Sunrise Malice: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

Psychological warfare can be as important as killing the enemy.

Sometimes it’s easier to break their morale.

Get under their skin, prove they don’t matter, show how weak and pathetic they are to you, make them think it’s hopeless, and they’ll defeat themselves.

“Do you own this place?” Brianne asks as we head inside La Palais Gourmet. She’s holding onto my arm, mostly because I told her she had to, and I keep stealing glances down in her direction.

She’s wearing a dress contoured to her body, black and slinky, with a slit up her thigh. Her skin’s covered, but it still shows off her gorgeous body, and it makes my heart fucking race every time I catch sight of her. Three-quarter sleeves cover the bruises on her arms.

I’ve never been proud to have a woman on my arm before—there are plenty of attractive women all over Chicago—but for once in my life, I actually have a person I want to show off.

“It’s associated with my family,” I say, hedging slightly. I’m not a direct owner, but I’m definitely involved in this place’s management. Since she’s a mafia girl herself, she’ll understand.

“Tell me again how bringing me out to an expensive dinner is going to help win your war?”

I pull her chair out. She sits down and spreads her napkin in her lap. I sit across from her at the best table in the house and lean back to admire her thick, dark hair and her full, kissable lips. I’ve been thinking a lot about those lips ever since I tasted her at the courthouse, and seeing her like this, dressed up and eminently fuckable, makes me want to tease her yet again.

“It shows that we’re not afraid.” The waitress comes over and I order wine for both of us. Something good and obscenely overpriced. “That’s the most important thing we can do right now.”

“I’m not really sure how dinner accomplishes that, but okay.”

The waitress pours our drinks. I study Brianne’s mouth as she raises her glass to her lips. Fuck, she’s distracting. And very frustrating.

“Look over there.” I gesture toward the front of the house. Our table is near the windows overlooking a busy Chicago street.

She squints, frowning. “The homeless guy in the doorway over there?”

“No, my wife, the windows. We’re being seen here. More than that, we’re being seen out in the open, flaunting our wealth, and acting as though nothing is happening at all. That’s the message I want to send.”

Brianne adjusts her position slightly, head tilted as she stares at the windows. “So wait, are you saying this is dangerous?”

I wave that off. “I have half my guards covering this place right now. We’re as safe here as we are anywhere in the city.” Like hell I’d risk my new wife’s life just to take her out for fucking dinner. Two of my best men are at the table next to us, doing their best to pretend like they’re just a couple of normal guys out for a meal. But they’re pretty fucking conspicuous and I suspect she’s just ignoring them. “That’s not really the point. Word will get back to Dusan that I’ve been seen parading my pretty young wife around town, and it’ll piss him off.”

“Pretty young wife?” she asks, eyebrows raising. “You think I’m pretty?”

I lean closer to her and lower my voice, ignoring her question. “Once he gets past his initial anger, he’ll start to wonder: why isn’t Julien worried? Is he really that confident? Does that mean he’s stronger than I realized?”

“Mind games.” She sighs and shakes her head. “You criminals are all the same.”

“It’s the law of the jungle, my darling. Strength over everything.”

The waitress returns and we put in our orders. I’m tempted to ask for the tasting menu but I suspect Brianne will only get pissed off if I try that again.

I let her drive the conversation. She asks about hobbies, about TV shows, normal stuff, and mostly she does all the talking. We have common ground though, which surprises me. There are movies we’re both into, music we both like, even some books we’ve both read and enjoyed.

“I’m going to admit something,” I say as our dinner arrives. “I imagined you were more of a Katy Perry and reality TV kind of girl.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she grumbles.

“Maybe not, but you have good taste. You like Godard and Lynch. You listen to Radiohead and Modest Mouse.”

“I know every single word on Midnights. That’s Taylor Swift, in case you weren’t sure.”

“But my point stands.”

“Just because we have a few things in common doesn’t mean we’re the same.” She makes a disgusted face. “God, could you imagine?”

“You wish you could be half as interesting as I am.”

“Please, just because you sell drugs and run your little crime family doesn’t mean you’re actually interesting.” She raises her glass of wine, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I find you boring and self-centered.”

I laugh, unable to help myself. This fucking girl doesn’t back down. Even when I give her a hard look and hold her gaze, she only quirks her lips and raises an eyebrow, almost daring me to give her shit just so she’ll have an excuse to snap right back.

The fight is fucking fun. I’d be lying if I tried to pretend otherwise. We bicker and tease each other, and it’s true that I find her frustrating and more than a little self-important, but I also like how quick she is and how she never backs down, even when I’m angry.

