Monster: A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance Read online

  MONSTER

  Filthy Rich Villains

  Vanessa Waltz

  Copyright © 2021 by Vanessa Waltz

  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.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Evie

  2. Evie

  3. Evie

  4. Tony

  5. Tony

  6. Evie

  7. Evie

  8. Tony

  9. Tony

  10. Evie

  11. Evie

  12. Evie

  13. Tony

  14. Evie

  15. Tony

  16. Evie

  17. Evie

  18. Evie

  19. Evie

  20. Evie

  21. Tony

  22. Evie

  23. Evie

  24. Tony

  25. Evie

  26. Evie

  27. Evie

  28. Tony

  29. Evie

  30. Tony

  31. Evie

  32. Tony

  33. Evie

  Epilogue

  34. Mia

  Thanks for Reading!

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Vanessa Waltz

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Monster is a standalone romance novel, but it builds on the events of my Sinners of Boston series. If you have never read them, you might enjoy reading Arranged first!

  Marrying a monster doesn’t change his nature...

  They call my husband-to-be "Mob Prince," but his happily-ever-after consists of bound wrists and broken promises. Tall, dark, and handsome don’t begin to describe his level of gorgeous. Tony Costa is a dangerous man with a beautiful face.

  We’re arranged to marry.

  Start a family.

  Or else.

  My father forced me to the altar, giving me to the silver-spooned gangster with a blackened soul. He hates my family. Hates me. And he’ll make me his perfect wife.

  I’m supposed to serve him, bear his children, and obey.

  I refuse to surrender to the monster in my bed...but submitting to his power fulfills my darkest desires. Before long, I’m enthralled by his steamy threats, his rough hands, his beautiful, deep eyes...and the terrible secrets they hold.

  Am I in love with the man?

  Or am I submitting to a monster?

  Prologue

  Tony

  2 oz bourbon

  2 dashes Angostura bitters

  1 sugar cube

  Garnish: orange twist

  Vinn went too far this time.

  My prick cousin bound my wrists. Threw me in a car. He dared to hood me, as though where we were headed was a big fucking mystery. He was probably taking me to his place in the Quabbin Reservoir, where he buried his victims. My lawyer friend, Knox, would’ve helped me, but Vinn had stolen my phone.

  Murdering little shit.

  Wheels crunched as the car slowed over bumpy terrain. Doors banged open, triggering images, sensations—snarling fangs, a crimson-soaked leash, my cheek hitting the curb.

  Hands wrenched me out. My feet landed hard on a shifting surface, probably gravel. The hold on my elbow yanked. Stumbling, I lost my balance. My ass hit the ground as I made an undignified fall, sharp rocks cutting into my skin.

  They pulled me upright and shoved.

  “At least buy me dinner before manhandling me. Is this because I won’t go to your barbecues anymore?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Don’t tell me. It’s another intervention?”

  “You’ll find out in ten seconds.”

  Vinn had no idea of the storm building within me, of the blind panic and the wrath he’d provoked. If he didn’t let me go, I would hurt someone.

  It might be him.

  I swung my boot, connecting with a leg.

  Vinn grunted.

  A hand crashed into my shoulder, right into my scar. The phantom pain pierced me like a white-hot poker. A vicious hatred burned my body before the wind’s salted scent chased it away.

  “You took me to your beach house?” A seagull cried as I faced the body dragging me. “The one you bought for your wife?”

  No response.

  I laughed, even though I could’ve killed him. “Jesus, Vinny. Li won’t like that. She’ll never forgive you.”

  “Pleading for your life?”

  “I’m saving your ass. When she finds out you murdered a family member at your vacation home, she’ll divorce you. Get ready for bitter custody battles.”

  He marched me up a lawn, jerking me to his side. His fingers gouged my flesh—predictable, boring idiot. The hood was a stunt made to scare me straight, as if that ever worked.

  The bag was ripped off my head.

  Cold air stung my cheeks as the world exploded with light. Gradually, a seaside cottage melted into my vision. It stood on a watery shore. My guts clenched as waves lapped the beach. Foam crawled up the sand. A body floated in the water, facedown. Seconds later, it disappeared.

  Alarm rippled down my spine.

  Vinn jabbed me. “Inside.”

  I tore my gaze from the ocean, heart pounding. I strolled through a door into a sprawling living room decorated in red, white, and blue. It resembled my zia Lena’s house—lots of plaid. I stepped in as Vinn sliced the zip ties, freeing my wrists.

  Two men stood at the fireplace.

  Once, I’d considered them brothers.

  My insides blackened from the grim-faced Alessio to Michael’s softer eyes, ice freezing my stomach.

  It was an intervention.

  They thought I was high. Everything boiled down to the addiction that hadn’t been a problem in two years, and they wondered why I couldn’t stand them.

  Christian entered, blocking the door.

  My throat tightened. “I don’t need a goddamned intervention.”

