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

I watch from my upstairs window as Brody climbs out of a black town car driven by a man I don’t recognize. Another guy’s sitting up front. He looks annoyed as he comes to the front door and it puts a smile on my face.

My husband actually listened to me.

I like that. It feels strangely powerful. Brody doesn’t seem like the kind of man who takes advice easily, at least not when he thinks he’s right, but he made an exception for me.

Downstairs I pour us both some wine and we eat together out back. He talks about his tax clients and we don’t talk about mafia issues for a little while. If I close my eyes, I could almost pretend like we were a normal couple.

“You know, I just realized something earlier,” I say, studying my handsome husband as the sun sets over the oasis. If there was ever a more perfect evening, I can’t picture it. “You never told me what you did to Omar.”

His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “Really? I didn’t? I can’t imagine why.”

“You called it the Peterson incident, but you never told me what happened. Come on, I’m dying with curiosity.”

He sighs and takes a long drink. “You sure you need to know?”

“Dying to know.” I shuffle my chair closer and lean across the table to kiss him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Well, since you put it that way.” He leans back in his chair, looking amused, and stares out into the sky. His eyes go a little fuzzy as he remembers. “I told you, Omar and I go way back. What I didn’t mention is we were briefly in the same fraternity in college.”

“Really? But why briefly?”

“I got kicked out.”

“Because of the Peterson incident?”

He shrugs and studies his nails, trying very hard to act casual. “Among other things. This happened midway through the first semester. We lived in a house on Peterson Avenue, so we called it the Peterson place. It was this huge Victorian mansion with like fifteen bedrooms and these enormous downstairs spaces I guess where the lord would entertain the local gentry or whatever the fuck.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Anyway, it was all a misunderstanding. But Omar thinks it wasn’t.”

“Spit it out. You’re stalling.”

He grins and waves a hand in the air. “You know how young men are. Lots of drinking, partying, hooking up, that sort of thing. One evening we threw a big gathering, nothing all that special, just a few kegs and loud music. There was this girl and we were dancing, and I guess she took a liking to me.”

I groan and shake my head. “It’s always a girl, isn’t it? Don’t tell me she was Omar’s girlfriend?”

He holds up a hand. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Fine, no more interruptions. But I know where this is going.”

He ignores me and continues. “This girl’s name was Sara. Or maybe Catherine? I don’t remember, but anyway, we were dancing and eventually we were kissing and then she took me by the hand and dragged me to the steps, and that’s where shit went downhill. Because it turned out that the lovely Sara was⁠—”

“Omar’s girlfriend!” I supply happily.

He shakes his head, grinning. “She was Omar’s sister.”

I gasp, covering my mouth. “No. You didn’t.”

“Alas, my beautiful wife, I most certainly did. I took the lovely Sara up to my room and I made love to her⁠—”

“You’re disgusting,” I groan, trying not to laugh.

“I made love to her, like a gentleman, and I made sure to give as much as I got. Which she liked. She liked it a lot. So much that my fellow disgusting frat brothers decided to sit outside my bedroom door and listen.”

“Oh my god,” I groan, covering my face.

“Yes, well, I had no clue my immature brethren were being a bunch of disgusting pigs. I was busy making love and giving the lovely Sara some wonderful orgasms. Many times over.”

“Please tell me she was at least of age.”

He gives me a look. “She was only a year younger than me, and I was twenty-one at the time. So it was fine. Can I continue, or are you going to keep on assuming the worst?”

“No, finish this horrifying story.”

“As you can imagine, the boys thought it was hilarious. They were having a grand old time making jokes about Sara’s noises and my prowess, and apparently, Omar was the loudest and most obnoxious of the group. Well, the lady and I finished our dalliance, and we exited the room together, only to find a pack of obnoxious young men cheering and laughing, which the shockingly fun Sara thought was hilarious, at least until she saw her brother.”

I bury my face in my hands, trying not to laugh, because it’s not funny. Poor Omar had to listen to his sister having sex and even made jokes about it, only to realize in a huge group what had happened. “He said something, didn’t he?”

