Captive Rival: Armani (Captive #2; Bellanti Brothers #8), page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Stella Gray
All rights reserved.
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.
Paige Press
Leander, TX 78641
Ebook:
ISBN: 978-1-957647-39-5
Paperback:
ISBN: 978-1-957647-46-3
Editing: Erica Russikoff at Erica Edits
Proofing: Michele Ficht
CONTENTS
Also by Stella Gray
About This Book
1. Candi
2. Armani
3. Candi
4. Candi
5. Candi
6. Candi
7. Candi
8. Armani
9. Candi
10. Candi
11. Candi
12. Armani
13. Candi
14. Candi
15. Armani
16. Candi
17. Armani
18. Armani
19. Candi
20. Candi
21. Candi
22. Armani
23. Armani
24. Candi
25. Candi
26. Candi
27. Candi
28. Armani
29. Candi
30. Candi
Paige Press
Also by Stella Gray
About the Author
ALSO BY STELLA GRAY
The Zoric Series
Arranged Series
The Deal
The Secret
The Choice
The Arranged Series: Books 1-3
Convenience Series
The Sham
The Contract
The Ruin
The Convenience Series: Books 1-3
Charade Series
The Lie
The Act
The Truth
The Charade Series: Books 1-3
The Bellanti Brothers
Dante
Broken Bride
Broken Vow
Broken Trust
Marco
Forbidden Bride
Forbidden War
Forbidden Love
Armani
Captive Bride
Captive Rival
Captive Heart
ABOUT THIS BOOK
I thought I could walk away…but Armani Bellanti wants me for keeps.
My intentions were good.
I thought I was on the side of angels.
But all my plans led me straight to hell.
There’s nowhere for me to turn.
My whole world is his cage.
I have no one.
No one but him.
He silences me with cruel kisses.
I taunt him with his desire for me.
We don’t trust each other, but we can use each other.
Armani can take what he wants from me.
And I can keep pretending I’m not falling for the devil.
1
CANDI
People are going to be talking about my wedding celebration for a very, very long time.
Just not in the way that Armani and I had intended.
Our extravagant reception at Bellanti Vineyards was abruptly cut short after a group of armed Bruno soldiers burst in during our cake cutting, guns on display, effectively dispersing most of our guests. Some quietly excused themselves, some ran, and the ones who froze in terror or tried to stick around to rubberneck were soon hastily escorted off the winery grounds by Bellanti security. I’m just grateful no weapons were discharged. The volley of rounds exchanged between my husband and the leader of the Brunos’ men was strictly a verbal one.
After Armani hustled me back to the main house, he left me with a few guards for protection and then returned to the reception area to circle back with his brothers. I haven’t stopped worrying since, my ears straining for the sound of gunshots or screams or squealing tires on gravel.
I’m currently glued to the front window with my eyes on the string lights that still glow softly around the perimeter of the party space. From here, I can see a few tables knocked over, trampled flowers on the ground, an upended punch bowl, a single high-heeled shoe left behind in the mad rush to get away.
The scene of a fairy tale turned into a nightmare.
A sick, nauseous feeling twists in my gut, and I realize I’m shaking. I sink into one of the chairs by the window and reach for the hot tea that one of the kitchen staff brought out on a tray for me. But the cup rattles against the saucer so badly, I end up spilling half of it before I can even take a sip.
“Mrs. Bellanti?” one of the guards says gently from the doorway of the sitting room.
“I’m fine,” I snap, the tremor in my voice loud and clear. I take a breath and set the tea back on the tray. “I’m going to my room.”
“We’ll come with you,” the guard says.
Upstairs in the lounge area of the bedroom, I find my cat, Mr. Sprinkles, and cradle him in my arms for emotional support. I should change out of this ridiculous satin dress, take a hot shower, climb in bed and burrow under the blankets—but I can’t do any of that. Not until my husband returns in one piece.
I start trembling again, and I pull a blanket around my shoulders, but it doesn’t banish the cold inside me. The horrified looks on our guests’ faces are still riveted in my mind. Their initial hushed shock and confusion at the symbolic blood-red liquid running out of the white frosted wedding cake when Armani and I cut through it with the knife. The rising murmurs of fear when those Bruno thugs sauntered into the tent like they owned the place.
I’d known this would be a night to remember…but now I wish it was something I could forget.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I hear footsteps echoing on the stairs, down the hall, and then my heart leaps when I catch the low rumble of Armani’s voice as he converses with the guards outside the door. I get up off the sofa just as he steps into the room wearing his trademark scowl.
