10.

~NICO~

My office is soundproof, sealed tight against the chaos below.

Only the bass reaches me, a dull vibration under my feet—proof that everything is running exactly as it should.

I’m seated behind my desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to my forearms. Paperwork opened before me, and yet—

Her words from the car replay in my head, crawling in. “Please don’t insult me over something I’m already struggling with.”

I grip the edge of my desk and tell myself it’s nothing. She hadn’t begged, hadn’t apologized, hadn’t even waited for a response.

She’d said what she needed to say and walked out of my car like she hadn’t just tilted something dangerous in me.

A knock doesn’t come. The door opens anyway.

Enzo strolls in like he owns the place. A glass of whiskey already in hand. Shirt unbuttoned too far, with a knowing smirk on his face..

“So,” he says, dragging the word out as he drops into the chair opposite me. “Let me guess. Productive day?”

I don’t look up. “If you’re here to talk, leave.”

He laughs, unbothered. “You spent enough money today to buy a small island.”

I flip a page. “Get to your point.”

“My point,” he says, leaning back, boots crossing at the ankle, “is you spent more on her in one afternoon than you did on your last three suits,” he says lightly, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I ignore him.

“Mm,” he hums, “That’s a lot of money for a woman you’ll discard in twelve months.”

I look up, “And yet you’re still alive to comment on it.”

He chuckles, shrugging. “I just push buttons. That’s my job. You, on the other hand…” He lets the sentence hang, but I already know where it’s going. “…you’re falling for it, aren’t you?”

I am not falling for anything.

“You’re confusing business with charity,” I say flatly.

“Oh, I’m not,” Enzo replies easily. “I’ve just never seen you buy over a hundred pieces of clothing for an asset before.”

Asset.

I lean back in my chair. “The ring. The marriage. The girl. All assets.”

“Mm.” He sips his whiskey. “Funny thing about assets. They’re not supposed to make you feel anything.”

They’re not.

That’s the problem.

I glance away, not in anger. In irritation, at myself.

I drift back again, to her hands gripping the shopping bags.

Those amber and ice-blue eyes. “It’s natural for me to assume you’ll want your money back someday.”

I straighten abruptly.

I don’t have a ring.

I remember it’s her first wedding. Both our first. And women—yes, women—love dreamy weddings. That thought irritates me. It’s ridiculous. It’s human. And I don’t care that it’s human.

I glance at the empty space in my mind where her ring should be. Not yet. She’ll have it. Soon. She’ll have exactly what she should have.

I exhale slowly. “Send for Miguel.”

Enzo arches a brow. “Already?”

“I want the ring done properly.”

He smirks. “Of course you do.”

I ignore him. “Is Adriano back from Portugal?”

“No,” Enzo replies. “But trust me, he won’t miss your wedding. Nobody would.”

“Good.”

Enzo tilts his head, “You’re ridiculous you know that right?”

I ignored him again.

My phone vibrates on the desk, I glance at it to see the caller ID.

I answer without lifting it, putting it on speaker.

“Moretti.”

“I believe we’re past that, Vescari.” She says.

“Yes?” I snap, already rubbing my temple. “What do you want, Bianca,” I say, “I’m busy.”

“Always straight to the point.” She says, a teasing lilt.

“I’m busy,” I repeat.

“Is she prettier than me? Is that why you called off our engagement? Does she make you feel everything I didn’t?”

I let out a dry laugh, surprising myself. “Yes. She’s prettier. She makes me feel everything. And if that’s why you called—I’m busy. I’ll see you at my wedding.”

I ended the call.

“That sounded… satisfying.”

“Not in the slightest,” I mutter. But I can’t help the small twitch of a smile.

He lets out a low whistle. “Cold. Even for you.”

“She asked,” I replied.

He chuckles, moving to the window. “I have a bad feeling about this, Nico. And Tomaso—”

“Tomaso can go fuck himself.”

“I think,” Enzo says, tilting his head, “you might want to see this.”

I rise, joining him at the glass. “What?”

He points, as my gaze follows his finger, and stops.

Cake.

She’s on the dance floor.

Her hair is curled, loose around her shoulders. The dress she had on was in my favorite color—black, shimmery, and dangerous. It clings to her body like it was designed with intent. The back dips low, exposing skin she never shows me.

Every sway of her hips catches the light. The room watches her without shame.

She’s dancing with Eliana, laughing, drink in hand.

“She’s pretty,” Enzo murmurs. “Prettier than Bianca. You sure have good eyes frate {brother}”

I don’t respond.

I watch her smile.

Earlier today, she’d looked at me like she was bracing for impact.

Now she looks free.

A man approaches them, leans into her ear saying something, trying to get a hold of her ass. She pushes him away.

He tries again, she turns and punches him square in the nose. Blood spills instantly.

She doesn’t even pause—just goes back to dancing, drink raised, hips moving like she didn’t just break someone’s nose.

Enzo chuckles again. “This one’s a tough one.”

A corner of my mouth lifts. I can’t disagree.

I turn back toward my desk and press the intercom.

“Send Dominic in.”

Moments later, Dominic, the head of club security, steps inside, posture rigid, hands clasped. “Yes, sir.”

“There’s a man with a bleeding nose on the floor,” I say evenly. “He touched what belongs to me.”

Dominic nods. “Understood.”

“Teach him not to repeat the mistake.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turns to leave. “Dominic.”

He stops. “Sir?”

“Keep an eye on my wife.” The word settles easily on my tongue. “I don’t want to start removing hands tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door shuts.

Enzo turns, grinning. “My wife.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter, returning to my chair. “Stop staring at her and help me finish tomorrow’s meeting agenda.”

He raises his glass. “Yes, Your Highness.”

We both laugh.

But my eyes drift back to the window, staying there longer than they should before I focus on work.