Brutal Power: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Bianco Crime Family)
Chapter 1

“If he’s not built, I’m not marrying him.” I lean back against the counter of a juice bar in the middle of an obscenely fancy gym with an exclusive membership list that doesn’t actually include my name.

Stefania, my brother’s wife and one of my best friends, punches me in the arm. “You realize that’s unreasonable, right?”

“I think it’s totally reasonable.” I rub the spot she hit and give her a serious look. “Would you marry some skinny weirdo?”

“You don’t know that he’s skinny. He could be perfectly average.” Stefania sweeps her hair over her shoulder. “And it doesn’t matter because you already agreed.”

“It does too matter, and be honest with yourself. You’re freaking gorgeous and if my brother weren’t big and handsome, you never would’ve stuck around.”

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t argue, because she knows I’m right.

I know I’m being unreasonably shallow, but it’s mostly a nervous joke. Because Stefania’s right: I already agreed to this match, and it doesn’t matter what he looks like.

I’m not the kind of girl that’s allowed to back out of a promise.

The place isn’t very crowded. Attractive women who all look like Instagram celebrities wander around the place in tight, sexy workout clothes. I’d bet a kidney that they’d all be filming themselves if this place didn’t have a strict NO PHONES policy per the dozen different signs posted all over the place. Fortunately, I went out and purchased a stupid little teal Lululemon outfit so I don’t stand out, and Stefania looks like a freaking model in basically anything she wears, so nobody looks at her twice.

Which is good since we’re not supposed to be here.

I might’ve pulled some strings to get us in here today. I happen to know the owner’s brother’s son’s cousin, and she happens to know a few security guards because she used to sell them coke when she was in college. After a little negotiation, here I am, sipping on an absolutely delicious fruity drink while trying to spot the man I’m supposed to marry.

“Elena, I love you to death, but this is dumb even for you. I mean, you do realize he’s going to spot you, right?”

I wave away the naysayer and wonder if I should’ve brought Emily, my other sister-in-law. She’s usually game for this sort of stuff, except she’s the Don’s wife now and can’t really get roped into my hijinks anymore. Which sucks for her because I’m fun.

“I’m taking that risk.” I finish my drink and toss the cup into the trash. “If you were a newly minted Irish mafia Don, what sort of exercises would you do?”

Stefania sighs and rubs her face with both hands, pulling down her eyelids and shaking her head. “First of all, he’s Irish, so he doesn’t call himself a Don. And second, he’s obviously lifting weights.”

“He could be doing cardio. And what do you call him then?”

“Weights. And I have no clue. Should we ask him?”

I wag a finger in her face. “This is recon only. Do you know how annoyed Simon would be if he heard about this?”

Stefania slaps my finger away. “Yes, I’m aware, which is why I keep saying we shouldn’t be here right now. Why can’t you just do this the normal way and meet him when everything is official?”

I turn my back on her and don’t respond. She should understand how I’m feeling right now. A couple years ago, she was arranged to marry my brother Davide, and things weren’t always roses between those two, not at first anyway.

This is my chance to figure out what my life’s going to be like without anyone hovering over my shoulder. I love my older brother and I think he’s a wonderful Don. I agreed to this arranged marriage deal because I know it’s important to the Famiglia, and I’ve spent my life taking care of all the people I love, but I need this for myself right now. Just a glimpse of the guy, just so I know what my husband’s going to look like.

I tried the easy way. I Googled him, went real deep into all the social profiles, but there are very few pictures of Brody Quinn on the web, and all of those are old. Besides, a picture tells a thousand lies, or whatever that stupid phrase is, and I need to see the flesh and blood.

It’s irrational, but I’ve always worked like this: gut feelings and vibes.

I walk off onto the lovely gym floor. It’s like a mixture of a high-end hotel and a Planet Fitness. People are doing actual workouts while others lounge in saunas, steam rooms, and take yoga classes. I try to be all stealthy and keep to the edges of the crowds, but the problem with a fancy exclusive high-end gym with a six-figure yearly fee is that there aren’t a ton of people who can afford it. Meaning, this place isn’t crowded.

I’m ready to give up. My friend thought Brody would be here, but maybe she was wrong, or maybe this is his rest day. I smile and slip around toward the weight room, pausing to admire a particularly shredded gentleman doing what look like impossible sit-ups with weights and an incline, when I feel Stefania tugging at my elbow.

“Hold on, he’s on ten and I think he’s going to keep going. My god, look at that guy’s abs. I want to eat them.”

“Elena,” she hisses. “You can’t eat people. Also, look over there.”

“Fifteen! He’s going for twenty! If he makes it, I might just reward him with⁠—”

“Elena.” The tone in her voice finally gets my attention and I follow her gaze.

He’s standing near the mirrors in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless gray t-shirt. His hair is dark, blacker than I expected, and he’s taller than the men around him. His legs are thick, the thighs muscular, his ass like a tight basketball, and his back flexes as he does bicep curls, his expression completely locked into the zone.

“Good form,” Stefania murmurs.

She’s not kidding. His arms are ripped and his chest is filled out with a pure slab of muscle. I spot a nipple poking out of his shirt each time his arm pumps up and down. A thin sheen of sweat glimmers on his forehead, and I’m pretty sure his eyes are a bright green. Square jaw, crooked nose, full lips.

Handsome. Extremely handsome, actually, like panty-melting sexy, if I’m being honest with myself. He makes the abs-guy look like a dickhead by comparison.

“Really good form,” I agree.

Stef gets closer and takes my arm. She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs. “Are you happy now?”

“I don’t know,” I admit because now I’m feeling all sorts of conflicted.

