Imperfect Bride: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Blood Empire Book 5) Read online

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  Copyright Blake York 2022

  Ebook Edition

  Imperfect Bride

  Blood Empire Book 5

  Electronic book publication 2021

  Cover Art by Bookin’ It Designs

  All rights reserved. Any violation of this will be prosecuted by the law.

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  He isn’t the man I wanted. But he might be the man I need.

  I’ve never made a choice for myself. Not a single decision about my life. And who I will marry is no different.

  I’m not surprised when my family bargains me to the most ruthless mafia family in Chicago. Am I supposed to be happy that they paid the highest price for me because I'm a virgin?

  Then the tables turn…

  Suddenly I’m accused of an unspeakable crime that breaks my family in two. Nobody believes I didn’t pull that trigger.

  One man doesn’t care if I did, and that confuses me most of all.

  Those intense nights doing dark, forbidden things in his bed tell me he can offer more me than his protection.

  He can offer me a new life.

  This enemies to lovers arranged marriage romance gets even steamier when a bully mafia brother takes his bride. Pack in flying bullets, and an all-out blood war pitting family against family, and you’ll be reading long into the night. 1-CLICK IMPERFECT BRIDE now and pick up the rest of the BLOOD EMPIRE SERIES.

  Imperfect

  Bride

  The Blood Empire Series Book 5

  Prologue

  Everly

  Five years ago

  “Pack your things. You’re moving.”

  I gripped my little sister’s hand and gaped at my father. “Moving? Where are we going?”

  He lifted the shot of his favored bourbon to his lips and knocked it down his throat. Neat, he called it. His black hair lay in the oiled waves that he was so proud of, and his collar was open at the throat to reveal his tanned skin along with a peek of the jagged scar he’d received in a knife fight when I was ten.

  When he swallowed the alcohol, he gave a grimace, bearing his lips over his teeth. His cold eyes fixed on me. “We aren’t going anywhere. I’m staying right here. You and Melody will be leaving.”

  My little sister’s hand shook in mine. I hated speaking with our father. Even at sixteen I knew that he was irrational, ruthless and had likely been the reason our mother turned to heroin as her lover.

  He narrowed his eyes on me. “What the hell are you waiting for? I told you to pack!”

  “Are we going to stay with Gramma?” Melody asked in the soft voice she used when our father was around.

  Melody, who was twelve, squeezed my fingers until they hurt. She loved Gramma’s house more than anyplace in the world. And I couldn’t blame her—it was the only peace we had in their lives. A safe haven. Being at Gramma’s meant not being screamed at just for existing, ignored or…

  There was one more thing that made me shudder. The mere thought of what had happened to me at my uncle’s hands left me wanting to turn to the very darkness I’d managed to avoid sinking into all these years.

  I shook myself back to the present. I tipped my chin and met my father’s glare. “I’m not packing until I know where we’re going.”

  He faced us fully and took a step in our direction. Melody backed up, but I did not. Our linked hands broke apart.

  “You’re going to do as I tell you. I don’t need to give you a goddamn reason, you defiant little girl. But since I’ll be rid of you both soon, I’ll tell you that you’re to be married.”

  I wanted to turn and bolt for the door, but I stood my ground. My heart beat with a thickening thump. “Married when?”

  “Now. As soon as your husbands come to pick you up.”

  No, no. This couldn’t be true. My father must be drunker than he looked.

  “But we’re underage!” Melody’s cry ripped through the room.

  Our father gave a low chuckle and reached for his bottle again. He sloshed alcohol into his glass and swallowed it before giving us his attention once more.

  “I’m getting good money for you girls. You even had men fighting over you. Don’t worry, I got top dollar, especially for you, Everly. Nick has been waiting to have you for years.”

  My heart bottomed out in a sickening well of bile. “Nick?” I barely forced the name through my parched lips. My father’s second in command, the one who helped run his dirty weapons trade on the Detroit streets? I was to be bound to him through marriage?

  And he’d paid for me?

  “Melody will be going to a good home too. Though it’s a shame she’s too young to bear her new husband children yet, and since he’s so old, that’s what he wants. In a few more years she can make him happy, I suppose.”

  Oh hell no. I felt my chin tilt even more. Over my dead body. I’d do anything to save my little sister and myself from these fates. How, though? I was sixteen. Slender and not strong. I could never physically overpower a man like my father, Nick or whoever this old guy who bought Melody was.

  I’d take matters into my own hands. In the home of a notorious illegal arms dealer, there were plenty of weapons stashed in just about every corner. Just thinking about the way Nick leered at me every time I encountered the man made my skin crawl. And thinking harder on it, I was pretty sure I knew who’d bought Melody too. During one of my father’s parties, we came downstairs to drag our passed-out mother out of the room before something bad happened to her.

  A tall man in his late fifties had grabbed Melody’s backside.

  I was dragged back to the present when our father whipped on us like a snake strike. “Get out of my sight!”

