Sunrise Malice: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

Julien takes me with him when he goes out to run some errands the next day.

He says it’s because I’ve been cooped up too much, but I suspect he just wants to keep an eye on me.

Which is fine—I really have been going stir-crazy. Kim’s getting moved to her room later today, and in the meantime, he takes me on a series of visits to various delis, bars, and restaurants scattered all over the city.

“Chicago’s split up into pieces,” he explains as we roll slowly through a rundown block of Southside. Men stand on corners, looking bored and intimidating. “Some of these are owned by the Hayes Group, some by the Quinns, and others by the Biancos. I have my corners, Dusan has his, and there are a few other players, though none worth mentioning.”

“I’ve been part of a crime family my whole life, you know. My brother used to work one of these.”

“That’s true, but have you ever actually toured your family’s territory?”

I hesitate, frowning to myself. “That’s not a girl’s place.”

“You’re my wife,” he says, staring ahead. “That means what’s mine is yours, and I think you should see your kingdom.”

His kingdom is basically a bunch of drug houses and corners where his employees sell their stuff at the street level. He rolls up to the curb at a few locations and speaks briefly to several different men, all of whom give me curious but respectful nods. Julien speaks in code, never actually mentioning coke or heroin, but it’s clear what they mean when they say soda pop and snow cones. “Not the most difficult to interpret,” I mutter at him.

Julien grins back as we roll on. “It’s not necessarily about hiding what we’re doing, but about giving us plausible deniability in court. My high-powered, fancy lawyers can use just about anything to sow doubt in the jury’s mind. Even stupid code.”

We drive around for half the day like that. It amazes me how many people Julien knows. Dozens of them approach, and he speaks to them all as though they were friends, and uses their first names without hesitating. I don’t remember my brother ever doing something like this. It feels like a manager checking up on his people.

“Aren’t you worried about the police?” I ask him as we roll down a quiet, empty street. Half the houses on this block are bombed-out and boarded over.

“Not for me, personally, but for my men. When they get pinched, sometimes they talk, and that’s a headache. Mostly they do their time quietly, and I pay for everything I can to make their lives easier. We have ways of dealing with it.”

He parks at a dead end and pushes his seat back. My eyebrows raise, amused, but I don’t resist when he pulls me across the center console and into his lap. I straddle him and lean forward.

“I don’t think I’ve ever kissed a drug dealer before,” I whisper, nibbling on his lower lip.

His hands grab my ass. “Then I bet you haven’t fucked one in a car before either.”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“Another checkbox.” He kisses my neck. “Or don’t you remember?”

I absolutely remember. But it’s more fun to pretend like I don’t.

He gets my jeans off and teases my pussy, slow and sensual, as he whispers dirty words in my ears. The windows fog over like in a bad movie, and it’s the middle of the freaking day, which makes me nervous as hell. Anyone could walk past—though I doubt they would, considering the neighborhood we’re in. Still, it’s objectively crazy.

And I take his dick between my legs like it’s the only thing in this whole world I really want.

Because it’s true. As I ride him, the car shaking, I realize how the past week has been like a long, slow creep toward this inevitable point.

I love when he calls me his wife. I love when he gets all jealous and possessive. I love being with him, laughing with him, letting him fuck me, taking his dick in my mouth, teasing and playing and being people together.

I love being with him.

He’s my husband, and I like it.

Which is objectively crazy. I came into this arrangement thinking I’d despise him, get through a couple of years, and make off with a nice payday in the end.

Instead, I’m taking his bare cock in his car while he calls me his dirty, filthy, soaking wet, greedy, needy, gorgeous little slut.

And I goddamn love it.

We come together. He’s dripping down my thigh as I lean forward, breathing hard. I feel him still pulsing between my legs.

“I believe that was two items checked off,” he whispers. “Car sex and public sex.”

“At this point, I don’t even know what’s left.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I know.” He runs his fingers through my hair.

“Can I ask you something?” I pull back. His cock’s still inside of me and I manage to slip my way up and over onto my seat.

He watches, amused as I pull on my clothes. “Considering you’re filled with my seed right now⁠—”

I nearly gag. “Please don’t ever call it that again.”

“Go ahead, baby, ask what you want to ask.” He’s grinning, amused, but I really do hate that word.

