Brutal Power: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Bianco Crime Family)
Chapter 36

I drive hard back to my mother’s place. Fucking Seamus, if he goes out there half-cocked and gets himself killed, or murders some random bystanders all because they look a little shady, I’m going to be absolutely livid.

There’s too much up in the air right now. I don’t need more scrutiny on the family, not when I’m trying to juggle a few separate plans. If I fuck any of them up, I might end up getting people killed.

This is how my brother operates. When he commits, he goes all-in like a freaking obsessive, and I wonder where the guy that didn’t want to get into a fight disappeared to, because suddenly all he wants to do is murder Santoro soldiers and take stupid risks.

I think the shooting at the house changed him. Even if it was just my truck getting lit up, he still saw men firing weapons at his mother’s home, and it must’ve really sunk in how exposed we are. There’s no heavily fortified oasis for the Quinn organization, just a house in a decent Irish neighborhood and an office in the middle of downtown. We’ve made it work until now, but I’m starting to wonder if it shouldn’t be my mother moving in with Elena while I stay out here.

I careen the truck into the driveway. Seamus is standing on the front porch with a very conspicuous gun bulging under the front of his sweatshirt. The fucker’s not even trying to hide it. He’s staring at a black SUV parked across the street and the two men sitting inside of it, their silhouettes barely visible through the tinted glass.

“How long have they been there?” I ask him.

“Too long.” He gives me a hard look. “We should shoot first and ask questions later.”

“That’s how you end up in prison, bro.” I squeeze his arm. “Stay here and watch my back, alright? If I signal for you, come running. Otherwise, just trust me.”

“You know who these guys are?”

“I have a guess. You just need to trust me, okay?”

He clearly doesn’t like that, but I don’t wait around long enough for him to change his mind. I stalk off toward the SUV, and as I get close, the driver’s window rolls down.

Luca Moretti gives me a hard stare and I stop in the middle of the street ten feet away from him. “Does your brother realize that he could go to prison carrying around a gun like that?”

“What do you want, Moretti?”

He stares at me for another few seconds like he’s trying to decide what to say. Then he shrugs and looks straight ahead. “Boss wants to meet.”

“When and where?”

“Now and wherever I take you.” He glances over again. “Unless that’s a problem.”

I don’t move. Because yeah, that’s a fucking problem. If Santoro wants to kill me, this is basically like walking right into his trap. I could get in this vehicle, let them drive me to a pre-dug grave, and there wouldn’t be anything I could do to stop the bullet from burrowing through my skull.

But this is what I wanted, and I have to take risks if this plan is going to come together.

“Alright, I’m ready.”

He hits a button and the doors unlock. I climb into the back where a third man’s waiting for me, a big thug-looking guy that does his best to pat me down. I’m not carrying, and so he replaces nothing. The thug sitting up front with Moretti stares me down with hard, dark eyes, and I wonder if he’s the shooter in this group.

“Normally, I’d have to bag you and drive around in circles for a while, but Mr. Santoro decided to make this easy on you.” Luca Moretti pulls out and starts driving north.

Neighborhoods flash by and nobody speaks. The thug to my right looks bored as he watches the buildings filter past. I’m trying to keep track of where we’re going and only realize it’s useless when we pull into the parking lot of the Target down near Hyde Park. It’s a nice neighborhood and the bougie stay-at-home moms are crowded into the place, but we manage to replace a spot at the far end next to a very nice Lincoln. Luca kills the engine and gestures for me to get out.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Next car over. Don’t be fucking stupid.” He turns away, already taking out his phone.

I push open the door and get out. My heart’s racing, but it’s good that we’re in such a public spot. There are a lot of people around right now and there are too many security cameras for Santoro to straight-out murder me.

The Lincoln smells like mint and cologne. Luciano Santoro is sitting on the far left side behind the driver, an older Italian man with graying hair and a sharp smile. He’s got on a good suit, wide lapels, gold cufflinks, and a tie that looks designer. The men up front both have guns in their laps.

“Hello, Mr. Quinn,” Santoro says as I settle in beside him.

“Mr. Santoro. Thank you for seeing me.”

“I understand this was last minute and these aren’t the most ideal circumstances, but you understand the paranoia.”

I do and he’s right to feel that way. If he had given me more time, I might’ve come up with a plan to fuck him, or at least I would’ve tried.

“Of course. My wife’s family wouldn’t be happy if they knew we were having this meeting.”

Santoro’s lips press together. He’s an average-looking guy, the sort of older Italian man I would never look twice at if I passed him in the street, and yet I can tell there’s something sharp in that head of his. It’s in the way he doesn’t react right away like he’s taking what I say, processing it, and thinking before he opens his mouth. That’s the mark of a really clever man.

“How is little Elena? I suppose she’s not little anymore. I remember when she was growing up, that girl was a firecracker. Her father loved her.”

“She’s fine,” I tell him. “I’m not interested in her history.”

“No? Things aren’t good with the new wife?” His eyebrows raise.

I have to be careful here. I take a deep breath and blow it out. “She was a means to an end. That’s all she’ll ever be.”

He tilts his head, considering. “You don’t care about her?”

“I like her,” I admit and try to keep my breathing and my heartrate under control. “She’s smart and she’s beautiful. But I’m after something more than a wife.”

“What can I do for you then, Mr. Quinn?”

Everything hinges on this moment. If I overplay, Santoro will leave this meeting and I’ll never hear from him again, but if I don’t try to sell myself a little bit then all of this will have been for nothing.

“I know about your feud with Alessandro Bianco. I believe I can give him to you.”

Santoro’s eyebrows raise. “And why would you do that?”

“Because once Alessandro is dead, you’ll cede territory to my family. You’ll make it look like we took it in the war, but we’ll both know better. And my wife and her brothers will never replace out that it was me who sold out their father.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. I expected him to be skeptical, but he looks almost sad, and I don’t know how to read that. He sighs and leans his head back, staring up at the roof of the car.

“I’ve made many mistakes over the years,” he says very softly. “But being with Alessandro was never one of them. We had good times together, he and I, and I often wish things weren’t like this.”

Strange, coming from this man, since he was the one who turned his back on the Bianco Famiglia and kidnapped their son. But I keep that to myself.

“If you can actually bring me Alessandro, I’ll give you the territory you want, and we’ll create a very lucrative partnership.” He looks at me, and I finally see what he’s been hiding. There’s a snake inside of him, a cold-blooded reptile willing to do anything to get what he wants, and I think all he wants is the utter destruction of the Biancos. For what reason, I can’t guess, but it doesn’t matter to me.

“My involvement with you has to remain a secret. If Simon or Davide replaces out what I’m doing⁠—”

“You’re too valuable to waste.” Santoro’s smile is grim. “I don’t throw away assets.”

“How do I get in touch with you again?”

“You’ll reach out to Luca when you’re ready to give me what I want. Once I have Alessandro, we’ll discuss payment in detail. But from here on out, you work for me, Mr. Quinn, and you will no longer move against me in this little war I’ve been fighting with the Biancos. Do you understand? If you want to prove that you’re not full of hot air, back off, and wait for further instructions.”

I open the door. “I can do that, Don Santoro.” His face twitches at the don title.

“Good luck then, Mr. Quinn. I hope you’re as clever as you think you are.”

I leave his car and get back into Luca’s vehicle.