one keeps coming up, and it’s the only excuse that really matters. “He doesn’t see me that way.”

“Doubt it. You’re hot.”

“Right, okay, I mean, he’d fuck me, but he takes every chance he gets to remind me that we’re only an arrangement and we aren’t real. I don’t want to sleep with my husband if it’s just—” I wave a hand in the air, signaling meaningless sex.

“I guess that’s a choice. Or maybe you two could go all wild and animalistic on each other and, like, ravage the hell out of your young, supple bodies, and fall in love after some lengthy and very sweaty sessions.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That was oddly specific. Please don’t ever make me think of you and my brother and animalistic in the same sentence ever again.”

She gets up and pours us coffee as the machine burbles out the last drops. “Hey, I never said anything about me and Davide, that’s all your dirty mind, babe.”

I get a few more hours of sleep before I get up to exercise. There’s nothing better than an hour on the treadmill to get the hangover toxins flushed from the body. I seriously don’t know how I ended up that drunk without realizing it, but it explains a whole lot.

Or at least it explains a lot from my end.

Not quite from his.

There was still the matter of his possessive reaction to his brothers messing with him. And the way he practically begged me to move in with him. And the kiss, which he totally initiated.

For a guy that keeps saying we’re nothing and we’re only arranged, he sure as hell keeps doing shit that suggests otherwise.

I don’t even know if I want that. I mean, it would be nice if I had a good relationship with my husband, but bringing sex into this weird thing with him might just complicate our lives too much. If we’re juggling the war with Santoro, his Waterfront project, and a whole lot of emotionally confusing but probably very physically satisfying sex, something’s going to give. And it won’t be the sex, because let’s face it, he’s hot and so am I, so the sex will be great.

I’m feeling conflicted when I head back home. The door’s unlocked, which isn’t unusual since I usually forget to shut it all the way. I head into the kitchen, pour some water, drink it down⁠—

“Oh, what the fuck!” I shout when I spot Brody sitting in the living room, casually flipping through one of my coffee table books.

My heart pounds into my throat. I’m having a straight-up fight-or-flight reaction and I’m about to stab that man to death.

“You ran out on me this morning,” he says, tossing the book down. He gets to his feet.

My hand presses against my chest like I’m trying to keep my organs inside. “You can’t just break into my house, you psychopath. How’d you even get in there?”

“Your brother wants to have a meeting.” He comes closer. “You ran out on me.”

“Yes, I did, and did you consider that I did it on purpose?”

He nods once. “Yes, I considered that.”

“And I guess you don’t care.”

“No, I don’t.” He stops at the edge of the counter and there are only a few feet between us. “Why’d you run out? I was going to make you breakfast.”

I sigh and look down at the floor. How can I explain to him that I was ready to fuck his brains out last night and only barely controlled myself? And then masturbated to thoughts of him, and then did it again this morning when I woke up, stone-cold sober the second time? That’s not something a good business partner admits.

“I just needed space. Things got a little weird, that’s all.”

“We kissed. That’s not weird.”

I throw up my hands. “What is it with you? One second, you’re all Mr. Business, and the next you’re like a caveman offering to meet my needs or whatever.”

He takes a slow, deep breath, and blows it out. “I can be both.”

“No, actually, you can’t. You don’t get to have your cake and eat me too.”

His eyes widen in surprise at my filthy joke. “Is that what you want me to do to you, wifey?”

“Stop it.” I hold up a hand, rubbing my temple. “Can we just pause the innuendos for now? I’m not equipped to handle it at the moment.”

He grunts and I can tell he wants to argue, since I’m the one who brought it up, but mercifully he lets it go. “I packed some of your clothes upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, you did what?”

“I want three days from you. Come live in my house for three days. After that, if you hate it, we’ll figure something else out.”

I turn away and face the sink. “And you didn’t think to ask me about this?”

“I knew you’d say yes. It’s a reasonable offer.”

I’m tempted to turn around and curse him out. For a guy that’s all cold, it’s like he’s suddenly burning hot all the time. Which is not something I want to investigate too closely.

“Three days,” I tell him. “But I pack my own stuff. And I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

“That’s fine.” I hear his footsteps retreat. “I have a meeting with Simon in a few minutes. I had a nice time with you last night, wifey.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I mutter to myself, eyes closed, heart still racing. I hate the idea of leaving the oasis, but it’ll only be temporary, and maybe it won’t be that bad. Brody is my husband, and I might as well give it a chance. Only I can’t help but notice that he’s proposing this after our kiss last night, and I wonder if maybe he’s been thinking about it as much as I have.

But no. Brody’s Mr. Business. He’s the Quinn family’s boss. There are a million different interests all warring for his attention, and I’m just some random girl, just a conduit to other, more important jobs. There’s no reason to get attached. I’ll only get hurt in the long run.

This thing we have, it’s an arrangement.