Sunrise Malice: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance
Sunrise Malice: Chapter 45

My plan comes together over a couple of days.

Which means two days where I’m forced to keep Pascal fed, watered, and alive.

That’s extremely not easy. The old bastard complains all the damn time, but I’m afraid to shove a gag in his mouth. If he choked, that would ruin everything. I need him alive, unfortunately, even though his corpse would be much more satisfying and a lot easier to deal with.

I try to keep Brianne away from him, but she refuses to listen to me. “You need my help,” she says, gently pushing me aside as she goes in to give Pascal his breakfast. “Besides, you’re busy with other work.”

She’s right about that. When I’m not home with her, I’m out with Jean regrouping the remnants of our crime organization and starting the arduous process of reconstructing what we lost.

The one good piece of news: there are more of my men alive and well than I thought. They scattered to the wind and were keeping their heads down now that the heat is very much on, but Jean’s been doing a good job of rustling them up and getting them in touch with each other again. There’s still product to sell and territory to defend, which isn’t easy now that we’re hamstrung.

But we manage. Even though a dozen little groups start nibbling at our edges, Jean and I run a couple raids on some smaller, local gangs that think it’s a good time to fuck with me. That means more blood in the streets, but it can’t be helped.

They have to know we aren’t weak, or else they’ll get too aggressive.

On the night of the second day, I run my hands down Brianne’s body. She shivers at my touch. I love the way she reacts to me. Every one of her moans, the way she moves her hips, her soft little tongue, her pink stiff nipples, all of her. I’m endlessly fascinated by her movements and by what turns her on, and it’s like a treasure hunt when I try to push her buttons. Her orgasms are better than gold though, better than money, than food, than fucking breathing.

“Sometimes I worry about you,” she says, stretching out her arms as I lick one of her nipples. “Seriously, you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Why would you worry about that?” I slip my fingers between her legs and tease her wet pussy. We’re both completely naked—there’s no reason to keep clothes on around her anymore.

I want my wife stripped, bare, and eager.

“I don’t know. It seems almost—ah, that’s nice—almost unhealthy.”

“Unhealthy?” I slide two fingers deep inside of her and curl them. “Is this unhealthy?”

Her eyes roll back and she gasps. “So unhealthy,” she moans, wiggling her hips. “You’re too obsessed with it.”

“With you,” I correct and bite her nipple.

She squirms as I slide my fingers in and out and suck her other breast.

“With using me like a freaking toy.” She groans, back arching. “Seriously, Julien. You’re insatiable.”

“Would you rather I stopped?” I move my hand back and stare at her, grinning.

She glares back. “Did I say that?”

“You implied it.”

“Maybe I’m unhealthy too.” She pouts and scoots closer to me. “Keep touching.”

I laugh, kiss her, and give her what she wants.

Everything about Brianne makes me realize what I want out of life. It’s this, right here, these moments with her in bed making each other laugh, moan, and come, this is what I’ve always dreamed of. This is what all the struggle’s for.

Security. Strength. Safety. And lots of filthy fucking sex.

I love the way her mouth stretches around my thick cock. I love her little moans as she strokes me and she gasps as I tease her pussy while she sucks my tip. I love the way her tongue moves in little circles around my shaft and she licks the precum like it’s a treat. I slide myself into her throat and even though she gags and can barely make it halfway down, she tries anyway. And I fucking love that about her.

She rides me, sweat rolling down her back. She puts her hands on my chest and lets me smack her ass hard enough to turn it pink. I get her good and riled up, make her do some work, make her moan and gasp for breath, before I push her down and fuck her from behind. I love her face smashed into the mattress as she stretches around my big dick. I love how wet she gets, and the way she comes with her full body trembling and shaking, and I love how powerful that makes me feel.

I fill her and when we’re finished, I love how comfortable she gets when she curls up on my chest. Her breathing steadies and deepens, and I love that she falls asleep on top of me like it’s no big deal.

I’ve never had a relationship like this before.

Women are either with me for my money and power, or they’re terrified around me.

There’s never been this level of comfort before.

And I realize it’s because she trusts me.

Her trust means so much—it’s not easy winning over a woman like Brianne, and I feel like I’ve finally done something decent in my life, convincing her that I’m a worthwhile husband and partner.

All at once, I can see the truth.

I see who I am and who I want to be.

Brianne’s husband, her protector and lover. But also, I want to be the man that lives up to her expectations.