  Melody cried out and ran for the door. I stalked out after her. I grabbed her arm and pressed her lips to her ear. “Pack your things, but we’re not going with these men.”

  My sister’s bright green-and-gold eyes burned with understanding. For twelve, she knew far more than any girl her age should.

  I climbed the stairs. I gave my sister a little shove toward her room and told her to be ready when I came for her. As I stalked past our mother’s room, I pictured my addict mom crumpled on the floor, a needle hanging out of her arm. I could hate the woman, but what was the point? I knew my mother’s addiction was my father’s doing. All those parties with bowls full of pills and dealers showing up with bags full of the things our mom had gotten hooked on.

  He kept her subdued so he could do whatever he wanted.

  Like sell his daughters.

  Well, that wouldn’t be happening. Running away wouldn’t be enough, either. He’d only hunt us down.

  I slipped into our mother’s room. I hardly glanced at the woman rocking in the corner, staring at nothing as her mind tripped on whatever she’d used. Track marks lined each arm and dotted the webs of her fingers and toes.

  But I didn’t look at those. I walked straight to the dresser and opened the top drawer. The handgun slid to the front, and I curled my fingers around it. Why my mom had a weapon was anyone’s guess, but I’d discovered it years back. Secretly, I believed during one of my mother’s lucid moments, she might have thought to protect herself.

  Or maybe use it against her husband.

  Which was exactly what I planned to do.

  Creeping out into the dark house, I listened har
d for knocks on the door. Each time the furnace clicked on, I jumped. But I stood in the dark until my legs ached from being so still.

  Then I heard it—a footstep.

  Stumbling drunk, my father emerged from the office. This was it.

  I lifted the gun. Set my finger on the trigger.

  Suddenly, a flash of light blinded me. The blast of gunfire deafened. My ears are ringing, but I’m totally aware when my father’s body hits the floor.

  A scream bubbled in my throat and I ran through the shadows. I had no memory of hitting the stairs or grabbing Melody, but suddenly we were barreling downstairs to the front door.

  I was still holding the weapon, and it was still cocked, the bullet still chambered.

  I never shot my father.

  Someone else did.

  Chapter I

  Everly

  “I miss Gramma so much at this time of year.” Melody uses a rubber spatula to scrape the cookie dough out of the mixer onto a floured board.

  My hands are already covered in flour as I cut out the sugar cookie dough I’m working on into stocking shapes, so I bump Melody’s shoulder with mine.

  She’s grown as tall as I am. At sixteen, she’s the same age I was when our lives took a different turn. That long-ago night seems like ages ago, and yet it filters into my mind as if it happened yesterday. The events are strung into a misconstrued timeline. I’m not exactly sure what happened when, only that one of the servants heard the gunshot and called 9-1-1.

  After they carted off our father’s body to the morgue, they discovered our addict mom in her room and removed her to a rehab facility.

  My sister and I were picked up a few blocks from the house. The cops had two options for us. Our uncle—I shudder thinking of what would have happened there. Or Gramma.

  She harbored us for four beautiful, peace-filled years. She loved us and showered us with all the love neither of our parents ever could have.

  She did more than provide a loving home, though. She gave me the skills I need to make my own way in this world, without her or our father’s dirty money left in a trust fund until we’re married.

  She taught me to bake.

  I slice through the dough quickly, stamping out little stockings I’ll bake and later flood with icing in colorful patterns to sell in my shop. Looking around the bakery, I’m invaded by a sense of pride. And though I wouldn’t call my life happy, it’s the closest I’ve ever come to the peace I crave.

  Melody chatters at my side, talking about friends in her private school I keep her in by selling cookies, cupcakes and pies to rich people in the city of Chicago. This move from our stomping ground of Detroit had been the last big step in breaking free of the life of crime our father built around us.

  The school is a safe place for my sister to grow and stretch her mind. And it gives me peace of mind knowing she’s safe there. Even if I stay up baking long into the night to fill my glass cases with goodies, I have no regrets.

  “Melody is going to Germany to ski over the holiday. Can you imagine such a thing?” Melody rolls out the dough to the perfect quarter-inch thickness I taught her to keep the cookies chewy yet with a slight crunch.

  I shake my head at her talk. “No, I can’t imagine wanting to strap wooden boards to your feet. Are you sad that you don’t get to go on holiday trips like that?” I duck my head a little to hide my face from her. She’s good at reading me—too good. And she will catch my remorse that I can’t offer her more for Christmas break than hours on her feet in my bakery and a few presents under a meager tabletop tree.

  Thing is, there’s money sitting in a vault waiting for us. Accessing it means marrying, and that is something I’ve vowed never to do. Ever since that night when our father ordered us to pack, speaking vows and being tied to a man is the worst fate imaginable to me.

  I’m sure Melody feels the same, though we never talk about those days, and I’m glad to move on.

  She smiles at me and then lifts a flour-covered hand and wipes the dust down my cheek. I burst out laughing at the playful action and wrap my hand around her bare arm, leaving white streaks on her skin. We’re still laughing when the bell tinkles.