  “This isn’t about your sobriety. For once.” Vinny grabbed a chair and planted it in the middle of the room. “Have a seat.”

  “I’m not. Fucking. Staying.”

  Vinn didn’t budge. “You don’t have a choice.”

  I hated those words.

  Forcing me to do anything provoked my more violent tendencies. I couldn’t handle losing control. It made me unhinged.

  I stormed to the door, but Christian blocked me. Hesitation flickered in his hawklike gaze as he squared his shoulders.

  “Move.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t.”

  Trapped.

  The red haze flashed over my vision, and my hands balled into white, trembling fists. Old-fashioned. I conjured an image of the drink and focused. Two ounces bourbon. Two dashes of Angostura—

  “That’s it, Tony. Have a seat.”

  Dimly, I registered a touch on my bicep.

  My fist whirled, slamming into his jaw. Christian dropped, clutching himself. He moaned. I jumped on him and disappeared in the violence, my body on autopilot. Blood splattered over my numbed hand. A pounding grew in my ears like drumbeats.

  Hands tore at my wrist. I snapped their digits. An arm banded my neck, and I hurled him into the wall. A body slammed into my back. I jerked backward. My skull cracked a hard surface, and the body stumbled away.

  I wouldn’t give up.

  I stopped smashing his face when Michael and Vinn tackled me. Three of them forced me into the chair, and then the fog cleared, revealing a scene of devastation.
<
br />   A vase had been smashed, showering the ground with ceramic shards. Pieces of furniture lay on their sides. Michael cradled his fingers, cursing. They stuck out at odd angles. Christian peeled himself upright. Alessio massaged his eye. Only Vinn was unscathed.

  His accusatory stare drilled into me.

  “What did you fucking expect?” I wheeled on Michael, who had the grace to look ashamed. “You deserve it, you bastard. I saved your wife’s life. Now you’re throwing me in vans?”

  “He’s right. This was a stupid idea, Vinn.”

  I smacked Vinn’s touch from my shoulder. “Why am I here?”

  “You’ve crossed the line too many times.” Vinn glowered like a storm cloud. “I’ve given you chance after chance. I told you what’d happen if you defied me. I warned you.”

  “I ignored you.”

  “Honestly, Anthony. There are easier ways to kill yourself.” Vinn sank onto the coffee table, staring into his folded hands. “But in case this isn’t the desperate act of a broken man…I’ll let you off. Once. No more second chances. But your conflict with the MCs is over.”

  “Can’t do it.”

  Vinn’s jaw slackened. “When will you be satisfied?”

  “When they’re all dead, and my dad comes back to life.”

  “You never used to be so hateful.”

  I wiped the blood on my slacks. “I’m not hateful. I’m focused.”

  “On what?” he shouted, the loudness ringing my ears. “Killing everyone who’s ever pissed you off?”

  “I’d have shot you in the ass already.”

  He gripped my collar and hit me, displaying a lack of self-control I’d rarely seen in Vinn. The impact smarted, but my pulse barely picked up the pace. If he thought he could scare me with pain…he was more likely to kill me.

  Vinn leaned forward, glowering. “I’m going to level with you, Anthony. I think you’ve completely lost it. You’ve always been destructive, but this is crazy. You’re taking us all down. I can’t have it.”

  “Just do it, you fucking pussy.”

  Vinn stood, raking his hair. “Not today. You’re lucky…You are so lucky I caught you before you did lasting damage. I got you a lifeline.”

  “I don’t need your goddamned help.”

  “Refuse me, and you won’t leave this house alive.”

  He was bluffing.

  My stomach tensed. “You’ll lose everything.”

  “Not necessarily. I can make a good case to your mom when she inherits your estate. She’ll hand it over. I’ll tell her it’s what you would’ve wanted.”

  I bristled. “What do you want?”

  “You to stop fighting,” he barked. “Stop antagonizing the people we’re trying to make peace with. Marry a nice girl, and calm the fuck down.”

  “You and my mother would get along.”

  “I’m not kidding. I negotiated a deal with Legion. You’re off their backs, forever.” Vinn’s mouth twisted wryly. “In exchange, you’re marrying one of them.”

  I froze, all decisions in limbo.

  “What?”

  “You’re marrying a biker girl.”

  A vision of me at the altar with a girl in leather knocked the air from my lungs. I managed to laugh through stiff lips.

  “Anthony, it’s done.”

  This was an absurd prank.

  Gradually, the feeling returned to my limbs. I grinned at Alessio and Michael, who glowered at me. All of them wore identical grim expressions.

  They were serious.

  Holy shit, this was real.

  “Are you fucking insane?” I gaped at them, one by one. “What made you think I’d ever agree to this? I’d rather eat a bullet than marry into that garbage family!”

  “That can be arranged.” Vinn crossed his arms. “Don’t push me.”

  Heat scalded my face.

  There was a difference between fucking around and taking a wife. I had no interest in building a life with anyone, least of all a woman from that world.

  “I’m not getting married.”

