Forbidden Bride: The Complete Series (Bellanti Brothers #2)

Prologue

MARCO

I can sense more bad news coming my way.

My brother Armani returned from Italy not half an hour ago and he’s already called a meeting in his office at the winery.

Dante, our oldest brother, gets there first. When I arrive, it’s apparent that the two of them have already been talking, because Dante is tense, his jaw clenched, and Armani has his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Both indicators that something ugly is definitely up.

I took my time responding to Armani’s “get to the office in ten” text message. He’d gone on the trip to source information about the person responsible for our father’s fatal accident, and although I’m anxious to hear what he’s learned, I also know it won’t be anything good.

I’ve been completely overwhelmed by everything that’s transpired in the past few weeks.

Every day, there’s more bad news or another threat against our family.

It never stops. My father’s death is a bitter taste I can’t stop choking on.

But although I despised the man, his death wasn’t a damn accident—and that’s something I can’t tolerate.

Someone tampered with his car, causing the fatal crash, and I want to see the person responsible for it taken down.

And then I want to go back to worrying about my own shit. Unlike my brothers, I don’t live, eat, and breathe everything Bellanti. I’m not invested in the winery or keeping up the family name.

I just want to race. That’s it. Me in my car, tires on the track, fucking flying. Beating everyone’s ass as I dominate the checkered flag.

I could walk away from the winery forever without a second thought. I’ve got my own plans, and soon, people will know the Bellanti name from my mastery on the racetrack as much as they do for our world-class wine.

Armani rakes an irritated glance over me as I walk into the office. “You’re late.”

“So what else is new?” Dante quips lightly.

“Shut the door, Marco.” Armani drags his fingertips across the top of the desk and sits in the leather chair behind it.

I comply and stand there with my arms crossed. Dante gestures to a chair. I ignore him.

“What did you find out on your trip?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

Dante and Armani share a look.

“Ah,” I snap. “So I’m the last to know, as usual.”

“Settle down. You were late.” Dante stands and runs a hand through his hair.

God, the posturing. I can’t stand it. “I’m here now, so fill me in.”

“He’ll fill us both in,” Dante says. “He was just about to get to the good part when you walked in.”

Tension fills the room. For a second, no one speaks. The silence puts me on edge.

“Sometime today would be great,” I say. “I’ve got shit to do.”

Armani nails me with a cold glare. Anyone not accustomed to his intensity usually shrinks away from “the look,” but I find it irritating. He has a knack for being quiet, contemplative, and scary as hell when it suits him. Doesn’t work on me, though. Not anymore. Hasn’t since we were kids.

“We’re getting pulled back in,” Armani says.

I freeze, those five words running down my spine like cold, dead fingers. “What do you mean we’re getting pulled back in? We’re out. We’re staying out. That’s what we agreed on.”

He might as well have left out the word pulled because I can tell by the look on his face that we’re dancing with our vow to stay out of the mob. We’re close to throwing that vow over a fucking cliff.

We got out after out father’s death. Not many people are able to completely cut ties with mob life, but we had the chance to walk away completely clean and we took it.

The three of us vowed to never, never, go back in.

Our entire lives had revolved around who we owed favors to, who owed us, who owed who money, who was getting a loan with a blood-stained repayment plan.

For the first time in our lives, we’re completely free. Or we were.

Yes, we skirted the edges after our father’s death to get a little help in gathering information on who arranged the hit, but we never jumped completely in.

There’s a light rap on the office door.

“Come in,” Armani says sharply.

The door cracks and a familiar female voice rings out. “Armani, welcome back!”

He ditches the scary expression and stands as Candi, our lead wine distributer, comes inside.

They’ve had this ridiculous thing going on between them for a while.

They’re obviously attracted to each other, but neither will throw down the gauntlet and go for it.

Honestly, the constant dancing around is old, and her interruption came at a shitty time.

Candi bids us good morning. She’s an attractive woman with thick auburn hair and an hourglass shape.

A wine-colored suit hugs her body, drawing Armani’s eye.

He looks away before she notices, but I see him sneak another peek.

His eyes narrow appreciatively right before he puts his professional face back on.

Funny how he can switch between Mob Armani and Lover Armani in the blink of an eye.

She hands him a folder. “This is the purchase order for the upcoming gala. How was Italy? I’ve never been.”

He opens the folder, not making eye contact. He probably doesn’t dare take another look.

“It was fantastic,” he says easily, as if the trip was merely a vacation he’d gone on.

“I’d love to hear about it sometime,” she says, pointing to the form. “Just sign there.”

He does so with a flourish, then hands the file back.

Candi smiles up at him expectantly. She’s obviously angling for a date, or even just a coffee.

It’s a little adorable. But my brother either doesn’t take the hint or is pulling his stone-cold businessman act, the one that requires he not even allow himself the thought of fraternizing with one of Bellanti Vineyards’ colleagues.

This is killing me. I have to step in. “You know, you could tell her all about Italy over lunch, Armani…”

There. I’ve done him a solid. Thrown him a lifeline. All he has to do now is take it.

“I’ve got meetings all afternoon,” he tells Candi. “Maybe some other time.”

“Oh. Sure. I mean, of course.” Blushing, she waves to us and heads out the door.

The second the door closes behind her, I tell Armani he’s an imbecile.

When he acts like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, Dante and I exchange a glance.

For someone who is so brilliant about business and mob shit, the man is shockingly hopeless when it comes to making a move on a woman he’s actually interested in.

Armani moves to look out the window. “If we could get back to business.”

“Go ahead,” I agree.

I’m not sure I want to know what our family’s next steps are.

Because whatever it is, I know it will take time and energy away from racing.

And for what? So far, all our efforts to find information about his killer have resulted in nothing but dead ends.

