~CAKE~ 

It's four in the morning when I unlock the door to the apartment and find two men standing inside like soldiers. 

My senses dulled after the long walk through the quiet streets of Rome, immediately coming alert. 

My mother is seated at the kitchen table, looking frail in the weak light, her hands laced on her lap. 

"Hey, Mom." I keep my eyes on the men who are staring with just as much interest. Two cups of coffee sit in front of them, still steaming but untouched. 

"Hey, Bel. Some of your father's friends came for a visit." My mother smiles, waving a hand at me to come over. 

"Friends, huh." I approach the table, watching them warily, already thinking of ways to knock them unconscious. 

I've never seen these men, and they're making house calls at four in the fucking morning. Their rugged-looking faces don't seem like the type of company my Dad used to keep. 

"We just dropped by to see how everything is going," one of them speaks up in heavy Italian, his eyes moving from my mother to me.

"I told them we're okay," my mother says, continuing to smile. "They wanted to see you before they left." 

I shrug my shoulders. "Well, they've seen me." 

I don't hide my expression that says get lost.

They nod, with the man speaking again.

"Buona giornata." {Have a pleasant day}

I watch them leave, a strange feeling in my gut. Once the door closes and I lock it, I turn to my mother and arch a brow, demanding an explanation. 

She sighs, waving a dismissive hand. "Your father had a lot of friends. You can't know all of them... Where are you coming from?" 

I stifle a sigh at her change in topic but say nothing. Moving to the table, I drop my bag. She glances at it and frowns. 

"I told you not to go fighting." 

"If I listen to you, then we're going to starve." I keep my voice light, but it does nothing to stop her from taking offense. 

She takes a shuddering breath, and her eyes fill with tears.

For fuck's sake.

"I'm trying my best, Cake! I'm sorry if that's not enough for you. Though your father's death left us with nothing, have I ever let you starve?" 

"I'm sorry." I rub her back in comforting circles. "That was stupid of me to say." 

"I hate that you have to get hurt for money. This isn't the plan your father and I had for you. Why don't you get a real job? Stop this fighting." 

"Mom-" 

"Eliana came by last night. That firm, they called you both back for an interview tomorrow." 

"An interview doesn't mean I'll get the job." 

"But promise me you'll go and give it your best." 

There's no arguing with my mother when she gets like this, so I nod. Her face brightens immediately, the tears vanishing.

"Good." 

I point to the bag. "Take what you need." 

Despite the fact that she doesn't like the fighting, she takes the money to settle our bills. Whatever she leaves behind, I throw into my savings for a nicer apartment.

"You won this much?" She asks in disbelief after a few seconds. "It's over five thousand dollars in here." 

What?

I halt mid-step on my way to my room. 

My pay was two thousand, and that was what I took. 

"That can't be right." 

She spreads the bag and dumps everything on the table with all the crisp dollar bills falling out in fat bundles. 

My jaw drops. 

Among the clean notes and my mask, I quickly realize my other belongings are missing. My boxing gloves, extra clothes, my vibrator and more importantly, my journal. 

"What the..." 

That's when it hits me like a bolt of fucking lightning. A flash of shifty dark eyes, that cold, deep voice saying, trust me. 

We had collided in that dark hallway and I must've picked up his bag by mistake. 

Shit.

I stare at my mother, her thin hands already counting the wads, smiling like her birthday came early. 

"This is good. It's more than enough for the month after I pay the loan office. Maybe even more if we really pinch, so you don't have to fight again." She looks so relieved that I can't bring myself to tell her the money isn't mine. 

She would insist I return it and the glow I haven't seen in her eyes for a while would fade. 

I shake my head, wondering why the stranger stole so much.

Unfortunately, I can't do anything about it. I'm never going back there and with his masked face, I won't even find him. 

Probably for the best. After all, I got shot at because of him.

Once my Mother has finished dividing the money, which is ten grand in total, I shove the rest in the bag and toss it under my bed. 

Whoever the man is, I hope he threw away my journal. I hate the thought of a stranger reading it.

*** 

The stranger is in my room when I wake up. And for whatever reason, I'm not afraid. 

