Arranged Control: A Dark Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance By B. B. Hamel NovelM80057 Arranged Control: A Dark Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Chapter - 9)

Arranged Control: A Dark Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance By B. B. Hamel

People are always astounded by how much blood’s in a person. I don’t even know why. We’re essentially giant bags of meat and liquid wandering around making stupid choices and humping things.

There’s just so much of it, though. Blood all over the sidewalk. Blood in the cracks, blood pooling against the back of the building. The alleyway reeks like trash and copper and shit. The corpse is cooking down at my feet.

My shoes are going to be ruined after this.

But I don’t fucking care.

“God damn Michael.” The dead man’s arms are placed at his side, almost like he fell asleep on the ground. His throat’s cut open, just like Fergus’s was. A good, clean kill.

“What a fucking mess,” Finn murmurs from over at the edge of the bloody pool. He doesn’t want to come any closer. Can’t really blame him. He’s wearing his good shoes. “Did anyone see anything?”

“Nothing,” Sean Murphy says. He’s a stocky Irishman with sandy hair, freckles, and a neck thicker than a tree trunk. He’s the captain of our personal family guards and was in charge of the wedding’s security detail. “Michael was out here just to make sure nothing went wrong. I figured it was a boring assignment.”

“Killed in an alley.” I reach out and gently touch the dead man’s cheek. He was barely twenty-four. Just a fucking kid. “And what about the eyes?”

Finn and Sean only stare, neither saying much.

Michael’s eyes are closed. Two knife slashes were cut through the lids. Two bloody X marks ripped into his face, crossing him out, like the caricature of a killed videogame character.

Except way more gruesome.

“Fergus wasn’t like that,” Finn comments helpfully.

“Anyone know why Michael?” I look back at Sean. “Was he liked?”

“Had plenty of friends in the family.” Sean shrugs, shaking his head, clearly at a loss. “I doubt he had any serious enemies.”

“Another random killing then.” My hand curls into a fist. “On my fucking wedding day.”

“What do you want us to do?” Sean asks, shifting on his feet. He’s damn well aware that this killing is at least partially on him. I don’t plan on holding it against him, but a less forgiving fucking asshole might.

“I want you to assign everyone in pairs from now on. High goddamn alert.” I stand, glaring at the body. “I want every single camera in a mile radius checked a dozen times. I want a dozen men fanning out ten minutes ago to search the area for any hints of who might’ve done this. And I want Michael’s body taken away. His family doesn’t need to see this.”

“I’ll make it happen.” Sean marches off, out of the alley, already barking orders to his soldiers waiting nearby.

I step out of the pool of blood. My shoes leave sticky red prints as I wander a few feet away, scraping my soles against the pavement.

“Someone’s targeting us.” Finn looks grim as he glances over his shoulder. “Think we need to warn everyone?”

“Not yet. It’ll only panic the clan, and things are precarious enough already.”

“But it might save lives?”

“Scaring everyone won’t help. Until we know what we’re dealing with, we tell everyone this was just another freak mugging gone wrong.”

Finn doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t have to. I’m in charge of street operations, and this technically falls under my control.

I know how the family can get. Rumors turn into bigger rumors, and soon people are whispering about some Irish-hating serial killer on the loose. Then we get guys panicking, wandering around armed to the teeth, twitching at shadows, and trigger happy. There will be more deaths unless we manage to contain this quickly.

As we’re leaving together, my father comes walking toward us with Taras Morozov at his elbow. Dad gives me a tight nod as he shows Taras the body. The Russian brigadier stares down at the corpse, jaw twitching slightly. His face seems too pale, and it’s clear he’s freaked out.

Which makes me pause. What the hell is bothering that guy so much?

It’s not like he’s some new recruit seeing a dead body for the first time.

Taras Morozov is in his late thirties. He’s a veteran of the underground, and I know for a fact he’s made corpses worse than this one. The crossed-out eyes are nasty, but not particularly terrible.

“What’s bothering you?” I ask him as my brother and father watch on.

Taras starts slightly and looks back at me. “Nothing. It’s nothing. You knew this man?”

“He was a good soldier. No reason why anyone would want to kill him.”

“Trouble with any Russians, perhaps?” Taras seems very disturbed. He steps back from the pool of blood, staring at Michael’s ruined face.

I glance at Finn, who just shrugs and shakes his head. “Not that we know about.”

“The eyes…” Taras trails off. He takes a deep breath and turns his back on the body. “The eyes are a message. They are a very old symbol. Back in Russia, Bratvas would make crosses over the eyes of their victims as a way to say all those in this bloodline are now marked for dead. And they would very often follow through with that threat.”