We know a blond-haired man with a large tattoo on his neck hired the mechanic who tampered with our father’s vehicle.

And that’s it. That’s all we’ve been able to uncover.

“After Dad died, we were at peace with the other crime families. Our old alliances vowed to remain so. But one of them lied.” Armani turns back to us, his expression grave. “I found out who the tattooed man works for.”

My heart thumps. My scalp prickles. Dante’s lips pull into a tight line.

“He was hired by the Brunos,” Armani finishes.

The words drop like a smoke bomb, muddling my brain so I question whether or not I heard him correctly.

Dante draws back. “But…we’re on good terms with the Brunos.”

“Apparently not, and this is their way of letting us know. The tattooed man is on their payroll. I don’t know why yet, but they orchestrated Dad’s death. Now they have to pay.”

And there it is. Whether we like it or not, we’re going back in.

Turning to the chair Dante offered me earlier, I sink into it as anger rolls to my hairline.

“That’s not all,” Armani says. “The same man was responsible for Frankie’s and Charlie’s kidnapping.”

Dante’s face turns stony. He went through hell when his wife and her sister were abducted, and although the women were rescued, the culprit was never found. Until now.

“So, what’s our plan?” Dante’s hard voice has a worried edge to it.

The hint of trepidation in his voice pangs me in the chest. This isn’t the Dante I remember. The old Dante was ice cold, solid, indifferent. He’s changed since getting married. His pregnant wife changed him into someone I don’t recognize sometimes.

Not that it isn’t for the better. He’s kinder now, more human. But not when it comes to protecting his family. The longer the Brunos go untouched and unpunished for what they did, the longer Dante’s wife and child, and our entire family, are under constant threat.

“We have to finish this thing,” Armani says. “We can’t turn back. We see it through. If we don’t, the Brunos will only get more powerful—and honestly, they’ll win. They’ll take over everything, and if this one act is any indication, they won’t stop until we’re all dead.”

He’s right. The Brunos won’t stop until they wipe the Bellanti name off the map.

I like to pretend that my family name means nothing to me, but that’s not true.

I love my brothers and I’m excited about the children they’ll have and how this family will grow.

Admitting that to myself is difficult. Sometimes I think I’m just feeling the way I’m expected to feel about these things—marriages and new babies, family dinners and holidays.

But it’s taken some time for all of us to get used to this new connectedness.

Dante, Armani, and I didn’t have happy memories of these things growing up.

Our father was a difficult man, prone to taking his anger out on us—on Dante, mostly.

After our mother and sister died, we grew up raised by nannies and caregivers and whatever staff happened to be available.

Holidays were empty affairs and there was never anything to look forward to except our father’s next extended business trip away from home.

All that has changed since Dante married Frankie. She’s brought us warmth and light and happiness again, like a goddamn Disney princess. Not that my sister-in-law isn’t a total badass to boot. But the Bellanti family is better now, that’s the point. I don’t want to lose any of that.

It’s worth fighting for.

“Look.” Dante clears his throat. “I’m all for putting the Brunos in their place. But what the hell started all this? Why are they after us? We can’t keep hitting—”

“Dead ends,” I interject.

He looks at me. “Exactly.”

“We’re going to get rid of the Bruno threat,” Armani assures us. “I care less about the why and more about taking out the threat once and for all.”

A beat of silence fills the room.

Dante rubs a hand over his mouth and his countenance changes. He’s morphing into that old version of himself. Hard expression, calculations rapidly firing in his eyes. He’s mirroring Armani, the two of them like peas in a pod when it comes to revenge.

“Where is the tattooed man?” Dante asks.

Armani grimaces. “I couldn’t find that information. Trust me; I tried.”

Dante bursts from his chair. “How does someone with a huge tatt on his neck and connections to a key player in the crime syndicate just disappear?”

I scoff. “Because this asshole is a ghost, apparently.”

Armani shakes his head. “He’s either extremely well protected or he’s learned how to make himself disappear. Could be a new hair color, something to cover the tattoo, colored contacts, fake passports. He could be in Europe, Asia, goddamned Greenland for all we know.”

“We may never know,” Dante says.

“You’re implying we won’t find him and put an end to this?” Armani scoffs.

“It’s true,” I interject. “Come on, someone has to say it. We may never find him.”

Armani moves closer, glaring at me. His fingers flex the way they do when he’s getting pissed. My brother is cool until he’s not, the face of calm until the volcano inside him tops out.

“Maybe you should get your head out of racing for a while and focus on the family.”

A smirk flashes across my face. “Don’t turn this around on me. I was stating a fact. It’s not personal.”

But it is, and that’s my bad. Armani takes his job as protector extremely seriously. He’s a master at drumming up the bad guys and taking them out. He was probably a professional hitman in another life because the man doesn’t miss, and he always gets away clean.

“Stop it, both of you. I don’t need this bullshit right now,” Dante says.

Armani glances at him and his face softens. “What’s with the bags under your eyes? Up all night? The baby isn’t even here yet.”

Dante’s lips curve. “There are other reasons to be up all night.”

I’m out of here. “Great talk. See you two later.”

I get out of my chair and bolt for the door, but Dante chuckles and snags my sleeve.

“There’s more to life than one-night stands, brother. You’ll see,” he says.

Armani looks at me, too, and grins. “Him? He’ll never be reformed.”

“You’re right,” I shoot back. “The day I commit to one woman like you did, Dante, is the day I’ll cut off my own balls.”

With that I’m out the door, breezing down the hallway as if nothing can touch me.

But underneath the bravado, I’m strung tight as a bow. Revenge isn’t my forte normally, but God help any Bruno that crosses my path.

We’re going to war with the Brunos. I can feel it in my bones.