  I look up, the smile still on my face. But when I register who I’m looking at, I drop it.

  My heart plummets.

  I can hardly draw a breath.

  Nick.

  At my side, Melody is frozen too. Her hands hovering over the dough and her stare fixed on the man neither of us ever thought to set eyes on again.

  Sweeping out my arm, I shove her behind me. “Get to the back and don’t come out until I come for you!”

  She scutters away.

  If my frantic whisper is heard by Nick, he doesn’t let on. He just swaggers up to the counter, looking as frightening to me now as he did five years ago. Now I’m older, tougher, stronger. Love and nurturing made me that way, not the pain and despair of living with my parents.

  I still don’t know if I have the strength to face this man. This man who paid for me. After my father’s death, he took over the gun trade, so I know he earned back his money with interest.

  But there can be only one reason he’s here.

  For me.

  I wipe my hands on a towel and grip the counter edge. My knees are shaking, my insides a wreck. But I’m not going to let him see how he affects me.

  Nick is tall and some women might find him handsome. If they like the greasy type, that is. Everything about the man screams oily bad guy to me, from his gelled dark hair to the black street clothes he wears to the sneakers on his feet that cost a fortune.

  When he gives me a smile, my stomach pitches and heaves. I want to vomit and run for the hills, but this is my bakery. I pay the rent. I will not be cowed in my own place.

  “What do you want?”

  He issues a low chuckle. “Is that any way to treat an old friend? I came all the way from Detroit to see what you made of yourself.”

  “What. Do. You. Want?” I break up the sentence so he can understand better.

  He narrows his cold eyes on me. “I’m having a little party. Remember those parties your old man used to throw?”

  Drugs and alcohol and money and guns? All too well.

  My fingers ache from gripping the counter so hard. I don’t want him to see his effect on me, so I peel my fingers off and let them dangle, tingling, by my sides.

  “I need some cookies for my party.” Nick’s request just about knocks me over.

  “You came in here to buy cookies?”

  “Yeah. Is that so hard to believe?”

  Absolutely, but I hold my tongue.

  “I’m all booked up. I’m not taking any more orders.”

  His stare pins me to the spot I’m standing on. I want to run, but I can’t. I want to bash him in the face with a hot pan, but I’m not able to move out from under that stare that frightens me to my very core and turns my blood to ice.

  To think if someone hadn’t beat me to killing my father that night, I’d be married to this man for the last five years. Probably popped out a few of his brats too, after he raped me.

  My guts churn.

  “Oh c’mon, Everly. You need to work hard if you want your business to thrive.”

  Is that a threat? I have no doubt he’s got some power to get me shut down if I don’t take his order. But doing business with the devil himself seems like the worst possible idea. I’m not willing to give up my soul. After all, there are plenty of places I can move to. I’ll take Melody out of school and pick up somewhere new.

  I built a business once—I can do it again.

  “What do a pack of those cookies run?” Nick casts a look at the tray of pecan cookies Melody and I just packaged in cellophane wrapped with a little bow sporting the name of my bakery, Dream Puffs.

  I don’t respond. I just stare him down, willing him to leave.

  Nick leans over the counter. I jerk backward, but not before his strong cologne burns my nose.

  “I’m havi
ng a big party, Everly.” The way he drawls my name makes me feel sicker. Like he’s licking over my entire body with each syllable. “I need to feed the masses. I’ll give you two thousand dollars for enough baked goods to feed a hundred people.”

  A hundred? What kind of party is he throwing here in Chicago? It’s not his turf for dealing weapons, but maybe he’s trying to branch out here and this party will get his name in the minds of many of the city’s underground.

  My mind catches up to the figure he’s just thrown at me. Two thousand? That sum will almost cover what I still owe for Melody’s tuition for a semester.

  It would give us money to escape.

  My heart thuds. Can I do it, just this once? Walk with the devil for the sake of our future?

  “Twenty-five hundred and I’ll deliver them myself.” I can’t believe I just said that, but it’s too late to take it back. If I learned anything as a Gallo, it’s that your word is your bond.

  Nick smiles at me, his lips taking on an evil tip.

  I’m already regretting my decision.

  But I signed my soul on the dotted line. There’s no going back.

  I’ll take the money and Melody and I will run.

  Chapter II

  Warrick

  “Hey, ass wipe. The old man wants to see you in his study.”

  Fuck. Being summoned to the study was never good. I look at my oldest brother Anders and cock a brow. “What the fuck’s he want?”

  “Who knows.” Anders’ casual response doesn’t fool me for one goddamn second.

  Which could mean only one thing.

  Time for the talk.

  Not the talk about which ho to stick my dick in, how to avoid disease and what to do if I knock them up. I’ve been taking women to bed since I was fourteen.

  This is different.

  Anders gives me a shove in the shoulder, and I cast him a sulfurous look. “Fuck you, bro.” I walk off toward the study, leaving Anders laughter behind me.