  “You will not let me down.” Vinn stabbed my rib cage with a finger. “This is exactly what you need.”

  “Now you sound like my father.” My shout tore my throat. “Am I the only one with working brain cells? You know damned well I am not husband material. Tell them, Alessio.”

  My former college buddy fixed me with a potent stare. His dark eyes bored into me.

  “I agree with Vinn,” he said, lounging on the fireplace. “You’re ready. You just had to put down the drugs, and you’ve done that. You’ll be fine.”

  My amusement at them playing matchmaker died.

  Everybody thought they knew what I needed.

  They had no idea.

  “Are you speaking for your-fucking-self?” I burst, fed up with their bullshit. “I’m not marrying anyone.”

  “You’ll do it, or I’ll have you killed.” Vinn stood in one fluid motion, sighing. “We’re staying here for a while. Lawyers are coming by tomorrow to draft the prenup. Oh, and Anthony? I expect you to start a family. As in, right after you’re married.”

  This had to be a bizarre dream. I’d cracked on my sobriety and ingested a hit of LSD.

  I laughed so hard my voice broke.

  I felt delirious. “You’re a trip.”

  “I’m dead serious, Anthony.”

  “You’ve lost your marbles. You’re nuts if you think I’ll go for this white picket fence crap.”

  “What you want has never been good for you.”

  My body stiffened.

  Then shock yielded to rage.

  “You need a smack in the mouth. You don’t tell me what to do!” My fury boiled over as Vinn faced the mantel, picking up a framed photo of his toddler. “Wave the baby photos at me all you like. I don’t give a shit. I have zero interest in settling down.”

  He smiled, and it softened his appearance. “Once you’re a father, that’ll change.”

  Fucking moron.

  I shook my head, smoldering. “I won’t do this.”

  “You will.” Vinn shoved a peg board of headshots under my nose. “Pick one.”

  My sight landed on the third woman. She sat on concrete steps, legs crossed at the ankles like a princess. A leather headband pushed back her dark hair. She was like a firefly, lighting the gloom with her delicate beauty. I stared into her eyes, and something shifted in my chest.

  Something broke.

  No.

  Something threatened to ignite.

  One

  Evie

  I’m grateful that my fiancé has good hygiene.

  I’m grateful that my fiancé is tall.

  I’m grateful that my fiancé is handsome.

  The ink bled through the paper as I wracked my brain for a fourth virtue for my gratitude journal. Every day, I wrote five things for which I was grateful. The simple reason for this was that when the darkness inside me lightened so did the world outside.

  Not today.

  No amount of pretty thinking made this situation better because I was giving up on love. I’d said my goodbyes to the man I’d never meet or marry, the romance we wouldn’t share, the butterflies that’d never flutter, the passion that’d never ignite, and the children we’d never have.

  What I liked about my fiancé, Tony Costa, was vanishingly small and mostly superficial. There wasn’t a single-fucking-quality about his character that I admired.

  My soon-to-be husband did not inspire people.

  He put the fear of God into them.

  The hotel suite’s door opened, admitting an older guy with an easygoing vibe. I liked his smile. It was warm without being too friendly.

  “This came for you, Miss Craine. Tony sent it.” He appeared at my elbow, sliding a tall glass filled with a golden liquid into my hands. “Prosecco from Italy.”

  How thoughtful.

  I had no clue about wines. The club gravitated toward beer and whiskey, and anything more than twenty dollars was considered a wa
ste.

  My throat pounded as I swiped the drink. I tipped it into my mouth, the bubbles snapping my tongue. I drank, unimpressed by the warmth fluttering my chest. It lacked the punch of straight vodka, my go-to this week when reality got too close for comfort.

  “He’ll be along shortly to check on you.”

  “Great.”

  Christian stood behind me, brows furrowed. Perhaps the tone in my voice concerned him. “You have nothing to worry about, hon. Tony’s a standup guy.”

  “Really?” I murmured, playing with my new phone. “Is that why he’s forcing me to marry him?”

  “He’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Again, not very comforting.”

  Christian grabbed the empty flute. He studied the glass, a deep frown wrinkling his brow. His sympathy was wasted on me. I didn’t trust Christian.

  I didn’t trust any of them.

  A combination of emotional blackmail and threats had forced me to accept Tony’s proposal. Dad stole my life’s work and would’ve sold it for a pittance if I hadn’t said yes, which was how I ended up in front of a vanity wearing couture. A designer bag sat in my lap, the pillowed leather gliding over me like silk. The finest accessory I owned, apart from my jewelry. The pre-wedding gift held my phone programmed with one contact:

  T

  My thumb traced his number.

  I hadn’t worked up the nerve to call him. I’d treated the last week as a vacation, relishing the pampering I never could’ve afforded on my own. My future husband’s people had extensively prepped me. They’d waxed every inch of me. They’d thrust my hands into hot baths and trimmed my cuticles. They’d conditioned my hair, exfoliated my skin, and painted my nails.