~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."

~CAKE~

The man taps his foot, avoiding my eyes. 

The annoying sound matches the frantic beating of my heart. 

He's staring at a computer screen that probably has my life story written in red. 

"I'm sorry, Miss Coogan, but I can't help you."

I lean forward, my hands flat on his desk. 

I wore the stupid blazer for this meeting, the least he can do is fucking try. 

"Look, Mr. Henderson, I'm not asking for a handout. It's a loan I'll pay back." 

"Con cosa?" {With what?}

"Excuse me?" 

"I'm looking at your credit score now and it's a tragedy, Miss Coogan. Your mother's is even worse. You two are up to your necks in debts from loan agencies. You have nothing to your name." 

He sighs, finally looking at me with a pity that makes me want to launch myself over the desk and punch the glasses right off his face. 

"Frankly, no bank in the whole of Rome will give you a penny. I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do for you." 

I push to my feet, anger rolling off me in waves. I grab my bag, the strap digging into my shoulder, as I walk out of the glass-walled office without a word.

The heat of the afternoon slaps me in the face along with my failure. 

This is the fifth office today. The fifth "no" thrown in my face while the clock in my head ticks closer and closer to the deadline Nico Vescari set. 

I'm drowning, and for the first time in my life, my fists can't help me. 

At the time, my mother thought it was the right thing to do, borrowing those huge sums in our names to pay off Dad's hospital bills. She didn't even tell me until recently, when the loan offices started calling for their money. 

Now we're fucked. 

I rub my neck and turn down the street. 

By the time I get back home, my legs are heavy, and my head is spinning.

"Mom?"

"In here." 

I find her in her bedroom, under three layers of blankets, even though it's hot. Her face is frighteningly gray and her breathing is shallow.

"What's wrong?" 

"I'm running a fever," she whispers, her ice-blue eyes like one of mine squinting tiredly. 

I sit on the edge of the bed and press a hand to her forehead. She's burning up. 

"Why didn't you call me? Did you get medicine?"

"The pharmacy said I had to clear my old debt first, but I didn't have enough." 

My stomach twists. 

"I'll go get it, okay?" 

She nods weakly, and I dash out of the apartment, taking half of my savings with me.

After returning and giving her the drugs, I end up at Eliana's apartment an hour later. 

It's a penthouse that smells like vanilla, a completely different universe from the peeling wallpaper of my apartment.

Javier lets me in with a silent nod, his dark eyes lingering on the tight set of my shoulders. 

"Cake! Thank God," Eliana says, rushing over. She's wearing silk pajamas and a face mask. "I've been so worried about you. Have you gotten the money?" 

"El, I need... I need to ask you something." My voice cracks. I fucking hate this. I hate being a beggar.

She pulls me onto the sofa, holding my hands. "What? Did that jerk threaten you again?" 

"No...I was wondering..." The words hang in my throat and a part of me shrivels as I force them out. "If you can help me, or maybe your father. I'll pay you back, I promise." 

"Oh, Cake." Her shoulder falls. "I'm sorry. I can't. My father has cut me off completely. He hates the idea of me working and wants me back home," she whispers. " So he's trying to force my hand. Now, I'm broke as fuck. We've been living off of Javier since this month." 

The air leaves my lungs. "Oh," is all I can manage. 

From the corner of the room, Javier speaks, "Have you gotten half at least? 

I shake my head dejectedly.

Javier's jaw tightens. He looks away, and for the first time, I see a flicker of true frustration on his stoic face. 

"I have a quarter of that," Javier says softly. "I can give y-"  

"It's okay," I say, standing up. Shame and frustration burning holes in my chest. 

"I can't take your life savings, Javier. You both need it more." 

Eliana looks at me, her face pale. "What will you do then? Cake... Nico Vescari is a dangerous man. You can't marry him." 

"I don't fucking plan to," I snap, though my words lacks its usual bite. "I'll find another way. I'll take every fight I can find. I'll-I'll figure it out."

But as I walk toward the door, I can't shake the sinking feeling that my life is falling apart. 

I feel the strange sensation of being watched as I step out of the pharmacy the next day. Having used more of my meager savings to buy extra meds, I'm not in the mood for fucking creeps. 