“Armani.”
Relief nearly overwhelms me as I rush to meet him, even though the hard set of his jaw tells me his anger has not cooled. Unless—maybe something else happened.
“What did you find? Are the Brunos all gone? Did anyone get hurt? Are you okay?” I babble.
He strides across the room, away from me, barely giving me a second glance.
“There was nothing to find,” is all he says.
I follow him into the bedroom, where he’s working his tie loose.
“I don’t understand,” I say. I’m still reeling, and I can’t stop asking questions. “Why did the Brunos send those men here with guns? Just to intimidate us? What was the point? And the cake—”
“The cake turned out exactly as expected,” he says, nodding in self-satisfaction.
“What? The bleeding cake? It was horrible.”
“It was a test, Candi,” he says coolly.
“A test of what? For who? And why do you seem so damn pleased about the whole thing?”
He shrugs out of his suit jacket and lays it over a chair. The X of his shoulder holster makes a stark contrast against the white of his dress shirt, the dark leather crisscrossing over his back. He has two guns strapped to his body that I can see, and I’m sure there’s a third tucked away somewhere. Armed and dangerous as hell, as usual, and yet all I can think about is ripping off his clothes.
“When you ordered that cake, you gave the Brunos an opportunity to make us feel small,” he says. “They took it. Thanks to you.”
“But…I just ordered the cake you asked for, from the bakery you wanted,” I say, shaking my head. “I had nothing to do with how it turned out.”
“You had everything to do with how it turned out,” he says, walking toward me. “But don’t worry your pretty little head about it. The grown-ups are taking care of business now.”
“How can you tell me not to worry when they put blood in our wedding cake?”
“It wasn’t real blood.”
His nonchalance only fuels my panic even more.
“That’s beside the point, Armani. The Brunos threw down the fucking gauntlet. They just restarted the war, and you’re acting like you’ve been given a gift.”
“Don’t be naïve. The war never ended. As their mole, you should know that better than anyone,” he says, disappearing into the closet.
My cheeks burn at the rebuke. I can’t even defend myself. I was the Brunos’ mole, there’s no denying it. But that doesn’t mean I was privy to any of their plans. Especially not concerning their moves against Armani’s family.
To the Brunos, I was nothing more than a tool to be used, not a member of their clan. My role was solely to glean information from the Bellantis and feed it back to Juliana and her uncle, the Bruno patriarch. I had no idea what I was getting into when I agreed to help my best friend. No inkling about the scope of the war between these two mafia families. But now that I’ve been forced to switch sides and act as Armani’s pawn—and his wife—I deserve to know what the hell is going on.
I’m so lost. And frustrated. And I’m getting angrier by the second.
Armani walks out of the closet in dark jeans and tactical boots, his guns strapped over a fresh shirt. My stomach
“Just tell me. What the fuck. Is going on,” I grind out. “You can’t expect me to keep on helping you when you leave me completely in the dark like this.”
It’s a threat, but a weak one. The dirt Armani has on my brothers is what’s keeping me obedient. As long as my own family is still in danger, I have no grounds to be throwing out demands or issuing ultimatums. But my words seem to have some kind of effect, because Armani looks me in the eye and seems to weigh what he’s about to say.
“The bakery you ordered the cake from, in Santa Rosa—it’s a Bruno owned business,” he says.
“Okay…” I’m not following. It makes no sense. Why would he contract with the enemy?
“And when you placed that order,” he goes on, “you gave them all the information they needed to crash our reception. Date, time, location, even the number of guests.”
“But why would you want them to crash our…” And then it clicks. “You baited them.”
He smiles cruelly. “No. You did. You’re their mole, Candi. When you made that call, it looked like a message from you.”
I sink onto the bed, my eyes closing, my ears ringing. Of course he’s right. I called the Brunos and essentially offered them a goddamn invitation to infiltrate a gathering of their sworn enemies. And they delivered. And now this mafia war has unstoppably entered its next deadly chapter.
This is all my fault.
Armani set me up—or, more accurately, he used me to set the Brunos up. And I walked right into that trap like a fool, completely ignorant, playing my part once again as the perfect fucking pawn.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t figure out the bakery was theirs right off the bat,” he says. “Though I can’t be too surprised. You don’t have the best track record of thinking for yourself.”
“I can’t believe you did this to me,” I whisper, glaring at him through stinging eyes.
“Did what? Use you for your intended purpose? Don’t forget why you’re here, Candi.”