I sit up slowly, the haze of sleep lifting, my eyes growing alert as I find him on my bed like he belongs there. 

A black mask covers his face, so I see just his dark eyes.

"Your money is under the bed," I say but it gets no reaction from him. Only his eyes burn into me with an intensity that makes my skin come alive. 

The heat rushes downward and starts an unwelcome pulsing in between my thighs. 

A pulsing that attacks me in the mornings and always ends with me pulling out my vibrator. And has no fucking business coming when I'm staring at an intruder.

The proper thing is to tell him to take his money and get the fuck out but the words don't make it past my lips. My attention rapidly shifts as he starts moving. 

Slowly, he climbs into my bed, gloved hands reaching for my legs and my heart starts racing. 

Slap his hand away, Cake. Kick him in the fucking throat. 

My instincts scream but the pulsing has taken over, filling me with hungry heat. So I stay put, wanting to know how this plays out, and what he intends to do to me.

It's fucking crazy but it's been too long since a man touched me. 

And the best thing is, he can always leave and I'm okay with never knowing him or seeing him again. 

Maybe that's what has given me the confidence to allow a stranger to touch me in my own bed. To have my breath hitch as his gloved hands trail up the smooth skin of my thighs and dig into the waistband of my shorts. 

He pulls my shorts down and flings them away, the air hitting my pussy as he spreads my thighs wide.

I swallow dryly as he kneels between them, placing both legs on his broad, hard shoulders. 

I can barely hear the sound of my breathing as his head begins to lower. 

Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I'm playing with fire.

As if he could hear my thoughts, his eyes lift briefly and lock onto mine, dark and unyielding. 

"Trust me." 

That deep rumble sends a shiver racing up my spine and my hips betray me, arching slightly off the bed. 

He doesn't say another word; he doesn't need to. His urgent hands alone are commanding enough, and fuck me, I'm obeying. 

Where's the fighter, Cake?

His face dips lower, one finger moving aside his mask to expose his mouth. His hands dig into my hips, holding me in place and when the first touch off his tongue hits me it feels like electricity shooting through my body.

I gasp, my hands fisting the sheets, as he drags his tongue upward with just enough pressure to make my toes curl.

"Fuck," I say. "You're good." 

Then I remember my mother sleeping in the next room and slap a hand over my mouth. 

The wet smacks of his mouth on me, and my own desperate whimpers fill the room. 

Heat builds in my belly, coiling tighter every swirl of his tongue and soon I lose my damn head.

My body trembles, thighs clamping around his head as I grind against his face, chasing my release. "Don't stop," I beg. 

He doesn't. 

He licks me harder, faster, until the orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, ripping a cry from my throat.

As I ride out the aftershocks, gasping for air, he rises up, his eyes gleaming with something feral through the mask. His hands move to his pants and unbuckles it. 

As he positions himself between my legs, his gloved hands pins my wrists above my head. 

Then he drives into me in one brutal thrust. 

I arch off the bed with a sharp cry and hit the ground. My eyes blink open in the darkness, my heart hammering like I've just run a marathon. 

"Holy fuck." 

I'm drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs, my thighs slick with arousal. 

It was just a dream. Just a goddamn dream. 

I blow out a breath, a flush creeping up my neck as I sit up.

A sex dream of a complete stranger?

Rubbing my face as the dream fades, I try to shake off the sensations still tingling between my legs and move to stand.

My eyes fall to the space beneath my bed and it's empty. The bag of money is gone. 

~CAKE~

I'm sitting at the back of Eliana's SUV, staring out the window while she complains.

"Like who does that?" She fumes, her voice soft and incapable of rising above a certain octave. "How else am I supposed to get work experience without getting hired?" 

I hum in agreement, my mind occupied with where the money bag could've gone. 

It's making me start to think the dream really happened and the stranger left afterward with the money. 

But I know that's impossible. Nobody entered the apartment and nobody could've fucked me without my knowing either. 

My mother probably took the money. She must think it's much safer in her hands. I'll have to ask her when she gets home from work. 

"Are you even listening to me, Bel?" 

I blink, putting my thoughts away and turning my head. "Yeah. They're stupid." 