“Tried to fight me,” Brody says, nodding his head. “Which only made it worse. I mean, I had no clue she was Omar’s sister. I didn’t even know he had a sister, much less that she was visiting for the weekend. So Omar’s in my face, screaming at me, trying to fight me, and Sara’s getting in the middle of the whole thing, and the guys are all pretty horrified about the whole situation, and that’s when it took a turn.”

“You’re kidding me. It gets worse?”

“The cops showed up. Apparently, there’d been a noise complaint. And they walked in right as Omar punched me in the jaw and started kicking and hitting everyone around him, and I guess one of the officers got hit in the melee, and, well⁠—”

I squeal with delight. “He got arrested!”

“My family had police connections even back then. I pulled some strings and had him released, and even did him the solid of getting his mugshot and his other info scrubbed from their database, but obviously he never forgave me. I mean, I fucked his sister, made him listen to it, then got him arrested. At least from his perspective. Anyway, the vibes were pretty bad after that, so I quit the frat and moved in with some other friends. The whole frat scene was never really my thing anyway. And that’s the story.”

I break down into a fit of laughter. The Peterson incident sounds like the most childish, douchey thing ever, and I can absolutely understand why Omar would still hate Brody for it. I get up and go around the table and sit back down into his lap, kissing him and leaning my head against his chest.

“You’re a disgusting pig,” I say with a sigh as I wipe laughter tears from my eyes.

“I still maintain that I did nothing wrong. They were the ones acting like a bunch of immature assholes.”

“Now I kind of get why Omar hates you. I mean, that has to be like the worst thing that ever happened to him.”

“Lucky guy if that’s true.” He leans back and stretches. “Now you know. I wonder if his wife understands how bad it was.”

“Probably not. Layla’s smart enough to know there’s no coming back from something like that, not ever.”

“Well, imagine how I felt when I realized it was that Omar sitting on the zoning committee. He’s been out for blood for a long time, and he’s using his power to make sure I never get what I want. All out of spite.”

“Can’t blame him.” I get up and sit back down in Brody’s lap. He puts his hands on me right away, stroking my thigh, and I lean down to kiss him. “I still can’t believe you were in a fraternity.”

“I was young and dumb and I thought it would be fun.”

“Was it?”

“Not really.” He toys with the hem of my shirt right above my hip and a tingle runs down into my core. “Dad wanted me to go to college and he thought joining a fraternity would help build new connections for our business. At the time, I wanted to skip the whole lawyer thing, because why bother getting a degree and sweating my ass off in a courtroom if I’m just going to run a criminal empire on the side? But Dad made me understand that the suit and the tie and the degree are all camouflage.”

“Makes sense.” I try not to squirm as he leans forward to kiss my neck. “It’s working out pretty well, right? You have revenue coming in from the firm and from the organization.”

“Much more from the organization, but if we went legit, we wouldn’t be poor.” He pulls back and tilts his head. “Sometimes I wonder how your family does it. I mean, everyone in Chicago knows who you are and what you do, and somehow you manage to stay out of jail.”

“Layers of risk management,” I tell him and shimmy in his lap. I feel him stiffening underneath me even though I’m not doing anything particularly sexy. It’s more like he can’t help himself—whenever I’m around, he’s constantly stroking me, kissing me, getting hard for me. And I love that about him.

I’m about to explain more about our family’s structure when his phone starts to ring. It’s a nice little vibration right under my ass, and I hop up before he can grab on and hold me down. He sighs like it’s the worst thing in the world and answers.

“Yes? Mom? Slow down, hold on. They’re sitting out front?” He sits up straight, staring down at the ground, face blank. “Tell Seamus not to move. I’m serious, tell him to stay fucking put, I’ll be there in a second.”

He jabs a finger at the phone screen and shoves it in his pocket as he gets to his feet.

“What’s going on?” I follow him to the door.

“Apparently a couple of very shady guys are sitting outside of my mother’s house and Seamus wants to go over there and kill him.” He gives me a hard look. “I have a fire to put out.”

“Want me to come?”

“No, I’d feel better knowing you’re here and safe.” He pauses long enough to pull me against him and kiss me, then hurries out front, and is gone.