When she gets up to use the bathroom, I lean back and admire her ass swaying in that dress. But when I glance over at my guards, one of them is looking too, and he’s licking his lips like he’d rather have my wife for dinner. I lean toward him and catch his eye, and his face turns pale when he realizes I caught him.

“If you look at her again like that, I’ll cut off your dick and shove it down your throat. That’s not an idle threat. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.”

“Yes, Mr. Moreau,” he says quickly and stares at his glass of wine like it’s going to sprout tits.

I sit back in my chair, brooding. Brianne really is a beautiful girl. I can’t blame my men for looking at her. And it isn’t like she’s wearing anything provocative or particularly revealing—she just happens to be gorgeous, and every straight man in the room glances in her direction when she walks past.

I like it, but it also drives me crazy. I didn’t think I’d be possessive of a girl I didn’t even want to begin with, but now that she’s mine, I can’t stand the idea of other men desiring her.

Brianne was supposed to be my shield against Grandpère’s arrangement. I know Collette, and I hate that girl with all my heart—the stubborn, snobbish, stuck-up asshole—which is why I figured a stranger would be better.

But now I’m wondering if Brianne was a good choice.

The problem is my wife is too beautiful.

I don’t want to want her. Life would be so much easier if I didn’t have this simmering need to touch her body.

And yet it’s in me, whether I like it or not.

I think of her back at her father’s house kneeling in the bathroom and covered in bruises. That cools some of the simmering lust building in my chest, but replaces it with a protective urge. And makes my heart sink.

There’s a reason she’s got sleeves on. There’s a reason she can’t show off her back or her midsection.

I’m in a foul mood by the time she returns. I finish my wine and gesture for another, and Brianne acts like she doesn’t notice anything as she eats her meal in silence. I let the quiet grow between us, my anger simmering on the edge of rage as I think about her coward father and what he did to her, before I finally speak up.

“We should set expectations.”

Her eyebrows raise. “I’m sorry, what now? I thought we’d finally gotten to the best part of the meal.”

“And what part is that?”

“You know, where you stop bothering me and let me eat.”

I briefly close my eyes. This fucking girl. “We should talk about our marriage. I need to set some ground rules with you before we continue.”

“I don’t really like this whole rules thing.”

“Just listen to me for once.” I say it harder than I mean to and she looks surprised then hurt. I curse myself for having a short temper, but I push on. “When we’re in public, we need to act like we’re married. You don’t have to hang on every word I say, but you can’t outright disrespect me, either.”

“No promises there,” she says through her teeth, clearly annoyed now too.

“Keep it to a minimum at least. Beyond that, you’re free to live your life, only you have to be guarded at all times.”

“Guards?” Her expression softens as she glances at my men sitting at the table near us. “I can’t leave the house without an escort?”

“For your protection. While there’s a war, you’re at risk. Dusan won’t hesitate to use you against me.”

“Right. The war.” She strokes a finger down her glass. “Seems convenient for you, doesn’t it?”

“Not in the slightest,” I say, glaring at her.

“I mean, you like to be controlling, right? This war means you can keep me locked down.”

“That’s not my intention.” I hold up a hand and she holds back from laying into me for once. “I understand you think I’m an asshole. I get that you don’t particularly like me. But this is for your own protection, not for my amusement.”

She lets that sit with her for a moment before reluctantly nodding. “Fine. I understand.”

“Last rule, and most important of all. Stay away from Grandpère and his men. You’ll be safe at my apartment, but there will be social functions and nights when you’ll be expected to attend gatherings at the mansion. No matter what, avoid them. If you can’t, be polite and to the point, and remember that they will use anything you say against me.”

Now she looks thoughtful as she leans back with her glass. She takes a sip and nods, her mouth a gentle form. “You and your grandfather really don’t get along, huh?”

“You met him.” I leave the explanation at that.

“I hear you, and I’ll follow your rules the best I can, but I’m not your captive, and I’m not your toy. Do you understand?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say you’re my toy,” I say, swirling my glass with a smirk. “But plaything?”

“You’re not funny, Julien.”

“Come on, wife, have you forgotten about your list already?”

She shakes her head sharply. “I’m not joking around.”

“I’m not either.” I lean forward, voice lowering. “What’s the point of being faithful to each other if we’re not going to act on this tension between us? Come on, don’t look like that. You hate me and I’m not particularly fond of you either, but we both want to fuck each other into drooling submission.”

Her mouth hangs open. I love it when she’s shocked—those pretty lips look perfect in a little shocked oh.

“Not happening,” she finally mumbles, looking away.

“You’ll change your mind.”

She stares at me with a mixture of anger and defiance, but she doesn’t disagree, and I’m surer than I’ve ever been that I’m going to peel her open and break through that icy exterior sooner rather than later.