Broken Princess (The Bianchi Chronicles Book 1), page 1
BROKEN PRINCESS
THE BIANCHI CHRONICLES
BOOK ONE
LAURA BENNETT
Copyright © 2024 by Laura Bennett
All rights reserved.
Edited by: Samantha Swart
Alpha Readers: Sally Brierley, Sarah Baker, Daisy Jane
Cover: Vicki Nicolson Branding
Cover Images: © Shutterstock
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7384916-0-5
Hardback ISBN: 978-1-7384916-1-2
CONTENTS
Before you begin…
Part I
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
End of Part One
Part II
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
End of part two
The Bianchi Chronicles
About the Author
Acknowledgements
BLURB
A MAFIA PRINCESS
Sacrificed to maintain the fragile peace between her family and his, only Aurora Bianchi can sate Max De Luca’s desires and keep his darkest depravities under control. But now his father wants complete control of The Syndicate… and she’s an obstacle to their plans.
A pawn her husband is forced to sacrifice.
THE BIANCHI BASTARDS
Enzo and his crew are brought in to dispose of the casualties of war, brutally slaughtered and left for dead. However, the bodies aren’t nameless thugs—they’re Syndicate royalty… and they’re not all dead. He and his crew find themselves drawn into a mafia coup, and there’s only one side they would ever consider taking.
Enzo, Sinclair, Nico, and Benedict will raze The Syndicate to the ground to avenge Aurora, but first they must save her.
AURORA DE LUCA IS DEAD…RORY BIANCHI WILL RISE
BEFORE YOU BEGIN…
No book is ever worth more than your peace of mind and wellbeing. I have detailed the potential trigger warnings below and encourage you to read them but leave it to your discretion. You know yourself better than anyone. I have done my best to avoid spoilers.
This is a dark romance at heart. The villains are irredeemable and the good guys, while cut from a similar and equally violent cloth, adhere to a strong moral code. Triggers include torture, physical and psychological abuse, miscarriage as a result of domestic violence, rape, sexual assault, kidnapping, murder, violence, and untreated psychopathy.
In addition, this is an adult romance with elements of BDSM and kink exploration. With these elements, consent, safety and communication are paramount. Content includes MM/MF/MMF, D/s relationships, power exchange, sadism, masochism, impact play, knife play, cum play, orgasm denial, pleasure domming, praise, degradation, aftercare, and sub-drop.
I have done my best to represent all themes responsibly and welcome any feedback if you find anything that I may have missed.
Lastly this book is written in British English so remember we like s over z, -our over -or and we put two ls in words like levelling. However, if you find an error or issue and want to let me know, visit www.laurabennettauthor.com/books and click on Report Error.
For the readers who love broken boys,
morally grey cinnamon rolls,
chaotic springer spaniels
& rage bunnies… I got you.
PART ONE
“I do not think that all who choose wrong roads perish;
but their rescue consists in being put back on the right road.”
C. S. Lewis
PROLOGUE
AURORA
It hurts—everything hurts. My right eye is swollen shut, and I can barely crack open the other. I wish I couldn’t. The scene I’m met with is the stuff of nightmares. My cunt of a husband stands in the middle of the warehouse. He’s positioned behind a body, suspended by the wrists from a meat hook attached to a long, thick metal chain. The chain sways, the weight of the body like a pendulum, making my head swim as I struggle to focus with my good eye.
Max’s hands are stained red, his victim’s shirtless torso mottled with welts and deep, jagged slashes. Blood drips down to the floor as the near lifeless victim huffs ragged breaths, his head lolling forward—obscuring his face. A small crimson stream has formed beneath him and trickles towards the drain at my feet.
My arms and legs are tightly bound to a chair using zip-ties, my body facing them, forcing me to witness what’s unfolding. I must have passed out again, as it had been just the two of us up until now. The addition of this guest is unsettling, and a feeling of dread swells within me.
For four years, I’ve been married to the monster that is Max De Luca. I know exactly what he’s capable of, though I’ve never had to witness the devastation he can wreak on a body as a spectator. When I’m the focus of his depravity, I drift far away, somewhere he can’t affect me. Unfortunately, the first time he pushed me to a state of catatonia, it unleashed a beast I’m glad I was never present enough to fully comprehend. When I zone out, I become his ultimate victim. A doll on which he can practise and perfect his methods.
I pity the man before me. He won’t last much longer. I don’t know when I lost consciousness—or how long I was out this time—but this man has not lasted well against Max’s onslaught. He’s fading fast and my husband is rapidly losing interest in his toy.
Oh joy, me next.