I duck into an alleyway, hiding behind the shadows, my body fired up for a fight. 

As soon as I hear footsteps round the corner, I spring on the man. Sending my fist aimed at his throat but he's faster than I expect, jumping back before my blow can land. 

"Easy, tiger." 

He's a big guy, in a hoodie a little too tight on the shoulders and a condescending voice. 

"What do you want?" I hiss, throwing a kick at his legs. 

He dodges with a laugh. "I'm not here to play little girl. I'm keeping an eye on my Boss's interests. And I've been given express instructions to shoot your mother once the week is up." 

That stops me in my tracks. My blood turned to ice.

"Tell your boss I'll get his fucking money." 

"He also told me to remind his proposal is better than watching your mother die." 

He glances at me with clear disgust, turns and walks away, leaving me shaking in the damp shadows of the alley.

I stay there for a long time, staring at my hands. They're bruised from last night's fight that hadn't even earned 

me more than peanuts. 

I take a deep breath, blinking away the burning in my eyes. 

***

A week later.

The meeting place is a large office complex in the central part of the city. 

I follow the same man through tall oak doors, my face a mask of cold fury. My fists are clenched so tight my nails are drawing blood from my palms. 

The double doors open to a lavish office. 

Nico is sitting behind a massive desk, framed by the late afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. 

He looks fucking gorgeous as he ruins my life. That's the worst part. 

With his crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattooed forearms, and the way his dark eyes track my movement like a hunter tracks prey. 

It creates a spark of unwanted electricity that makes me want to scream or bury my fists in his face. 

"What a pleasant surprise," he says, his voice a low, smooth purr.

"Save it," I bite out, stopping in front of his desk. 

He leans back, interlacing his fingers, his face a mask of calm. There's no surprise in seeing me. 

His gaze trails down to my empty hands and back up at my face and he gives me the most infuriating shit-eating grin I've ever seen. 

"I assume your search for alternative funding didn't go as planned?"

"You know it didn't," I spit. "I assume your fucking dog here has been keeping you updated." I point to the guy who has been my constant shadow these past few days. Waiting for when he can storm our apartment and kill my mother. 

I can't let her die because I'm too fucking proud to accept his deal. So here I fucking am. 

"Congratulations, you fucking won." 

Nico stands slowly, his movements elegant and controlled, like the stretching of a panther. 

He walks around the desk, stopping just a foot away from me. 

"I didn't win," he says softly, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second. "I provided an opportunity where I could've simply killed you for stealing. Be grateful." 

He reaches onto the desk and picks up a thick stack of papers. He opens it to the final page and sets it down.

"Sign here," he says, pointing to a dotted line right beside his signature. 

The motherfucker has already signed. Like he fucking knew. 

I stare at the paper, trembling with mixed feelings, knowing this is a grave mistake. 

I look up at him, my eyes burning with hatred so pure I almost punch him. 

"What do you hope to get out of this?"

"Nothing you should concern yourself with." 

"You're going to regret this," I grit out. "I'm going to make every single day of this year a living hell for you."

Nico smirks. It's a dark, wicked thing that makes my stomach flip. "I bet."

I square my shoulders, grab the pen from the desk and sign my initials with an angry flourish. 

C. C. 

A hole opens in my chest and helpless fury seeps out. I throw the fucking pen and go to step back when Nico reaches out, and grips my neck pulling me toward him. 

My breath hitches as I'm slammed against his hard chest. Our lips are so close I can feel the heat of his breath.

"Stop threatening me," he rumbles, his dark eyes boring into mine.

I laugh, a dry, bitter sound that scrapes my throat. "Or what?" 

I lift my chin, my rage tipping over into something cold and lethal. 

"I'm going to tear your world apart from the inside out, and when I'm done, you'll wish you'd killed me instead."

He doesn't pull away. If anything, his grip tightens, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, feral challenge. "I look forward to seeing you try."

I knock his hand away, breaking his hold and turn, walking out with my heart beating like a drum of war.

Don't think about it, Cake. 

Don't think about it. 

But I can't stop it. 

I've just agreed to marry a mafia Don. Fuck my life.