I want to be good enough for her.

As she sleeps, I sneak out of bed and pull on clothes. My gun is lying on the top of the dresser; I check the slide and make sure it’s loaded.

The clock says it’s slightly past midnight.

I creep down the hall to Pascal’s room. I knock twice to make sure he’s awake before I pull back the bolt.

The room’s dark. My eyes are already adjusted to the weak moonlight though. Pascal’s lying on the cot we provided, still in the same clothes, now beginning to smell ripe. He’s unshaven and disheveled. His eyes are narrowed though, and he’s still very much in control of himself.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

I stare at the old man from the doorway. Even now, even after everything, I still have respect for him.

I remember those first heady months living in his house. Life was new again. I had comforts for the first time in my life. I had food when I wanted it, clean clothes when I needed them, warm water in the shower, a roof over my head. There were couches, TVs, an entire new world to explore.

And there was Pascal Moreau, a giant in my memory, lording over all of it.

He was so powerful. I respected him—no, I loved him—and I would have done anything to make him happy.

Then the training started and I began to see another side of my Grandpère.

He was brutal and nasty. Being faster, stronger, and smarter than everyone else wasn’t enough. No matter how well I did, no matter how many tests I passed, he still demanded more.

That’s why I left. That’s why I rebuilt my life here.

But I never rebuilt myself.

No, I was still a shell of a man, living deep in a pit of rage and self-loathing.

Until Brianne came along.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say, staring at the old man I once respected more than anyone in the world.

I speak French for him, and he speaks it back.

“Sounds like a novel concept for you.” He sneers at me. “What is this? I’m tired. My wrists ache. I’m hungry. Is this supposed to be torture?”

“Do you remember when I was sixteen and you let me sit in on a meeting with one of your street-level dealers? You basically threatened him, and he stood up to you. Do you remember that?”

Pascal leans back on his cot with a sigh. “I’m not interested in reliving the past with you, Julien.”

“After he left, I found him outside. I beat him with a club and broke six of his ribs. I nearly killed him because he disrespected you. And do you recall what you said to me when I got back home?”

He’s staring at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. “You got blood on your shirt. That’s another fucking expense.” He closes his eyes and yawns. “If you’re here to whine about how hard I was on you, I’m not interested. Go back to sleep.”

“I’m here to make you understand. I respected you. I trusted you. But there was never any of that in return. That’s why this is happening. That’s why I should have done it much sooner.”

“Ah, yes, you grow a spine, but much too late like always.”

I walk over to him and press the barrel of the gun against his right knee. “You let me down. But really, I let myself down, and that won’t happen again.”

He stares at me, eyes going wide. “Julien. Wait a moment.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Pascal. You’re worth more alive. But that doesn’t mean you need to be whole when I’m done with you.”

“Julien—” His eyes are wide with terror.

I pull the trigger. The gun barks and Pascal’s knee explodes in a mess of bone, sinew, and cartilage. He screams in pain as he curls forward over the wound, nearly falling off the cot. I step back and watch him sob and curse me in French, only turning away when I hear Brianne’s footsteps in the hall.

She appears in the doorway looking frazzled, wearing only one of my oversized t-shirts.

“Julien? Are you okay?”

I walk to her and steer her from Pascal’s view. I shut his door and lock it. “I’m okay. I just had a conversation with him, that’s all.”

“Did you shoot him?”

I bend down and kiss her before lifting the shirt enough to pat her lovely, bare ass. “I shot him.”

“Why? What? I don’t understand.”

“I want to make sure he never forgets who I am and what he did to me. And I suspect now he never will. At his age, with a wound like that, it’ll never heal right. No fucking chance. He’ll be limping and in pain until the day he dies, which could be very soon, depending on how tomorrow night goes.”

Brianne chews her lip and looks at the door. Pascal’s whimpers are still audible through the door. “I should check on him.”

“Give it a minute. Then we’ll go in and make sure he doesn’t bleed out.”

“At least let me call the doctor.”

I squeeze her ass and kiss her. “You’re too soft.”

“You need him alive, remember?”

“Well, maybe I’m too stupid then.”

She swats me away and mutters curses under her breath as she storms off. I watch her go, loving the way her ass shakes.

Yeah, I’m definitely right: on the outside, she’s soft and lovely.

But inside there’s a steel column holding her up, and that won’t bend for anyone.