“Welcome back, principessa,” he croons. “I knew you wouldn’t be out for long. Your resilience never ceases to impress me.” His saccharine tone caresses me like a poisonous tendril reaching around my throat, making me want to choke and gag.
I try to respond, but my throat is dry, letting the barest croak escape. “Fuck you, Max.”
“Now, now, wife. Is that any way to treat your husband? Especially when I went out of my way to bring you such a special gift,” he sneers, waving a hand theatrically toward his current victim.
“Half-dead henchman? Ooh, just what I’ve always wanted. How did you know?” I retort, my voice like gravel. We start our familiar dance; one to which we intimately know the footwork. If I crumble or show any kind of weakness, he will tire of me, too. The only reason I have survived this long is by taking everything he has to throw at me. By never letting him see that he’s broken me. I am a husk, but I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing how much of me he has destroyed.
At the sound of my voice, the man stirs. My left eye starts to focus, and I realise why my husband has a maniacal grin on his face. I scream with fear, with anger, with desperation. A dread I’ve never experienced before, settles in my chest and weighs heavy on my heart, paralysing me with terror.
“Say goodbye to daddy, princess.” His face lights up with glee, basking in my realisation. He steps behind my father, grabbing his hair to wrench his head up, exposing his throat. My father’s eyes meet mine, giving me the slightest squint, and I nod back. There’s nothing I can do to help him, and we both know it. This is all we can do. Never has such a slight gesture meant so much to me. His eyes soften and I feel how much he loves me as a lone tear falls down his cheek. I love you, Dad.
Max brings his knife to my father’s throat, and with one clean sweep of his blade—ends him.
As my father’s blood cascades to the floor, I watch the light die in his eyes and drop my gaze to my knees. Tears flood my vision, and my shoulders slump in defeat. I want to wail and scream and break into a thousand tiny pieces. This pain cuts so deeply I can feel it in my soul. He destroyed the most honourable man I have ever known.
Max tilts his head to the side and surveys me. “Have I finally broken you, my little toy?”
I consider his words, trying to wrangle my emotions as my mind wanders. Our marriage was arranged to strengthen the fragile alliance brokered between the Bianchis and the De Lucas. Resistance and infighting had been threatening to destroy the fledgling treaty since its inception. Only through our union could the alliance my father brokered be guaranteed.
My father hated doing it, but being Mateo Bianchi’s daughter, I did what everyone expected of me as his last remaining heir—I did my duty and ended the bloodshed. I married Massimo—Salvatore De Luca’s only son.
Only then did I learn the truth. I hadn’t been married off to a prince. I’d been sacrificed to a monster. A beast I cou
But Max has just murdered Mateo Bianchi—the head of the Bianchi family. My father. Fuck The Syndicate. Fuck the De Lucas. And most of all, fuck my cunt of a husband.
“You’re going to have to kill me, Max,” I spit out with a venomous hatred, “because if you don’t, I will burn the whole fucking world down to make you pay.”
“Oh, principessa,” he purrs, stalking toward me, cutting a track through the river of my father’s blood. He leaves a sickening trail of footprints that draws my eyes back to my father’s lifeless corpse. Max crouches, then strokes his hand down my cheek. “How I’d love to see you try. You’ve always been my favourite plaything, but alas, our time together is at an end.” His hushed tone is almost mournful. “I wish I was allowed to keep you.”
My brow lifts as his words register. His eyes hold mine in a penetrating gaze and they show hunger, obsession, anger. But this time there’s more. More than his thirst to inflict maximum pain. I can see it clear as day. There’s some part of him that doesn’t want to kill me.
As this thought drifts to the front of my mind, a searing pain slices through me and I look down, surprised to see his knife lodged in my chest.
“Farewell, principessa,” he whispers softly against my ear.
With a strangled breath I hiss, “Fuck you, Max.”
CHAPTER ONE
ENZO
Hanging up the phone, I walk through to the kitchen. We’re waiting for a call and the team needs to be ready to go at any time. Perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Sinclair is engrossed in his laptop while Benedict rummages through the fridge in search of snacks. Sinclair is my resident tech specialist and oldest friend. Surveillance and tracking are his forte, though he’s also known for his ability to liberate funds from our targets’ offshore accounts. Being self-funded comes in handy for anything not explicitly sanctioned by The Syndicate. Intellectually, he’s the biggest geek you’ll meet, but physically, he’s built like the rest of us. He’s just as likely to be found throwing down in a fight as Benedict.