My heart and my mind are breaking all at once. I’m so shattered, I can’t even drum up a response as he walks away from me. When the door shuts behind him, I fall back onto the bed and cover my face, letting the tears fall. I have no idea where he’s going, or why, but I’m too upset to chase after him and grovel for more answers—not that he’d give them to me anyway.
Armani used me. He manipulated me. Moved me around like a chess piece on his own private gameboard, and even though the signs were there all along, I was too stupid to realize it. Because deep down, I was still holding on to the pathetic hope that he might actually care about me. About us. About our future together.
When in reality, all he cared about was restarting a mafia war.
2
ARMANI
I’ve called an emergency meeting in the war room, aka the library, to strategize a plan of attack against the Bruno clan.
My brother-in-law Clayton slouches by the window, a glass of Irish whiskey in his meaty fist. Dante, meanwhile, is pacing, the hard line between his brows etched deep. As the head of the family, my older brother carries the constant weight of the world on his shoulders. I’ve never envied him that. He’s also technically the man in charge, but since I’m the Bellanti war general, this is my area of expertise—ergo, I’ll be running point. My younger brother Marco is the last to arrive.
As soon as he locks the door behind him, we gather around the long table in the center of the room. I’m the only one of us not still wearing party clothes, and the only one who doesn’t look both disheveled and agitated. The tension is thick. But I’m in my element.
I already filled them in earlier on what happened with Candi and the Bruno bakery. They were none too pleased to have been left out of the loop of my little scheme, given how quickly things escalated with the Bruno thugs who crashed the reception. But no matter. My brothers might not understand my secrecy or exactly why I’m playing my chess pieces the way I am, but they don’t have to. I’m the master of this game. I will orchestrate our every movement.
“I’m sure you’ve guessed why I called you here. We need to implement a war plan,” I say, cutting right to the chase. None of them look happy about my words.
Not that I care. The situation we’re in with the Brunos was always an inevitability—a matter of when, not if. Now it’s up to me to make certain we destroy our enemies as cleanly and quickly as possible. Slice the head off the snake and crush it under our boot heel. It’s the only way to ensure this feud doesn’t drag on indefinitely, a never-ending cycle of devastation, retaliation, kidnapping, violence, murder. Tit for tat, bullet for bullet. We can’t just keep killing each other.
I need to put a stop to this once and for good.
“I see no viable alternative,” Dante concedes, nodding at me. “We’ll move against them in full force. Where do we begin?”
“I’d like to start by delegating the duties, make sure we’re all on the same page,” I say. “There are a lot of moving parts to this, and if we’re not unified in our actions, the Brunos will home in on that weakness and exploit it. It’s a risk we can’t take. No more half measures, no more pretenses of civility, no more long game. It’s time to end this. So if anyone here needs to back out, for any reason, do it now. I need 100% commitment and 100% follow-through until this is finished.”
“You can count me in,” Dante says.
“But the baby—” I start.
“I’m doing this for her,” he interrupts. “I’m the boss, I’m responsible for all of us, and I won’t hide behind my wife and daughter while the rest of you put everything on the line for this family.”
“Fine. How about you, Marco?” I ask.
“I’m in,” he says without hesitating.
“Me too. Always,” Clayton adds. “Family first.”
I nod. “Good. Here’s what you need to know. I’m taking Candi to the island for a honeymoon—”
“Wait wait wait. Seriously, bro?” Marco scoffs. “You’re gonna run off and diddle your backstabbing mole wife on the beach? How exactly does that constitute a war plan?”
“Marco,” Dante warns.
“It’s not a real honeymoon. It’s how I’m going to get her off the grid and neutralize her,” I say.
My great-grandfather purchased a small island off the coast of Morocco many years ago. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, so tiny it’s not on any map, and all but forgotten. I can’t honestly remember the last time any of the Bellantis visited. The property—including the house, the landscaping, and the beachfront—is maintained seasonally by trusted staff who have been on our payroll for generations, and they know the name of the game is discretion. Every so often, a family ally will use the place as a safehouse or a neutral meeting zone, but it’s currently empty with no upcoming visitors. It’s the perfect hiding spot. And an excellent location to conduct a little underhanded business.
“Right now, thanks to the intel Candi passed along with the wedding cake order, Sergio Bruno thinks she’s the perfect mole,” I go on. “That means he’s going to get greedy. He’s going to want more intel, and soon. If she doesn’t give it to him, she’ll lose her value. They may even stop trusting her.”
“Bruno will get suspicious fast if she doesn’t cooperate,” Clayton agrees. “He’s paranoid enough about employee loyalty as it is. Speaking as a former employee.”
