Sunrise Malice: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

I know Julien doesn’t want me wandering around, but when midnight rolls past, I can’t sit still anymore.

The mansion is dark this late. There are a few guards out, but none of them pay me much attention other than curious glances. I’m in sweats and a long-sleeve shirt, and I wander down in search of a decent glass of wine.

The place is massive. I could get lost in here easily. I have to stop and orient myself a couple of times, but fortunately, I navigate down a side hall and find myself in a dimly lit industrial-style kitchen. It’s silent right now, and I feel like a burglar as I start opening up refrigerators at random. Lots of ingredients, fresh vegetables, some leftovers, that sort of thing, but no wine.

“Looking for something?”

I jump and groan as I bang my head against one of the stainless-steel counters. I press against my aching skull and look back at the entrance where a heavyset man’s watching me with a friendly smile. He’s definitely one of the Frenchmen, and I vaguely recognize him as someone related to Julien’s grandfather, but I can’t recall the man’s name. He’s older with dark hair, and there’s a strange edge to him that immediately makes me uncomfortable.

“Wine, actually,” I say, trying to smile. “Fuck, that hurt.”

“Here, here, let me get you ice.” He goes to a freezer, opens it, and fills a cloth. He brings me over the bundle and waves my hands away when I try to take it, pressing it down on my head himself. He’s bigger than me and his breath smells like whiskey. “You hit it pretty good.”

“I was just startled, that’s all.” I manage to extract myself away from him, but keep the ice on my head. “Thanks for this.”

“Anything for Julien’s new wife.” He’s still smiling, but I don’t think he’s happy. “I’m Henri, by the way. In case you’d forgotten.”

“Right, Henri. I’m Brianne.”

“Oh, I know your name, Irish girl.” He leans against one of the counters, standing between me and the exit. “Can I ask you something? And I mean this with all due respect.”

“Honestly, I was just looking for something to drink⁠—”

“How did you convince Julien to marry you? Pascal, his Grandpère, had a very good match all ready for him, but suddenly you appear and ruin all of his plans. You can imagine how upset the poor man was.”

“I didn’t know anything about that,” I say, lowering the ice from my head. I place it down on a counter. My eyes drift over the nearby tools, searching for a weapon, but that’s absurd. Even though this man is allied with Julien’s grandfather, it’s not like he’s going to assault me in the middle of the mansion like this. He’s just trying to intimidate me, and I won’t let him.

“No, no, of course not. You’re just an innocent girl, yes? An innocent girl who happens to marry a very powerful, important man. An innocent girl from a nothing fucking family with no good prospects of her own.” He spits the words out but all the while, he keeps on smiling. “Yes, I’m sure you didn’t know.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I told you already, I had no idea Julien was supposed to marry someone else. None of this was my idea. Now, if you’ll excuse me, he’s waiting upstairs.”

Which is a straight-up lie, but I’m starting to feel trapped and I want to get the hell out of here.

Henri doesn’t buy it though. “Do you like being his whore, Irish girl? Do you think you can fuck your way to the top? Suck dick for a little security in life? Don’t give me that look. You wouldn’t be the first woman to do it. Only I warn you now, Pascal is not going to sit idly by while you leech off Julien. Consider this your warning.”

My cheeks turn red with rage. This man doesn’t know me at all. And yet he’s partially right—I did marry Julien to get security. I married him to escape my father and to bring a little respect to my family’s name on the way.

But it was a mutual agreement. I’m not Julien’s whore. Even if we started sleeping together, it wasn’t like that at first. And this pig of a human being thinks he can judge me?

“I’m leaving now,” I tell him, taking a step forward. “And you’re going to let me go.”

“I’m not done speaking with you yet.”

I pick up a frying pan. “Move.”

He laughs and gestures. “What are you going to⁠—”

I throw it at him. No way in hell I can win a fair fight, so I wing it as hard as I can. It spins end over end and narrowly misses.

“Merde! What the fuck⁠—”

I grab another pan and throw. He ducks, cursing the whole time, and while he’s getting himself together, I try to dart past.

“You little fucking bitch,” he snarls and reaches out, snake-fast, grabbing my wrist.

I shout in surprise and pain as he yanks me back toward him. I stumble off-balance, run into a counter, and his grip tightens as he grabs my elbow with his other hand, lips pulled back into a snarl.

