Sunrise Malice: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance
Sunrise Malice: Chapter 15

On our way back to my apartment, I got a frantic call from Jean, telling me to come meet him at the warehouse. I make sure Brianne gets inside safely and assign the same two guards from the restaurant to keep an eye on my apartment and make sure she stays safe.

“I shouldn’t have to say this, but you will treat my wife with the utmost respect. Is that clear?”

Both men nod and exchange nervous looks. “Yes, sir,” they reply in chorus like a couple of scared schoolboys.

I don’t have time to think about Brianne any more than I already have tonight. I get back into my car and head west of the city, rolling through stoplights and ignoring street signs, going as fast as I dare. Jean didn’t tell me what happened, but I could hear the serious worry in his voice.

Tonight was supposed to be the shipment from Ronan, and it was supposed to go out to a warehouse I own off the books. If Jean’s calling me here in the middle of the night when he knew I was taking my wife to dinner, that means something very bad happened, and a rotten knot in my guts is telling me it has something to do with the shipment.

Only I don’t know if it’s Grandpère or Dusan I have to worry about.

I turn onto a narrow road that leads through a field. This whole place used to be farmland once, but developers bought it out and dropped a massive tin and metal structure right where the barn stood for generations. There are cars in the lot up ahead and people milling around, which is a bad fucking sign, but no truck.

My heart is in my throat when I see all the broken glass. I park and get out of the car, and immediately Jean comes jogging over to me, looking grim. “Boss,” he says, which is what he calls me when shit’s gone very, very wrong. “You need to see this.”

More of my soldiers are standing near the loading docks. I step over spent shell casings, evidence of a fight that happened not too long ago. “Who?” I ask Jean, but he only shakes his head.

A body’s lying on the pavement. I don’t recognize him, which is extremely bad. I stand at the edge of a pool of the man’s blood, his face twisted in agony, four holes standing in a garish red on his chest.

“Irish,” Jean says.

Fucking shit.

Ronan’s man dead on my goddamn turf.

Unfortunately, it gets worse. There are two more injured, one of mine and another of Ronan’s. They tell me the story through pained grunts as one of the other guards bandages their relatively minor wounds.

The deal went down smoothly. Ronan’s driver and his guard brought the truck out to the warehouse and my men came out to meet them. They got out, everyone shook hands, and that’s when men came pouring out from the fields all around them. The gunfight was brutal and fast, and the attackers forced my men back into the warehouse. The driver died on the spot during the initial wave. By the time they got themselves organized and pushed out for a counterattack, the truck was already gone, and only the wounded were left behind.

I exchange a hard look with Jean and pull him aside. My head spins with possibilities as anger flares inside my guts. “That doesn’t sound like Grandpère,” I say quietly and Jean nods his head.

“I agree. It’s got to be Dusan.”

“How the fuck does he know about this place?” I gesture around us. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I can’t say for sure, but Dusan’s smart. Back when we were allied with him, I’d bet he had us all under surveillance.”

“But even still, he found out when the drugs were going to show up and he set a fucking ambush.” I grab Jean by the arm, finger digging into his muscle. “Somebody talked.”

Jean pulls himself away and kicks at some shell casings. “They could’ve gotten lucky. They could’ve guessed.”

“We both know that’s bullshit.”

He grunts and runs a hand through his hair. “I really don’t want to think that we have a traitor right now.”

“How many people knew about this drop-off?”

“The men here. I personally vetted them all. Beyond that?” He shrugs and gestures in the air. “It was just between us and Ronan.”

“Then we’d better keep this quiet for now. Dusan got to someone in our crew—replace whoever it was.”

Jean grunts in reply, and before I can give him more commands, a truck roars down the road and comes to a screeching halt.

“Well, fuck,” I grumble as Ronan Hayes gets out with guards shadowing his every step. The big Irish boss gives his dead driver one hard look before spotting me and storming over.

“What the fuck happened here?” he barks at me, snarling like an unhinged dog. “My soldier is dead. My truck is missing.”

“My shipment is missing with it,” I say, getting right in his face, not backing down.

“Explain, Julien, before I lose it. You’re the one that wanted this delivery here tonight instead of our usual place. Make me understand.”

I tell him what I know. He listens, looking impatient. “I believe it was Petrovic hitting us back for the attack on his safehouse the other night,” I finish, crossing my arms and holding Ronan’s stare.

He curses and paces back and forth. Normally, he’s a levelheaded guy with a light heart and a good sense of humor, but right now he’s all Irish mob boss. The rage coming off him is palpable, and I can’t blame him. This must look like a goddamn shitshow from his perspective.

“You’re dragging me into a war,” he says, finally turning on me. “This trash with Dusan. What the hell were you thinking?”

I want to tell him about Grandpère, but those are only excuses at this point. “It’s about long-term survival. Dusan has territory I need, and I’m in a position to take it. There’s nothing personal.”

“Motherfucker.” Ronan leans toward me like he wants to hit me in the face, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame him. “You married one of my girls. You built this bond between our families, and then you went after Petrovic. You fucking planned this, didn’t you?”

God fucking damn it, he’s completely right to think that. “That wasn’t my intention,” I say, keeping my voice level, but even I don’t believe it. There’s no way Ronan isn’t going to see everything I’ve done as some devious plot to drag him into a fight he doesn’t want, and really, that’s giving me a lot of credit. But once again, Grandpère has backed me into a corner, and I replace myself defending a fight I don’t even want to begin with.

“You’re full of fucking shit. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call off our alliance.”

“I’m still married to Brianne,” I say, meeting his stare.

His face hardens. “You’re going to use her against me?”

I drop my voice and move closer to him. “Did you know what her father was doing to her, you selfish fuck?”

His expression falters and his skin pales. His hands tremble with anger and he stays right in my face, not backing down. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

“You act all righteous, and yet you knew that girl was being abused, and you didn’t do shit about it.”

“I married her off. I fixed the problem.”

“You should have broken that fucking asshole’s spine,” I snap in his face, getting angry now. Ronan knew what was happening to Brianne, and instead of stepping in, he took the coward’s route.

“I did what was best for my family. And now you’re going to jeopardize everything.”

“Like it or not, you’re as imperfect as I am, Ronan. And now we’re in this war together.”

Ronan’s eye twitches. He wants to fucking kill me, and a sick voice in the back of my mind wants him to try it. Come on, asshole, hit me. Give me a reason to hit you back. Give me a reason to hurt you.

Instead, he turns away. “I won’t back your play, but I won’t get in the way, either.”

“I doubt Dusan will care about that distinction.”

“I’ll worry about him.” Ronan shakes his head, shoulders hunched with anger and stress. “This is fucked, Julien. You know that, right?”

“Fucked or not, I’ll end the war fast.”

Ronan walks away, shaking his head as he barks commands at his people, instructing them to get everyone together, including the body of their dead friend. I have my soldiers help the best they can, and once the Irish are gone, I linger for long enough to get the cleanup organized.

“I want that truck found,” I tell Jean as I head back to my apartment and my Irish wife.

Jean nods grimly, but he doesn’t look like he thinks the prospects are good.