“Are you saying Michael’s family is in danger?”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, meeting my gaze. “But I would warn them and keep an eye on them for a while.”

“I’ll tell Sean,” Finn says and jogs off.

“How are we supposed to feel about this?” Dad says, doing his best to remain calm and level. While all I want to do is slam this Russian fuck’s face against the wall until his head cracks like a coconut. “One of my men got murdered on my son’s wedding day. He was killed in some Russian hit style I’ve never heard of.”

“It’s my sister’s wedding day as well.” Taras squares his shoulders. “We had nothing to do with this. I can swear to that on my name and my family.”

“For what that’s worth,” I mutter.

Taras’s eyes flash with anger and Dad puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll talk to Ruslan later. Thank you for telling us what you know.”

“I know our families have had issues in the past, but we are trying to put that behind us.” Taras keeps glaring at me, hate burning in his face. “It isn’t so easy for me.”

He storms off, leaving me alone with my father and poor dead Michael.

“You don’t have to piss them off, you know.” Dad watches Taras for a moment before lightly pushing my shoulder. “What was that comment all about?”

“You know the Morozovs. They’re fucking snakes.”

“Everyone’s a snake in this business.”

“At least we have the good grace to stab people in the front.”

“Guess that makes us better.” He puts an arm around me and steers us both away from the corpse. “Listen, Seamus. I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to be careful. I don’t like this Bratva business. It might be we find out that Michael got involved in something bad, but⁠—”

He only glances at me. He doesn’t need to finish that sentence.

Because we both doubt that’s the case.

Which means that body back there was meant for us.

“Where’s Alina right now?”

Dad smiles slightly. “Worried about your wife?”

“Making sure she’s alright, that’s all.”

“That’s the right instinct. Cormac’s taking her home. She’s safe.”

“Anyone staying to keep an eye on her?”

Dad hesitates, but only shrugs. “I can put Sean on it.”

“I’ll take care of her.” I pull away from him. “Make sure Michael’s treated with respect. He didn’t deserve this.”

Dad’s smile is sad as he glances back into the blood-covered alley. “They never do.”

---

Alina peers out through her door, frowning at me. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Open up. We need to talk.”

“Is your guard—?” She starts but stops herself. “I mean, is everyone else okay?”

“Only one dead body tonight, thankfully. Let me inside, princess.”

I can tell she doesn’t want to, but after a moment, the deadbolt slams back and she steps aside.

Alina’s in a pair of white sweats and a baggy sweatshirt. Her hair’s still done from the wedding, but her makeup’s mostly washed off. A glass of wine’s perched in her hand as I lock the door behind me and do a quick sweep of the apartment.

“Are you really worried someone’s going to hurt me?” she asks when I poke my head in the closet.

Everything’s empty and still. Just like I assumed it would be. “Not right now, but I’m being careful.”

“This is our wedding night.” She sounds a little hysterical as I stand at the edge of her bed. She’s lurking in the doorway, staring at me with a stunned smile on her face. “I mean, seriously. We got married earlier.”

“I’m aware.” I spin the ring on my finger with my thumb. “Not used to wearing this yet.”

“Go ahead and take it off.” She drinks slowly, staring at me. “Not like I’ll care.”

“I’ll care if you go around without yours.” I almost dare her to fight me on that, but she only shrugs.

Too much of a good girl to argue.

“What do we do now? I’m guessing you’re not on cleanup duty?”

“Not me personally, but I’ll have other duties.” I sit down on the edge of her bed, exhaustion tugging at me. “I’ll speak with his family. I think he had a girlfriend. Maybe more than one, who knows. There will be payments to handle. Grieving people to reassure. Confused, angry clan members. The funeral.” I sigh, tilting my head back. “A lot of mess for nothing.”

“You don’t know who did it?”

“Not yet.” I peer at her curiously. “Your brother mentioned something about a Bratva hit.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Something about the body and the state of his eyes.” She doesn’t seem to know what I mean. “If that’s the case, I have a feeling the message was meant for us. Michael was just an unlucky surrogate.”

“Oh, shit.” She finishes off her wine, looking uncomfortable. “What should we do?”

“You don’t need to worry. But for tonight, I think we should stay at my place.”

Her expression tightens. “Your place? Seriously?”

“I have a house in Brooklyn. You’ll be safe there. Lots of other Whelan members are nearby, and I took care of the security system myself.”

She gestures around us. “We’re on the thirty-third floor of a high-rise. Nobody’s getting up here, and even if they do, that door can take a hit from a speeding train.”

“I’d still feel better somewhere else.”

