Sunrise Malice: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

I can tell something’s bothering Julien the next morning. He’s banging around the kitchen making breakfast and coffee while I stay hidden in my room, trying to work up the courage to go out there.

I’ve never lived anywhere but my father’s house. I’m not exactly upset about being in this gorgeous apartment—but it’s weird sharing it with a man I barely know. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, what the rules are, how I’m supposed to behave, and I find myself worrying for almost ten minutes before I work up the nerve to head out into the kitchen.

Julien’s sitting out on the balcony drinking coffee and taking on the phone. I pour myself coffee from the pot he made and make a little toast. Back home, I’d be cleaning up and getting ready for the day, but Julien’s place is spotless, and anyway I’m done acting like the maid. He can clean up after himself.

The door slides open as I finish eating while sitting at the little breakfast nook. Julien’s in a pair of joggers and a black t-shirt that clings to his muscular chest and arms. I stare at the tattoos on his skin—tattoos which end at his wrists and are easy to hide underneath a suit. They’re black and intricate, and I spot a jaguar, an old sailing ship, a snake coiled around a skull, a knife dripping with blood, a necklace of rocks that look just like tears.

“Good morning,” he says as he pauses and looks in at me. I squirm slightly as his eyes move up and down like he’s inspecting me. I’m in a simple long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and I know what he’s thinking right now. It’s too hot for sleeves, but I don’t want him looking at my bruises.

They’re already turning yellow, and in a few more days, they’ll be completely gone. Once they fade, I can start moving on.

I won’t have to worry about what I wear anymore.

“Morning,” I say and look away.

He gets himself more coffee in the kitchen but doesn’t return to the balcony. Instead, he sits across from me at the breakfast nook, his big legs and body taking up all the space. I feel small and trapped with him so close.

“Just so you know, the cleaners come twice a week. They’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. You have cleaners.” I let a laugh bubble out. “I guess I should’ve assumed that.”

He tilts his head. “You’re not going to scrub another shower. Not while you’re my wife.”

“Something wrong with cleaning bathrooms?”

“Only under threat of punishment.”

My jaw works. “Great, thanks for the reminder. Is that all?”

His expression softens, and I can tell he feels guilty for bringing up what he saw back at my dad’s house. “I want you to be at home here, that’s all. If there’s anything you need or want, make a list and I’ll have my people get it for you.”

I clear my throat. “Actually, there are, uh, toiletries and I didn’t get all my clothes⁠—”

He takes his phone from his pocket. “I’ll have someone to pack up the rest of your room. Anything else?”

“No, that’s fine.”

He sends a quick text and nods to himself. “I want you to be comfortable, my wife.”

“Not calling me your pussycat anymore?”

“You made it clear you didn’t like that.” His lips curl into a smirk. “Besides, I like the sounds of wife better.” He stands and starts walking away, but my stupid mouth gets the better of me.

“What happened last night?” I blurt out. “You came back and you looked like you wanted to kill someone.”

He hesitates before leaning against the back of the couch. “The less you know, the better.”

“Oh, great, we’re going to have one of those relationships.”

“You really want me to update you about my business? You want to know about the war? You want to know the names of all the dead men?”

I sit back and shake my head. “No, of course not, but I was just trying to have a conversation with you.”

His shoulders are tense as he turns away again. “It’s better if you stay as far away from all that as you can. Trust me.”

I watch him walk back out to the terrace and sit back down at the table. He’s talking to himself, cursing in French, if I had to guess, and jabs at his phone like he wants to break the glass with his finger. I gather up my stuff, drop it in the kitchen, before retreating back into my bedroom.

I’m not sure what that was back there, if he was trying to protect me, or if he’s just always an asshole. Something bad happened last night and it’s really bothering him, and if he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t have to.

But a part of me wants him to open up.

I’m not as delicate as he probably thinks. I lived in a crime family my whole life—I know how stressful it can be for a man like Julien, especially at a time like this.

