Page 62 of Brutal Power

Elena

Ichoose a dark green conservative dress that complements Brody’s eyes. He wears his usual dark, expensive suit, and looks incredible all dressed up like that. We ride together in a Bianco town car and head into the hotel where the party’s happening. Right away I wish we were anywhere else.

Cops have their own society. It’s a job built on decades of stress, alcohol abuse, and tradition, which means the people on the inside are protective of their norms and their way of life. Some cops are decent people, but all cops are awful, mostly because the system they get thrown intodemandstheir awfulness.

My family exploits all the little holes in their world. We find their weaknesses and we dig our claws into them. That’s how the Bianco Famiglia has gotten any police influence at all, by blackmail and bribes.

Brody Quinn is different. He’salmosta part of this world himself. He greets a dozen different people the moment we walk in through the door, greeting them by name, mentioning details about their lives, complimenting their wives as if they grew uptogether. And as he begins to explain, that’s exactly what they did.

The Irish on the south side have another world. Like gears inside of gears. The neighborhood is a society too, its own little web of friendships, marriages, and societies. Which means when an Irish kid from down the block becomes a cop and winds his way through the ranks, he’s got friends on the other side of the line, friends that do shady shit for a living. Friends like Brody and Brody’s siblings.

There’s clearly still money changing hands. Captain Kennedy’s an example of that. But Brody is honestly well-liked by some of the people here, and he doesn’t stand out at all.

Except I do.

“Can’t believe you’d bring a fucking Bianco, Brody,” a little pale Irishman says. He’s a detective with a shit-eating grin named Dermot Byrne.

“She’s my wife,” Brody says, putting an arm over my shoulder, and I notice the tick in his jaw again. He’s smiling and pretending like it’s all jokes, but he doesn’t like this.

“Brody, bro, she’s aBianco.” Dermot laughs and waves a hand at me. “No offense, but come on, it’s like inviting…” He trails off, looking for a metaphor.

“A wolf into a sheep enclosure?” I supply, batting my eyelashes sweetly.

“More like Darth Vader to a Jedi convention.” Dermot beams at me. “Fucking hell. I always thought I’d meet a Bianco in a courtroom.”

“Take it easy,” Brody says and steers me away from that conversation. “Sorry about him. Cops think they’re funny, especially when they’re not joking around.”

“It’s okay. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

It keeps happening. There’s another cop, an Italian guy who introduces himself as Luca Moretti. He practically stares at me with unrestrained disgust and refuses to shake my hand. “Shocked they’d let a Bianco in here,” he says, and I have to put a hand on Brody’s arm to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.

“Fuck that guy,” Brody snarls when he saunters off.

All night long, we keep getting into a conversation with Brody’s police buddies and they inevitably make some comment about my family, which makes Brody step up and defend me, and soon it feels like we’re burning bridges left and right. Which is the opposite of what we want. Except Brody just gives me a look and squeezes my hand when I tell him to stop.

“You’re my wife. The second I stop defending you is the second I don’t deserve you anymore.”

That’s a great argument and it makes me feel good, but he tests the limits when we run into Chief Christopher Morgan himself, an older Irishman who apparently knew Brody’s father very well back in the day. The chief is also friendly with my brother, or maybe it’s more like he’s friendly with my brother’s checkbook. The chief keeps giving me hard looks as Brody tries to make small talk.

“Let me ask y our wife a question,” he says, leaning in and pitching his voice lower. “Your brother ever decide to follow myadvice and keep his head down? Or are all these murders that keep popping up because of this stupid little conflict?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Chief Morgan,” I tell him as sweetly as I can.

“I figured you wouldn’t, but listen up, Bianco. I know what’s going down. Everyone in this fucking room knows what you and your family have been up to. And if you keep on going?—”

“Chief, I think that’s enough,” Brody says, stepping up beside me and putting himself in the chief’s line of vision. “My wife’s here to support the union and nothing else. She wrote a very generous check already. Are you going to make her feel uncomfortable all because you have some silly vendetta against her brother?”

Chief Morgan’s jaw works, but he shakes his head. “You’re right. I’ll keep things civil. But I’m watching this little shitshow, and I don’t like it.” He turns on his heel and marches off.

Brody steers me toward a quiet part of the room and sits me down at an empty table. “This is fucked,” he says, pulling his chair right next to mine and draping an arm across my shoulder.

I put on a smile and try to pretend like everything’s fine. “It’s okay. I kind of deserve it, right?”

“Fuck that. I don’t care who your family is, nobody treats my wife like this.” Brody’s staring at the assembled cops and their wives with unrestrained loathing. “Some of these people are supposed to be my friends.”

“I’m the enemy,” I say and put a hand on his strong thigh. “Can you really blame them?”

“Yes, I absolutely fucking can.”

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