CHAPTER 4

~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 Cake, 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.”