And I’m his wife, whether I like it or not. That doesn’t mean I have to act like his submissive little pillow princess, but at least I can listen to the guy’s problems.

Since there’s not much to do in my room, I end up calling Kim. She answers and is extremely excited to hear from me. “Oh my god, are you seriously living at your husband’s place now?”

“I’m seriously living at his place.”

She cackles with delight. “I hear your dad’s not doing too good.”

“Julien and Dad had a disagreement, but that’s over now.”

“Holy. Shit.” She lets out a long breath. “He’s kind of scary, right?”

“He’s definitely scary,” I agree, thinking back to the look on Julien’s face when he realized my father had been abusing me. He wanted to murder Dad, and he would have if I hadn’t stopped him. A strange warmth floods through me at the thought of Julien killing for me, which is definitely fucked up, but I can’t help it.

“And kind of hot too,” she says, and I can practically see the big grin on her face.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but don’t you hate him?”

“Water under the bridge. You guys are hitched now, right? I might as well make the best of it.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Come on, you’re married to a rich and powerful French gangster, and he happens to be built like a fucking God. Aren’t you curious?”

I should know better than to ask, but I ask anyway. “Curious about what?”

“What it’s like to fuck him, obviously.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh. “No, Kim, I’m not curious.”

“You’re so full of shit. Look, you’re stuck with the guy, right? You might as well, you know, experiment.”

“You sound like him now.”

She sucks in a breath. “He said that to you?”

Ah, crap, I shouldn’t have told her that. But now that I said it, she’ll never let it go unless I give her the full context. “He wants me to be faithful to him, and I want him to be faithful to me. You know, so nobody’s embarrassed? And he said since we’re doing the monogamy thing, we might as well enjoy some of the benefits.”

She cackles with wicked excitement. “You dirty whore.”

“Can I be a dirty whore if we’re talking about my husband?”

“You dirty, filthy, married whore! You’re going to have sex with him, aren’t you?”

“No, seriously, I’m not.”

“I would,” she says wistfully. “I mean, it would be very angry and filthy, but I’d ride that dick and get all my aggression out before letting him fuck me into one of those mindless stupors.”

I chew my lip and glance at the door. “Would you stop it?”

“Sorry, sorry, just haven’t gotten laid in a while.”

“Go write some dirty fanfic or something.”

We chat for a little while longer. I invite her over later and she agrees to stop by. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to bring in guests, but Julien said he wanted me to make this place my home, and it’s not like I’m going to avoid Kim for the next two years. I might as well set the precedent.

I head back out into the main house, feeling a little bit better after hearing Kim’s voice. She makes me feel normal again, like my life isn’t totally spinning out of control and spiraling into a bizarre and strange place.

But the second I step into the living room, I’m reminded that I’m definitely in bizarro land.

Because Julien’s out on the balcony lifting weights.

He’s shirtless. His muscular, tattooed body flexes with each rep. There’s a yoga mat on the ground, and he’s doing bicep curls, grunting with exertion as sweat rolls down his lightly tanned and toned body. I stare, mouth hanging open, and I know I should get the hell out of here before he spots me, but I can’t help it.

The guy is absolutely built.

Holy shit, he’s beautiful. Every motion is poetry. His jacked veins send tingles down my spine. He’s even got those muscles that lead into his shorts, that ridiculous abdominal V pointing directly to his substantial bulge.

And as I’m staring, he turns in my direction.

We make brief eye contact. And he fucking smiles at me, the bastard, because he knows what I’m doing.

After a beat, he turns away, and continues his workout, fully aware of my staring.

And because I’m a sick freak, I stay right where I am and enjoy the view. I mean, I’m already caught, so why the heck not? Before he’s done, I scamper away to take a very hot shower, and if I happen to reach between my legs with my eyes squeezed shut and think about him as I touch myself, there’s nothing wrong with it, not at all.

It’s just a wife pleasuring herself to the thought of her obscenely built husband, that’s all.