“Let me go,” I hiss at him.

“Looks like you’re out of pans, you Irish slut, and now⁠—”

I twist my hips and knee him hard in the crotch.

He gasps and his grip on my arm loosens. I yank myself free, stagger backwards, and barely right myself as he lunges at me with a vicious snarl. I turn and run hard, sprinting from the kitchen. I come around the corner, heart racing wildly⁠—

And pull to a sudden stop.

Julien’s grandfather is standing in the hall. He’s watching me with a cold stare, arms crossed over his barrel chest. Behind me, Henri comes rampaging out of the kitchen, shouting in French, and only comes to a stop when he spots his boss.

“Pascal, this bitch assaulted me,” Henri says, snarling, and adds something in French that I assume isn’t very kind to me.

“That will be enough, Henri. Good evening to you.”

Henri looks stunned. I stand there, caught between the two men, heart racing into my throat. I never should’ve left the room. Now I understand why Julien tried to lock me up.

“She fucking—” Henri starts, but Pascal cuts him off.

“I said, bon nuit, mets ton cul au lit, espèce d’imbécile.”

I’m shaking as Henri turns and storms off, leaving me alone in the dark hall with Pascal. He’s older than Henri, but where the other man was out of shape and heavyset, Pascal seems solid and thick with a slab of muscle. I back away, feeling exposed and afraid, but he doesn’t follow. Only studies me with a curious expression, like he’s not sure what to make of me.

This went pretty bad, all things considered.

I just wanted a freaking glass of wine to help me unwind a little.

Silence drags on for another beat before Pascal gives me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.

“I apologize for Henri. He can sometimes be somewhat… aggressive.” Pascal’s French accent is thicker than Julien’s, but his English is still precise and crisp. “I pray that does not happen again.”

“Okay, thank you.” I inch to the side, hoping I can get away. “I appreciate you intervening.”

“Though I did hear the two of you going at it quite impressively.” His eyebrows raise in amusement. “Were you throwing things at him?”

“Frying pans.”

“Ah, yes, of course. I’m sure Henri didn’t like that.” Pascal clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “He has a long memory, my friend Henri, unfortunately. I suppose he will not forget that. Ah, well, that cannot be helped.”

I shiver, trembling slightly. Pascal’s gaze is like a lead weight on my chest. “I was hoping I could go back to my rooms.”

“Yes, dear, of course you can. This is your home now, after all, since you married my adopted grandson.” He shows teeth in something resembling a grimace. “I really hope the two of you get along for a long time, you know. Henri truly does have a most wickedly impressive memory and an almost obsessive drive to get revenge. Dear, don’t look at me like that, it isn’t a threat, merely an observation.”

“Why do you call him your grandson?” The question spills out before I can stop it. If I could kick myself in the face, I would absolutely do it right about now.

Pascal’s eyebrows raise. He looks surprised, which I think is the first bit of real emotion I’ve gotten from him so far.

“Interesting. Not many people have the courage to wonder that aloud. But since you are family now, I’ll tell you. I’m too old to be Julien’s father, and I never wanted him to get attached to me as such. I felt that Grandpère was close enough to the relationship I was interested in with him.”

I shiver and look down at my feet. His coldness is astounding. He speaks of taking in a young, orphaned boy as though it were a business arrangement.

“I was just, uh, curious. That’s all.” I sidestep again, inching toward a nearby door. “Thanks again for your help.”

“You know, my dear, sometimes I wonder if Julien wouldn’t be happier with the wife I chose for him. Collette is such a nice girl, and the two of them used to get along so well. I hear she has grown into quite the beautiful young lady, and she’s French, of course, which is all the better. No offense, dear, but the Irish?” He makes a face and shakes his head. “An inferior kind of person.”

“I’m American,” I mutter at him.

“Even worse. Don’t fool yourself. Julien will come around to my thinking soon enough. He always does. And when that happens, you won’t have his protection anymore.”

I dart past the old man. He only watches with that creepy smile on his face as I hurry down the hall, my heart racing in my throat. I’ve never met someone with such a raw, evil vibe before in my life, like Pascal would’ve been happy if Henri had caught me and vivisected me right there on the floor.

No wonder Julien hates him.

And no wonder Julien told me to stay far away.