Broken Bride: The Complete Series (Bellanti Brothers #1)
Prologue
DANTE
It’s a proper day for a funeral.
Storm clouds gather overhead, dark and looming, but not a single drop of rain dares to fall on the last party that Enzo Bellanti will ever throw. All eyes swivel toward me as I step outside the doors of St. Helena’s, where black-clad mourners crowd the courtyard.
I’m tall, broad in the chest and shoulders, slim in the waist and hips, wearing a perfectly tailored pinstripe Kiton suit.
My style and stature is familiar to the guests, the outline of Enzo’s eldest offspring giving them the impression that I’m him…
that perhaps my father isn’t really dead after all.
My face is granite as I meet their serious gazes, seeing the calculation there. The big question on everyone’s mind: What’s going to happen to the Bellanti family now?
A heartbeat passes and then the spell breaks, the mourners returning to their hushed conversations. The sea of black—women in midnight dresses and hats with charcoal feathers and netting, the men in proper mourning suits and fedoras—matches the sky. And my mood.
Behind me stand my younger brothers, Armani and Marco, equally turned out and equally imposing.
The wind picks up, and I take a deep breath and gesture the grieving masses inside.
It’s time.
Standing by the door as everyone streams past, I nod my head and utter quiet thanks as people murmur their condolences.
Most of them I’ve known since I was a child.
Some are new to me, though I know their backgrounds.
I’ve read their files. I know what their dealings with my father were.
Their faces all wear similar masks of concern, though it doesn’t escape me that each and every one of them wants something from me.
A continuation of their business with my father.
A resolution. A comforting word. Advice.
Maybe a favor.
Favors are what my father traded in, and half the people here owe the Bellantis money (or more) in return.
With him gone, it’s my job to settle the books.
Cash in and move the family forward. It’s going to take some effort to sort things out, dig into the nitty gritty of who owes what, but I will.
Down to the last detail. And I’ll collect in full.
The expressions of everyone brushing by me show that they know it, too.
Once the mourners are all inside, I turn to check on my younger brothers.
Armani is slightly taller than me but more slender, decked out in his own bespoke suit.
He’s wearing his neutral face, the one that makes him damn hard to read, but I know he’s doing everything he can to keep it together.
Marco, the youngest of us, has on his trademark scowl.
His hair is slicked straight back, glossy in the natural light like a television mobster.
He cuts me a look, then tosses a nod in the direction of the pews.
I nod back.
Armani waits for me to pass and takes up the rear after closing the doors.
We sit up front, but I can’t tell how much of the service my brothers absorb. I hear the words, the mass, the hymns, the prayers, but it filters right through my mind and straight out. There’s so much to be done now that he’s gone.
Soon the mass is complete, the speeches over, the tears—both real and fake—shed.
After pallbearing, we climb into the back of a black armored car with bulletproof glass and lead the procession of vehicles to the cemetery.
Once we’re there, my brothers and I all file out into the gloom once again and make our way graveside.
I’m numb. Or, no—I’m somewhere else entirely. Body standing there in the grass, listening to the dirt hit the casket, while my mind is a million miles away.
Burial done, the three of us are left staring at the mound of earth that now covers our once formidable father.
Guests take their leave, some lingering in the background to talk.
Marco is about to say something when a tight little blonde weaves her way into our trio with an apologetic smile and rests a hand on his forearm.
She’s in a black bodycon dress and heavy makeup that’s more appropriate for a club, but I’m not surprised.
It’s how Marco prefers his women: all flash.
He’s still working his way through all the pussy in town like it’s his job. Who am I to rein him in…yet?
He moves off with her, leaving me and Armani alone. I’m glad we’ll have the chance to talk privately. I exhale, and it feels like the first time in hours.
My brother sinks his hands into the pockets of his pants and pulls his gaze from the grave to me. “The Bruno family representative was here.”
“I noticed.” I frown. The Brunos are a SoCal crime syndicate who’ve been looking to expand into Northern California. “What’d he say?”
“They’re eager to buy out our notes. Snap up their own slice of the gambling pie before the Chows in San Francisco muscle in.”
“I’m open to that,” I say.
The truth is, I’d be glad to get rid of those notes. I’d already begun scouring through my father’s holdings, weeding out the bad gambling debts we need to collect. My father had no qualms about loaning unlucky gamblers money to feed their habit, but I find it distasteful to prey on addicts.
Beyond that, collecting the note and interest was and always will be a cat and mouse game of how much violence it takes to force a borrower to pay up—and I’m not one for violence.
If I have to exert some muscle, I prefer it be against someone who actually deserves it.
Not some poor schmuck with an addiction to the ponies.
“Well, it’s off your plate then,” Armani says. “I’ll have the books turned over to the Brunos by the end of the month. Including some of our staff who’ll want to stay on under the new management.”
I raise my chin in acknowledgement, but I can tell my brother isn’t done yet. “What else?”
“We still have a few other loose ends to tie up.” Armani looks away and clears his throat. “Including the Abbotts.”
My shoulders tense. “Leave them to me.”
“But we were gonna write that off with the rest of the—”
“I said I’ll take care of it.” I slice my brother a look, silencing him. “You can handle the rest, but keep the Abbott debt out of the deal with the Brunos. I’m dealing with the Abbotts myself.”
Our father’s gone. I’m in charge now.
This is one account no one else is going to touch.