“Your grandfather mentioned Collette again last night.” I’m not looking at him as I adjust my panties before buttoning my jeans. “You told me you and she never got along.”

“We didn’t,” he says.

“That’s not what your grandfather told me.”

I glance up and Julien’s studying me. I chew my lip, feeling stupid and vulnerable. I’ve been trying hard to forget about what the old man said, but it’s been bothering me.

I don’t want to be jealous, but I freaking am.

“Grandpère will say anything he can to drive us apart. Don’t let him do it.”

“I’m not, honestly, I’m really not—but you and Collette knew each other pretty well, right? And I mean, you’re both French, she can speak your language⁠—”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Please, Brianne.”

“No, I know, you told me you don’t like her already, but I’m just saying⁠—”

“No, you aren’t saying anything. You’re letting Grandpère speak for you right now.”

Anger swells in my stomach. “Okay, that’s not true at all, and the way you’re getting all weird and defensive isn’t helping me.”

He grips the steering wheel and takes a deep breath. Slowly, he blows it out again. “Collette is nothing to me. She was nothing to me back in Marseille and that won’t ever change. Don’t let Grandpère make you think otherwise.”

I let that sink in. I know he’s right and I do believe him—but there was something about the way his grandfather said it.

Like I was a silly, stupid girl for thinking a man like Julien could ever care about a girl like me.

I know it’s my father’s voice saying it too. Useless. Worthless. All those ugly names he used to call me.

It’s years of abuse and insecurity swelling up inside.

And I wish I could make it go away, but I’m too weak and broken.

Julien’s phone rings. He looks at me for a long moment before answering in French. He has a quick conversation before hanging up. “Good news,” he says, turning the car back on and putting it into drive. “Kim’s been transferred. She’s back at the mansion now.”

I should feel more excited, but our conversation from a second ago is still lingering. “That’s great. Really great.”

“I’ll take you back so you can spend some time with her.”

“Right. Okay.”

I should say more. I should tell him that I believe him, that I trust him, that I don’t believe his grandfather over him.

Except I don’t say any of that, because I still feel this strange uncertainty swelling in my guts.

Kim’s sitting up in bed. She looks a lot better than the last time I saw her. The new nurse, this big German woman named Helga, has her on a different painkiller regimen and it seems to leave Kim a lot more lucid.

“Gotta admit, these are some sweet freaking digs,” Kim says, gesturing at the room. “Way better than the hospital.”

“You’re sure this is okay? I mean, you don’t want to be back home?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

“Even though you can’t have visitors?”

She laughs and pats my hand. “Honestly, I think a break from visitors will be good. And look, I’m not dumb, I know that Julien’s putting out some serious money to afford all this medical care for me, so I’m going to put it to the best use I can.”

I nod, overcome with emotion. “I really want you to heal, you know? So you can get back on your feet.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be walking soon.” She sighs and tugs at my hand. “Hey, stop crying. We don’t have to go through the whole you’re not to blame for what happened to me thing again, do we?”

“No, it’s not even that.” I wipe my face, feeling like an idiot, and tell her about my weird moment in the car with Julien. “And it’s like, I know he’s telling me the truth, but I still can’t make myself believe him.”

Kim nods and frowns at me for a second before reaching out and brushing some hair back. “You know, you really do love some self-sabotage, don’t you?” I burst out laughing. She grins at me and shrugs. “Seriously though, you have a man that’s clearly enamored with you, and I think you’re super into him too, so why give in to the dumb voices in your head?”

I know she’s right, but it’s hard for me to explain. Those voices aren’t my voices, they’re the voices of all the assholes that have kept me down for so long. Except I’m not home anymore—I’m not in my father’s house—and I don’t ever have to be there again.

I’m with Julien, and he’s with me.

Helga comes in and checks on Kim to make sure she’s comfortable. The big German nurse gives me the stink-eye, probably because I’m disturbing her precious patient. We laugh again once the nurse is gone, and I steer the conversation to better topics, mostly because I don’t want to dump all my emotional baggage right on Kim’s head when she only just got here.

But I keep thinking about Julien as the night wears on. He’s still not home when I finally head back to our room, so I resolve to find a way to fix the weirdness between us.

For once in my life, I’m going to do the right thing and refuse to self-destruct.