Benny is our demolitions expert. Imagine the excitement of an eager puppy chasing a tennis ball, and that’s Benny with a detonator in his hand. The joy he gets from blowing shit up is immense. Sinclair is dark; charcoal black hair, Mediterranean complexion, and amber eyes. Conversely, Benny is essentially a vampire. Auburn hair, striking green eyes and skin so pale he would likely burst into flames if he went outside at midday. He’s like a taller red-haired version of Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, if Spike lived at the gym.
My phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket, finding our instructions from Max have come through. “Clean up on Aisle Five,” I say, repeating the green light they’ve given me for tonight’s mission.
I have no fucking clue what’s going on. Max has been visiting his father Salvatore more and more frequently this last month, so I know the De Lucas are up to something. No one seems to be privy to all the details outside of those two. We’ve been on standby for a clean-up for the last week. Max has blocked any other requests for our services while we waited for his call.
“Do we have any idea what this is about yet?” Sinclair says with a sigh, not taking his eyes off the screen. His rigid posture is my only indication that he’s less than happy with our being at Max’s beck and call.
“Yeah, what gives? I’m bored out of my mind,” says Benny. He pops his head around the refrigerator door like a meerkat leaving its burrow, his arms overflowing with various foods—none of which look like they’d go well together.
“No, but we’ll know within the hour,” I respond, “and put that all back. We’ve got to leave now. I’m gonna get Nico, I’ll meet you in the car.”
Nico is the last of our team and specialises in inquisition. At six-four he’s our resident giant, benching more than me these days and scary as all hell. He’s a blond demon and he can get anyone to break. Frankly, I no longer ask the details of how he gets people to talk. So long as they do.
He’s also Benny’s boyfriend. I’d send Benny to get him, but last time they got… distracted, and I had to break them up. Not sure I need to see that again anytime soon. I’m not a prude, but I could have gone my whole life not knowing Nico has a six-rung Jacob’s ladder or seeing Benny’s cum face after being impaled by it.
Benny mutters and shoves everything back in the fridge as Sin flips his laptop closed, retreating to his room. I can tell from the glower on his face he’s not enthused. It’s taken years to solidify a peace between Mateo and Salvatore. Whatever the De Lucas are up to, something tells me it’s about to cause trouble. Trouble me and my team want no part of.
Knocking on Nico’s door, I shout out giving him five minutes to get his ass in gear. I grab my go-bag from the hallway on my way to the garage to confirm we equipped our van with anything we might need for tonight’s job. Climbing into the front passenger seat, I wait impatiently for my team. Sinclair is first and slides open the side panel of the van, hopping into the back. Nico and Benny appear next. Benny jumps in carrying a fucking meatball sub. Of course, we get a call to go, and he stops to make a sandwich. Why wouldn’t he? Dick. If we’re late, Max will lose his fucking mind.
We take twenty minutes to get to the warehouse, code named Aisle Five. It’s crude, but it’s concise. Having driven the van into the warehouse loading bay, I jump out and yank down the metal rolling shutters.
We walk through to the main warehouse, passing a bank of monitors featuring the external camera feeds. Only a few of the overhead lights are on. Enough to allow the shadows to bleed onto the warehouse floor and make the chains hang from various points throughout the main warehouse gleam. Ceiling, walls, floors. We never know how many guests we might need to accommodate and it’s better to be prepared. It’s kept mostly empty. As a rule, we always bring what we need with us, so nothing incriminating remains between visits.
That’s also why there’s a ground level sprinkler system and a large central drain for easy clean-up. Imagine clearing the dip at the end of Who Framed Roger Rabbit.
Me and my guys exist to solve problems. We’re known as The Bastards. Formerly The Bianchi Bastards—pre-Syndicate. We’re on the bottom rung on the Cosa Nostra ladder. The unclaimed progeny of Made Men. And if we’re sent for you, we’re the last people you see.
But it seems Max started—and finished—without us. In front of us are two bodies in what I can only describe as absolute carnage. What the fuck happened here?
Max is crouched down on his haunches, transfixed by the battered body tied to a chair in front of him. He stands abruptly as we approach and greets us with a slight dip of chin. A mask of indifference falls across his features. Whatever emotion he was just experiencing, slips away and he buries it deep—far away from our scrutiny.
“I want these bodies gone within the next six hours. Do whatever you have to and don’t just bury them. They need to disappear,” he commands, straightening his spine and stretching to his full height like he’s assuming a role—playing a part.
As we assess the scope of this job, Max crosses the warehouse floor to the side and drags out an empty oil drum, pops the lid, and strips. Unphased by his audience, he throws in his blood-soaked clothes before walking over to a faucet on the side wall which has a hose attached, rinsing off the remaining viscera and stalks back to the bay of monitors to retrieve a bag. Riffling through it he pulls out a towel followed by a small, neatly folded stack of clothes.