"Exactly," she huffs. A curled strand of her strawberry blonde hair falling over her face. 

We're both dressed in stupid suits and ridiculous heels. For an interview that's just as useless as the others. 

Eliana had made us practice questions that they didn't even ask. 

"One of them saw my car and asked me about it. I told them it was a gift from my Dad and they didn't believe me. Can you imagine?" 

I can't. I don't have a rich father who gives me anything I want. The only things I have to my name are my boxing gloves, mask, vibrator and journal, three of which are now gone. 

I barely scraped through high school, got fed up with college after a year and beat people for money.

The Interviewers hadn't even bothered to mask their contempt.

"We want someone smart with a master's degree in business." 

In other words, we don't want you, so fuck off... and I did. 

"God, we need to cool off." Eliana shrugs off her jacket, tossing it in the back next to mine. "I know just the place." 

She leans forward and taps Javier on the shoulder. He looks at her through the rear-view mirror. 

"Take us to the La Belle club, please," she smiles sweetly. 

"It's not even noon," he says, his voice sounding like gravel. 

"There's no specific time for drinking," I add with a sly smile I know he hates. 

Ever since I met Eliana during my brief stay in college, Javier has been by her side. A personal bodyguard/driver who takes his job too seriously and could be a real fun-killer sometimes. 

But he's not all bad, he taught me a thing or two about computers back in the day and has practically included me in Eliana's protection.

"It's too early," he grumbles, eyes fixed on the road. 

"We'll have one drink," Eliana pouts and his frown says he doesn't believe her. 

"No." 

A few minutes later, the car rolls to a stop in front of a posh-looking club. Javier is wearing a sour expression as we step out. 

"One drink," he says. 

We giggle as we lock arms, answering in unison. "Sí, Javier." 

He mutters something in rapid Spanish and assumes his position behind us, moving like a large wall of shadow. 

The club is all velvet ropes, golden lights, and the scent of expensive perfume. 

"Let's get this party started," Eliana says, sliding into a booth. Javier takes his post a few feet away, and I volunteer to go get the drinks. 

"Dirty martinis, please," I tell the bartender as I lean onto the bar. While I wait, I roll up my sleeves and pull down my hair from the tight bun, feeling the tension fade from my shoulders. 

The bartender slides the drinks across the counter and I go to grab it when a hand clamps down on my right arm like a vise. 

I look up with fury in my eyes, and the world stops.

A man is staring down at me in a charcoal suit that looks like it cost more than my apartment building. His dark hair is perfectly styled, his face sharp and incredibly handsome. But his eyes...

I know those fucking eyes. Flat and dark as the night sky. 

My heart jolts in my chest. 

It's him. The thief, and the man from my fucking sex dream. 

My skin suddenly flares with the memory and a faint heat hums in between my thighs. 

I see the exact moment he recognizes me, the quick flash of surprise before it turns into anger. 

"You, little thief!" He hisses, jerking my arm forward and turning my wrist to reveal my tiny tattoo in Greek letters. His grip is firm, his skin hot against mine, and I immediately yank my hand away from his grip. 

"I'm not a thief." 

"Then where is my money?" 

"I don't know. I don't have it." 

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Javier moving toward us like a storm cloud. He smoothly steps in front of me, his posture shifting into protection mode. 

"Do we have a problem?" 

The man doesn't even blink. He arches a brow, looking past Javier, staring straight at me.   

"Move," he commands. 

"No." 

"I have nothing with you. I'm here for the girl with the mismatched eyes." 

Javier folds his arms. "She's with me." 

A much younger guy appears beside the thief, dressed just as handsomely and eyes us. "Any problem, boss?" 

Boss? 

"That's the little thief that stole my money." 

"I didn't steal your money." I step around Javier, my voice tight with anger, my fists clenching. I'm five-foot-seven in these heels, but this guy towers over me, like I'm five-foot-nothing. 

But I know where to fucking hit. 

I feel Javier's questioning gaze on me but my eyes don't stray from his face.

"Our bags got switched by mistake and when I woke up this morning, it was gone." 