This is what I wanted. A glimpse of my future husband in the wild to prove to myself that he’s a real man and isn’t going to be some eighty-year-old troll with dagger teeth and ichor dripping from his hungry maw. That’s an exaggeration but even though I know Brody Quinn is thirty-five, a successful lawyer, and the head of his family’s criminal organization, I couldn’t bring myself to accept that he’s going to be my husband, sight unseen.

Now he’s sight seen, and I like it.

“He’s hot,” Stefania says. “I mean, Davide’s hotter⁠—”

“Ew, that’s my brother, but yes, objectively Brody is very hot.”

“And that’s good, right? I mean, that’s what you were worried about?”

I nod my head and try to smile because I’m Elena and I’m always smiling, always worried about other people, always holding everyone together, but inside I’m wondering.

Is that what I was worried about?

“We should go,” I say and turn away from the man I’m going to marry.

“Yeah, probably.” Stefania hangs on my arm as I drag her back toward the smoothie bar. “But why don’t you go talk to him?”

I snort-laugh at her. “I thought you said this was a bad idea? Talking to him is absolutely going to piss Simon off.”

“Yeah, probably, but you don’t seem happy.” She chews her lip and I don’t want her to look at me that way. I’m the one who looks at people like they need a hug and I’m the only person with arms. I don’t get that look.

My family is big and dysfunctional. That comes with the territory, considering we’re an enormous and powerful mafia in the middle of a bloody war. The Bianco Famiglia has been running Chicago for a long time, but our power’s teetering over a precipice, and my brothers are doing everything they can to make sure we don’t tip over into the abyss.

Meanwhile, I do everything I can to make sure they don’t crack under the strain.

That’s always been my role. Nobody made me take it on, but it came naturally. Where my brothers are big, brooding, and angry, I pride myself on being outgoing and carefree in a way that lets them relax a little bit when I’m around. When they started getting married, I took it upon myself to make their wives happy and comfortable, which wasn’t really a burden since they’re great. And then there’s Angelo, my incarcerated brother, and my little sister, Laura, who’s probably a psychopath but we all love her anyway. They’re like my flock of misguided ducklings, and I do my best to make sure nobody strays too far from the fold.

Now I feel like the spotlight’s on me, and I hate it.

“Let’s just go home, okay?” I face the smoothie bar and start reading the menu. “Seriously, I’m getting one of these stupid drinks to go, and then we’re going to pretend like I never came here, okay?”

“We could do that,” Stefania says while looking back over my shoulder.

“Do you want anything? Actually, I’ll just get two of whatever and if you don’t want it⁠—”

“Or you could talk to him,” Stefania says, interrupting me.

“I already said no. I’m not supposed to contact him before the wedding, remember?”

“Sorry, babe, but what happens if he talks to you?” She squeezes my arm and gives me a huge grin and a cold chill runs down my spine.

As another voice cuts into our conversation.

It’s deep and masculine. Cold even, neutral, no emotion at all in its inflection.

“Elena Bianco. You don’t belong here.”

I take a deep breath and turn around.

Brody Quinn’s standing a few feet away. A white towel’s slung over his shoulder and his powerful arms are crossed over his chest. The muscles bulge, and they are lovely muscles, I can’t even pretend like I don’t want to nibble and lick my way along those gorgeous forearms.

“Good luck,” Stefania whispers and she gives Brody a little wave as she hurries off, the absolute fucking traitorous monster. I’m about to call her back, but the words die in my throat as Brody steps closer.

He’s big. He looms. The guy’s the size of a refrigerator. I have no clue how he’s a lawyer when he looks like he should be a linebacker. I have to crane my neck to stare into his eyes—and they’re bright green, just like I thought they’d be.

“Don’t call me Elena,” I say and my stomach’s doing Olympic Gymnast-style flips. “You can stick to wifey instead.”

Oh my god, what a bad joke. It’s the worst joke in the world. I swear, if I could squeeze myself into a little dense black hole and pop myself out of existence, I’d do it. Jokes are my defense mechanism, but that was just so awful, I deserve to go to prison for a very long time.

His face shows nothing. No smile, no snort, no emotion at all. He keeps staring at me like he didn’t hear what I said, and I wonder if maybe I have the wrong guy, but then he steps closer and leans in, and I catch his smell. It’s slightly musky with a spicy deodorant undertone, and it’s shockingly pleasant even though the guy’s damp with sweat. I breathe him in and my stomach moves on from flips to straight-up high-dives.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, his voice a slow growl, a low bass rumble. I could set a beat to that voice and shake my ass for hours.

“Look, I’m not stalking you, okay? And I know that’s exactly what a stalker would say.”

His eyebrows raise. No response.

“But I just wanted to see the guy I’m going to marry before the actual wedding day, okay? I’m not having second thoughts or anything like that. I just wanted to see you in the flesh and make sure—” Make sure of what? That he didn’t have two heads? That he wasn’t a monstrous woman-devouring troll?

His lips press together in something resembling a smile. But much more terrifying. Fear runs down my spine, and even though there are people milling all around us, I feel like we’re extremely alone.

“Come with me,” he says and grabs my arm. His hand is big and strong, and when I resist, he tugs me harder after him.

“Okay, this is getting weird. Why are you dragging me right now?”

“We’re going to talk in private before someone sees us together.” His jaw is tight and he’s headed straight for the saunas.

For the hot, sweaty, cramped saunas.

I feel my feet start moving. My heart’s racing into my throat. This is bad, this is very bad, because it’s breaking all the rules, and I never break the rules. That’s sort of who I am: good Elena, proper Elena, sunshiny and happy Elena. I’m the lightness when everything around me is constantly heavy.

But there’s something about the look on Brody’s face. It’s serious, intense even, but when he reaches the door of an empty steam room and glances back at me, I spot it again.

An intense longing.

“Get inside,” he says.

And even though every alarm bell’s screaming in my head, I do it.