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

The place is swarming with Santoro’s soldiers. There are at least a dozen of them, and I have to go slowly and silently to avoid tipping my hand. That means it takes me forever. I take down one guard after the next, moving methodically from position to position, all the while distinctly aware that Elena is down in that warehouse and in serious danger. If I fuck up, she might get hurt.

She could get killed.

I work harder. I strangle one soldier, my arms wrapped around his neck, his throat crushed so tight he can’t make a sound as he turns blue and passes out. I dump his body in some bushes. My watch says I’m ten minutes late, which is bad, but when I lift my head, I catch a signal from Captain Kennedy.

Coast is clear.

I signal him back using a small mirror to reflect the sunlight. Moving in. The next phase of the plan. I rush around the exterior of the warehouse and find the door Santoro and Moretti used to get inside and I follow in their wake, moving as quietly as I can. Each step is an eternity. Each second stabs a new spear into my guts. Anxiety crawls over me like mortal wounds. I have to get inside and Elena has to be okay, because I can’t live with myself if she’s not.

Voices echo across the cavernous warehouse floor. Boxes and crates are stacked haphazardly and I wonder who the hell decided this disorganized mess was the best way to unload those trucks. But logistics won’t matter now.

I step into a clearing and find Luciano Santoro standing face to face with Alessandro Bianco.

Luca Moretti has a gun pointed at Alessandro’s head.

And there she is. Elena’s standing twenty feet behind her father near a cluster of boxes, her face drained of color, fear dancing across her face as she creeps toward the pair of them. I want to scream at her to stop. Moretti’s gun doesn’t waver from her father’s head and it feels like this is all going wrong. This isn’t what I expected to find.

“I promise, we’ll make it quick,” Santoro’s saying. He’s only got eyes for Alessandro. The two old men make a strange pair, but I can see how they might’ve been formidable in their youth. Tall, broad, strong. Now they’re both shadows. “You were good to me before it all went wrong. I never forgot that.”

Alessandro’s smiling. It’s a strange, yearning smile, and he’s got tears rolling down his face. “I never stopped loving you. Right up until you tried to rip my home to pieces.”

“I know. But it wasn’t enough.” Santoro gestures at Moretti. “Alright, Luca. You got your show. End him and let’s be done with this.”

I storm forward toward them and my voice cracks out like a sledgehammer. “Stop,” I say and everyone turns to stare at me.

Elena looks horrified and on the edge of panic. Her father only seems disappointed. While Santoro is confused.

“What the hell are you doing here, Quinn?” he asks then gestures at Moretti. “Pull the fucking trigger then we’ll deal with him when we’re done.”

But instead of murdering Alessandro Bianco, Moretti slowly turns the gun on Santoro. “Actually, about that,” he says, sounding almost bored. “I got a better offer. Luciano Santoro, you’re under arrest.”

Santoro looks confused at first. The old man stares at the weapon aimed at his face. Then rage smears his face as he looks back at me. “You did this,” he hisses and starts to back away. “I won’t go to prison. I fucking won’t. I can’t die in there, behind bars, fuck that.”

“Not your call,” I say and move to cut him off. “It’s over, Santoro. There are police waiting to arrest you outside. Make this easy on everyone and go quietly.”

“You have a right to remain silent and all that,” Moretti says with a smirk.

Alessandro lets out a pained groan and staggers forward. “I’m sorry, Luciano. I should have done this a long, long time ago.” He removes a small revolver from the waistband of his pants. He holds it out, one hand clutching his cane, and aims at his former second-in-command. “You’re right, baby. I won’t let you spend your last days behind bars. I love you too much to let that happen.”

Luciano looks pale. He doesn’t move. His hands raise slowly in the air. “You really mean it, darling?” he whispers. Tears roll down his cheeks. “You’ll do that for me?”

“Always,” Alessandro whispers. He raises the weapon and aims.

“Dad, no!” Elena screams.

And at the same time, I shout, “Don’t do it, Alessandro!”

He pulls the trigger. The gun cracks once and Santoro staggers back. Alessandro pulls the trigger again, and again, and again, and again, five shots in total, and Santoro collapses to the ground in a bloody heap. The warehouse goes completely silent as everyone stares in shock. Alessandro drops the gun, his shoulders slumping forward, staring down at the corpse.

“Fuck,” I say and look around in horror. This is going wrong, so fucking wrong. Santoro was supposed to get arrested. We were going to use the recording Alessandro got alongside all the evidence Simon provided to put Santoro away for life. Nobody was supposed to die. I put a lot of money in Moretti’s bank account to make sure of it.

But Alessandro went ahead and fucked everything.

Moretti moves first. He shoves his gun away and runs to Santoro’s side. He starts applying first aid, but it’s way too late. All five shots hit the old man in the chest and there’s enough blood pumping from the wounds to tell me everything I need to know.

Alessandro Bianco is still a good shot.

And Luciano Santoro is dead.

I run to Elena. She’s shaking, in total shock, as I pull her into my arms. I hold her tight, trying to steady her, and now everything is going to get so much harder.

“They loved each other,” she whispers through tears. “They were in love, Brody. That’s why Dad always let Santoro go.”

I stare back over my shoulder. Her father’s still standing there, the gun dropped to the ground at his feet, staring at the unmoving body of Santoro with a strange, stricken expression, like he just ripped off his own limb.

Maybe that makes sense. If they really did love each other, and Alessandro knew that Santoro didn’t want to die in prison, maybe that was a mercy.

Doesn’t matter. He just guaranteed that he’d go down instead.

“Listen to me,” I say quickly. “Captain Kennedy’s going to come in here and he’s going to arrest your father for murder. There’s nothing we can do about that. If we’re smart and we play it right, we might be able to get him off on self-defense. Depending on what they hear in those recordings and what Moretti’s willing to say. These guns are allegedly Santoro’s and if anyone asks, that’s what you’ll say. The cops are going to confiscate them. That’s the deal we cut. Just don’t say anything, okay? Don’t say a word. We’ll get the lawyers involved and we’ll figure it out.”

“Why would he do it?” she asks and breaks down into sobs.

Shouts echo down the corridors as the police swarm into the warehouse.