He scoffs. "You're telling me ten thousand dollars just vanished into thin air?" 

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm fucking saying." 

"I'm sure you're not deaf, mister. Now fuck off." 

"It's okay, Javier." I touch his rigid arm. 

The other guy beside the man steps up with a wolfish smile.

"If I were you, I'd be careful how I talk to the Don of the Vescari mafia." 

My blood instantly runs cold. 

The Vescari mafia? 

This thief leads a mafia? 

It seems Javier is having a similar reaction because he backs down slightly. That's when Eliana walks up, but he puts out a hand to stop her from coming any closer.

"I'll ask one last time." The man's gaze pierces into me. "Where's my money?" 

I tilt my chin up, not about to be intimidated or scared off. Fighters never fold. "And I said I don't fucking have it." 

"Then you'll pay it back, or I'll kill everyone you love." 

His words come out calm, almost casual. 

I laugh humorlessly. "Don't fucking threaten me, bitch." 

"I'm Nico Vescari. I don't do threats. Neither do I tolerate lying thieves." 

"If we're being honest, you're the fucking thief. And what happened is a mistake. So don't fucking pull that shit. I don't have ten fucking grand." 

"Then you leave me no choice." His eyes darken and I see the promise in them, and through my anger, I realize I can't convince him of the truth. 

From what I've heard of the mafia, they're all cold-blooded killers. The thought of my mother with a bullet in her head chills me. 

"Fine then. I'll pay you back," I spit, my pride flaring. "Every cent. Just give me time."

He steps closer, brushing past Javier, who's watching silently. Those flat dark eyes fall on me like they did in my dream, and he smirks like the devil. 

"You have a week. If you don't provide my money, then you'll accept my proposal." 

"A week? Are you joking?" 

"I don't joke, either." A strange, dark flash of fascination crosses his face. He reaches up and lightly traces the line of my jaw, my skin instantly heats up. "You have two choices. My money or...you marry me for one year. After which, your debts to me are wiped clean."

His words ring in my head like bells. I stare at him in disbelief, wondering when and where he lost his fucking mind.

"You...want me to marry you?" A laugh bubbles up my throat. "You're fucking insane."

"For one year, yes," Nico repeats, his thumb pressing into my chin, forcing me to look at him. "And then you walk away with enough money to never have to step into a ring again." 

"Go to hell," I say, ripping my face out of his grasp. "I'll get your fucking money."

Nico smirks, his words mocking. "You're a fighter, Belva. I respect that. But even the best fighters know when they're cornered."

Javier decides to step between us then, his hand firmly on my shoulder. "We're leaving. Now."

Nico doesn't stop us. He just stands there, watching me with that fucking smirk on his face. 

As Javier leads Eliana and me toward the exit, I look back over my shoulder.

He's still watching. He raises a hand, and gives me a two-finger salute like the one I gave him last night. 

I respond with a middle finger. 

"What the fuck was all of that?" Eliana demands as we climb into the SUV. 

My heart is still racing, my skin prickling with fire where he touched me. 

"I don't know." 

But the last thing playing out in my mind as the car speeds off is the way he tongue-fucked in my dream. 

I suppress a shiver. A horrible sinking feeling in my gut of the enemy I just made. 

That's trying to fucking marry me.

~NICO~ 

"She called you a bitch." 

Enzo's amused voice is the last thing I want to hear right now. 

The sound of it echoes in the silent VIP corridor and grates on my last nerve.

I ignore the idiot, my hand sliding into my pocket. But the smooth tingle of her wrist in my palm refuses to fade.

"She's got spirit, Nico. I'll give her that," Enzo continues, catching up to me with that effortless stride of his. "Most girls hear the Vescari mafia and run the other way. This one? She looked like she wanted to bite your fucking head off." 

I adjust my cuffs, my expression a frozen mask of indifference. "She's a thief, Enzo. Nothing more."

But I'm lying. To him, and partially to myself.

In my mind's eye, the C.C initials scrawled under every entry in her journal finally have a face and a name. 

Belva according to her fights... I'm starting to think that might not be her real name.  

But it's a fitting name for a woman who knocks out her opponent with one punch and doesn't bat an eyelash at being threatened. 