“And I’d feel better right here.”

“You’re coming with me.” I slowly get to my feet. “This isn’t a discussion.”

“I’m not leaving.” She raises her chin, staring defiantly. Then she turns and storms off.

I watch her go. Is she seriously running away right now? I follow after, only to find her pouring more wine in the kitchen.

“This isn’t some game, Alina. One of my soldiers was murdered at our wedding. You don’t think that’s a big deal?”

“I think it’s a huge deal.” She’s getting angry now. Under all that rigid control, the girl’s got a temper. I feel something swell inside me, a little vengeful trickster spirit. I’m tempted to push her, just to see how she reacts, just for fun. “But we’re here already. I’m safe in my apartment. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I could force you. Think anyone in your family would complain? I’m your husband now. I’m doing what’s best for you.”

Her grip on her glass tightens. She stares at me, jaw working. “Go ahead. I dare you. Drag me into the elevator and through the lobby. See what happens.”

“You going to yell for help? Make them call the cops on your brand-new husband? Here’s me thinking I was going to get you screaming tonight, but this isn’t how I pictured it.”

Her nose wrinkles. “You’re awful.”

“I’m a delight.” I break out into a grin, unable to help myself. “Give me some of that wine.”

“Why? I thought you were about to kidnap me.”

“I changed my mind.” I flop down on her fancy couch and kick my feet up on the coffee table. Hopefully, there’s not too much blood staining the bottoms of my shoes. “I think I’ll stay here instead.”

She stares at me. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Deadly serious.” I raise my eyebrows. “Are you going to share that wine or not?”

“I’m not your maid. And you’re not staying.”

I stretch out, tilting my head. “Someone needs to keep an eye on you tonight. You refuse to come to my place, so since we’re both here already—” I shrug like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But you can’t just, I mean—” She looks around like the solution to all her problems might materialize from the walls. Nothing happens. What a shame.

“You sure I can’t have some wine?”

She storms off. I sigh, smiling to myself. God, that girl pisses me off, but at least I can have some fun while I’m here.

I get up and grab a glass. The wine’s very good. Which shouldn’t be a surprise. Alina’s a woman with taste. She knows clothes, money, fine things. That’s never been my specialty, but I can see how it might be nice.

I throw down the glass before following her upstairs. I find her curled up in bed, texting on her phone. She refuses to look over, so I figure I might as well make myself comfortable.

Shoes off first. Then the jacket. I drape it over a chair in the corner. Next comes my shirt. It’s nearly off when I hear her give a shocked yelp.

“What are you doing?!”

“Getting ready for bed.” I toss my shirt over my jacket. “Mind if I use your toothbrush? Or I can open a spare?”

“You’re not brushing your teeth. You’re not staying here!”

“I’m definitely staying. And I can probably go a night without brushing, but you probably won’t like that.” I start taking off my belt, and that really freaks her out.

She jumps off the bed, waving her arms. “Would you stop that? Why are you getting naked? Oh my god, I have clothes you can wear.”

“Doubt you have anything that’ll fit.” I stare, narrowing my eyes. “Unless you’re about to offer me something another man left here.”

She opens her mouth and thinks better of it. “Can you please just sleep downstairs?”

“Absolutely not.” I kick my pants off and flop down on the bed in only my boxer briefs. “Comfortable fucking mattress.”

“Seamus.”

“Darling wife.”

“You threatened to drag me back to your house a minute ago. Now you’re acting like you live here. What are you doing?”

“Getting to know you better.” I stretch my legs with a sigh. I like the way her cheeks turn red as she stares at me. The girl likes the way I look. She likes it a lot, and I think that bothers her. “Come on, I’ll keep my hands to myself. For a little while, anyway.” I pat the bed next to me.

“No, thanks.” She grabs her pillow and a throw blanket. “I’ll take the couch then.”

“It’s our wedding night. You’re really going to leave me all alone in your big, comfy bed?”

“Only because you’re such a prick that you’re going to let your wife sleep alone downstairs.”

I sit up on an elbow and look her in the eye. “I’d never make my wife sleep all by herself.”

She looks back and holds my gaze. Her mouth opens, her little pink tongue pressed against her top teeth. She’s thinking about it, I can tell. She’s wondering if maybe she should sit down next to me, maybe relax a little bit, have a little more wine. Maybe kiss me like she did in the church and find out how I can make her feel now that we’ve got nothing holding us back.

Instead, she turns on her heel. “Good night, Seamus!” And slams the bedroom door in my face.

I let out a sigh.

Damn, what a shame.

This bed isn’t as cozy without her in it.