However it doesn't fit with the way she writes. How deep and beautiful her thoughts of the world are. 

I stayed up the whole night reading her journal, tracing her slanted handwriting and getting invested in her sharp wit and sarcastic humor. 

I know her fears. I know how she feels about her father's death and her mother's constant struggle. I know the way she hates the world for trying to break her. I know how much she craves violence. 

And I know in fucking detail how she loves to pleasure herself with her vibrator. 

The filthy things she thinks about when she's fucking herself and how no man has ever touched her.

At some point, I wanted to meet her, but her initials were as common and her face was unknown. 

All I remembered from our meeting was her mesmerizing mismatched eyes. The soft amber and icy blue that haunted my dreams this morning. 

Seeing it today nearly sent my heart into shock as if she had materialized from my imagination. 

More beautiful than what I initially expected.

A literal fucking goddess. 

"Do you want me to take care of her?" Enzo says, his tone suddenly serious.  

I stop abruptly, turning to face my cousin. The air between us chills instantly. "No."

Enzo arches a dark brow, his lips twitching. "No? You're going to let a street cat hiss at the Don and walk away?"

"She isn't walking away," I say, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "She's going to be my wife. So find out everything there is to know about her." 

Enzo's eyes widen, then a slow, confused grin spreads across his face. "You were serious? I thought that was just a tactic to scare her." 

"I'm always serious, Enzo."

We reach the back exit of the club, where my armored sedan sits idling in the afternoon sun. 

"What about Bianca?" Enzo asks, his voice taking on a sharp edge as we step out into the private lot. "And your wedding? You can't just swap a socialite for a street fighter because she has pretty eyes."

As it turns out, I can do whatever the fuck I want.

"I broke off the engagement last night."

Enzo freezes, his hand on the car door. "You did what?"

I glance out at the city skyline as he opens the door for me. "You heard me."

"Nico, have you lost your fucking mind?" he hisses. "Bianca is still Milanese royalty. Her bloodline has value. Some will see it as disregard for tradition."

"Let them," I say, sliding into the back of the tinted car. 

Enzo climbs in after me, slamming the door. He stares at me for a long beat, searching for a crack in my resolve. 

He doesn't find one. 

"Is this about Tomaso?" Enzo asks quietly. "You know she has nothing to do with what her uncle did." 

"I know." 

"Brutta idea, amico." {Bad idea, man}

I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. "My father is dead, Enzo. I've inherited his empire, filled with vultures waiting for me to fail. I'm fresh out of 'good' ideas. All I have left are the effective ones."

"And marrying Belva, a girl who stole from you and punches people for a living, is effective?"

"She's an outsider, fratè{brother}. She has no motive, she gains nothing from our alliance. She's the right type of chaos I need to shake things up," I reply, opening my eyes to look at him. "Bianca is lovely but she still has ties to Tomaso. I'd rather not share my bed with someone who calls my father's killer uncle." 

Enzo sucks his teeth, looking away. "It's a dangerous game you're playing, Nico." 

I clap a hand on his shoulder. "Stop worrying like a granny. Let's focus on the meeting." I lean back. "It's going to be fun." 

The meeting is always held in the top floor private bar of the Grand Hotel de la Minerve. One of my father's many hotels. 

As we enter, the cloying smell of cigars and cheap loyalty hits me. 

The men are seated around the table waiting. Nine pillars of Rome's underworld. Men who served my father and are now looking at me with the hungry eyes of wolves. 

They are drinking heavily, draped in the arms of young women who giggle and preen for attention, dressed in skimpy things that leave nothing to the imagination. 

I feel a flash of disgust. My father tolerated this bullshit; I find it distracting. 

A girl in a dress that covers nothing but her nipples tries to glide toward me. I don't even look at her. I simply step aside, my gaze fixed on one man in particular. 

"Hello, beautiful." Enzo steps into my place, catching the girl around the waist and leading her away.

Tomaso Greco sits with a glass of vintage scotch in one hand and a cigar in the other. 

He looks exactly like the man tailored to fit into the role of Don. 

Silver-haired, impeccably dressed and disturbingly calm. A man once my father's right hand and best friend. 

When he sees me, he stands, spreading his arms wide and walks over.

"Nico," he says, his voice a warm, honeyed baritone. He pulls me into a brief, suffocating hug just like the way he did at the funeral right before I found out he was responsible for killing my father. 

"My boy. How are you holding up?"

I pat his back twice and pull away. 

"Better."

"Sit, sit," he urges, gesturing to the chair opposite his with Rafaelle on the other side. 

We exchange brief nods as I sit, and the meeting begins. 

For the first twenty minutes, it's a chorus of hollow condolences. 

The men speak of my father's legacy, their voices thick with a respect they don't feel and I catch Enzo's distasteful expression a few times. 

When they're done with all the fuckery, the atmosphere quickly shifts. 

"We worry, Nico," says Thomas, a weapons dealer who was always a thorn in my father's side. 

He's loud, sweaty and thinks he's untouchable. 

"You are young. Calculated, yes, but reckless. This business requires an old, seasoned hand. Someone with... experience, we can trust." He looks around the room. "We all know the perfect candidate is Tomaso." 

Nobody objects. 

I glance at Tomaso to find him already looking at me with an unreadable expression. 

I remember the shock on his face after I agreed to make him the Don, only to change my mind at the last minute. 

He'd tried to hide his humiliation but I saw through it. A small wave of satisfaction in my chest at the way he stood there in his best suit, looking like a fucking fool. 

I sit back, my hands folded on the table, and simply watch them. My silence lasts just long enough to make them twitch.

"I respect your concern," I say, my voice vibrating with a cold, absolute command. "And I respect Tomaso's history with this family. But let me be clear. I am my father's only heir, so this legacy is mine. I have assumed power and nobody else will. If any of you feel otherwise, the door is right there. I suggest you use it before I find a more permanent exit for you."

I see several men shift in their seats. Thomas goes red in the face, his jaw clenching.

I lean forward, my eyes locking onto each of theirs in turn. "I expect the same allegiance you gave my father. I won't tolerate anything less."

I pause, letting the weight and meaning of my words settle in the silence. 

"Operations will not slow down," I continue, "the shipments, the money, the expansion into the digital markets. Everything will go as my father planned it. And since we are discussing the future, I have an announcement. As of yesterday, I have broken off my engagement with Bianca Moretti."

The shock travels down the table with horrified expressions. 

Even Tomaso twitches in his seat. 

Thomas explodes.

"You did what?" he roars, slamming his fist onto the table. "That marriage was sanctioned by the circle! You cannot simply discard the Moretti girl."

"I'm marrying another woman," I say calmly.

"Who?" Thomas demands, standing up and pointing a finger at me. "Some whore you probably found in a gutter can't compare to Bianca! Your father would be ashamed!"

I sigh. Finally, a demonstration. 

Slowly, I stand up. 

I feel the room hold its breath as I walk around the table toward Thomas, who is still fuming and shouting. 

"Who do you think you are? You've been Don for a handful of weeks and you're making such fucking mistakes. It just shows how unprepared you are. A boy playing at being a king!" 

When I reach him, my face is still blank, my mouth pressed together in a fine line. 

Before Thomas can continue, I pull my Beretta from its holster on my belt in one fluid motion and press the barrel against his forehead.

The girls squeal. The other men freeze.

"Nico-" Tomaso begins, his voice warning.

Bang.

The sound echoes in the room but the result is absolute. Thomas slumps back into his chair, a neat hole between his eyes, dead before his head hits the mahogany.

I holster the gun and straighten my tie, wiping the flecks of blood off my sleeve. My sharp eyes look around the room, meeting the terrified eyes of the men. 

"I won't tolerate disrespect either," I say, my voice cold as ice. "Do well to inform his family of his death."

I lean my hands on the edge. "Does anyone else wish to question my decisions regarding my marriage? Or my leadership?"

Dead silence. Even Tomaso remains still, his eyes hooded and unreadable.

"Good," I say, a ghost of a smile touching my lips-the first one since I saw Bel in my club. "I'll see you all at my wedding."