15.

~CAKE~

I’m married.

That’s the first thought that keeps looping in my head as I sit at the reception, champagne flute sweating in my hand like it’s nervous too.

Married.

Not engaged. Not pretending. Not “this is temporary, breathe.”

Married-married.

There’s a ring on my finger that could probably buy a small country, and every time I move my hand, it catches the light like it’s trying to remind me that this is real. That I signed something. That I kissed someone in front of enemies, allies, and God Himself.

I smile because people are watching.

They keep watching.

Some of them looked curious, some were impressed. Some… calculating. Like I’m a chess piece that just landed on the board and they’re figuring out how dangerous I am, or how to end me.

Spoiler: I don’t even know yet.

Elianna hasn’t left my side. Not once. She’s leaned close enough that her arm brushes mine. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was doing it on purpose.

I glance across the reception space. Nico is nowhere near me.

He’s surrounded by men, his expression locked into that seriousness that screams business. Not wedding congratulations business, like actual mafia real shit business.

I tell myself I don’t care, I absolutely do not.

“So,” Elianna murmurs beside me, lifting her glass. “That kiss.”

I choke slightly on my champagne. “We are not starting with that.”

She tilts her head, eyes glittering. “We are absolutely starting with that.”

I lower my voice. “Why did he do that?”

“To prove something,” she says immediately.

“To who?”

She glances subtly around the room. “Everyone.”

I groan. “Fantastic. Love being a visual aid.”

“But,” she continues, her eyes sliding back to me, “you kissed him back.”

“I did not—”

“You did.”

“I—”

“You shared saliva, Cake.”

I grimace. “God, when you say it like that—”

“You melted,” she adds sweetly.

I glare at my drink. “How was I not supposed to melt? The kiss was good, his tongue was good, and my damn body betrayed me.”

“Too much information, Cake Coogan,” Elianna says, laughing.

“Cake Vescari, you mean.”

My brain immediately jumps back to the kiss, traitorously.

I didn’t pull away. I leaned in. I liked it.

Ugh.

I take another sip like champagne might drown the thought.

That’s when I see who I never thought I’d see at my wedding.

My head snaps up. “Elianna,” I murmured slowly. “Isn’t that your dad? He’s at my wedding, does he know Nico?”

She freezes.

Just for half a second, long enough for me to see it.

She blinks, then smiles, smoothly. “I’m not sure if he knows your husband, but I invited him.”

“You did?”

She shrugs lightly. “I figured you’d feel better having more of your people here. You’re marrying into a room full of strangers.”

She leans in and hugs me, firm and warm. “You’re not alone.”

“…thank you,” I say quietly.

Something about the way she said it feels… layered. But I don’t push. Today isn’t the day to start peeling Elianna apart.

I try not to think about my walk down the aisle, but I fail immediately.

Because for a split second—no, longer than that—I remember the way Nico looked at me when I walked toward him.

Not his usual assessing stare, or the cold, calculating one. This was different.

His eyes had gone still, like he was stunned. Like I’d knocked the breath out of him without touching him.

One would think he was looking at the love of his life.

Maybe it was the dress.

Maybe it was the setting.

Maybe it was the fact that I was walking toward him and not away.

But the way he looked at me—God—it made my heart flutter in the most inconvenient way. Made my steps falter just a little. Made me almost forget that this wasn’t real. That this was a deal. A contract.

For one dangerous moment, I believed his eyes. I believed that I mattered.

Which makes him even worse, honestly.

Not only is Nico Vescari a lying, wicked mafia boss, he’s also a deceiver.

Because looking at me like that? That should be illegal.

“Come.” I look up, to see Nico towering over us. That’s it, that’s all he says to me for the first time since the reception started.

Come where?

To hell?

To a firing squad?

To a family interrogation?

To finally murder me?

I want to ask. I really do. But I’d rather not upset him on my wedding day.

Instead, I set my glass down and stand. Of course I do.

We take three steps before I stop short. “Mum.”

Rosa is standing there, clutching her handbag like it might float away. Her smile is tight, nervous.

“I’m leaving early,” she says.

“There’s an after party at my estate,” Nico says. “Stay, feel free to join us.”

She shakes her head immediately. “No.”

“Mum—”

“I’m fine,” she insists, then looks at Nico, really taking his six foot features in.

“She’s all I have, Mr. Vescari.”

My throat bobs.

“Please don’t hurt my babygirl.”

Nico inclines his head, respectful, but there’s still that what-the-fuck-do-you-mean look behind his eyes.

“She’ll be protected.”

Mum hugs me again, whispering how beautiful I look, how proud she is, how this doesn’t change who I am. When she pulls back, her hands tremble.

She looks… jittery. It bothers me more than I want to admit.

As she walks away, Nico’s hand presses lightly to my lower back.

“Smile,” he murmurs. “You’re about to meet people I work with.”

I force one.

“And I’ll have two of my men watch over your mother,” he adds calmly. “Tonight.”

I exhale, relief hits me so fast it’s almost dizzying.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

I’m introduced to a man whose name I immediately forget because he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly—which somehow makes him terrifying. Grey threaded through dark hair, polite smile, eyes too curious for comfort.

He looked like he could ruin my life without even speaking.

“So,” he says, folding his hands. “What is it that you do, Mrs. Vescari?”

I open my mouth. I actually try. “I—”

“And what would you say is your contribution to society?” he cuts in smoothly, like the two questions are the same thing.

Ah.

There it is.

Judgement, not curiosity.

Before I can decide how much of myself I want to give him, I feel Nico shift beside me. Not toward me. Just… aware.

I loop my arm through his, “Well,” I say sweetly, tilting my head, “being married to my husband is my contribution to society, Mr…?” I trail off, letting the blank space do the work.

His lips twitch. He chuckles, amused, like I’ve performed something charming.

“Such a feisty firefly,” he says, then turns his attention to Nico instead of me. Like I’ve already been dismissed.

He looks me over anyway.

“She’s smaller than I imagined,” he continues casually. “I thought you’d settle with someone more… substantial. Your height. Your build. Someone like Bianca.” His eyes flick to me briefly. “But I suppose you truly were serious when you called it off. For this.”

I feel it before I see it.

Nico’s arm tightens, followed by a twitch.

Uh oh.

“You have five minutes,” Nico says calmly, adjusting the man’s lapel like he’s doing him a favor, “to take your family and get off my property.”

The man blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m being generous because it’s my wedding day,” Nico continues, “Normally, you’d have thirty seconds.”

Nico leans in slightly, enough to threaten him.

“This will be the first and last time you speak about my wife that way. You will give her the same respect you give me. Anything less, and you’re dead.”

The man bristles, face flushing.

Nico smiles.

“And she’s right,” he adds, almost pleasantly. “Marrying me is her fucking contribution to society.” His eyes harden. “If you’re curious about productivity, go ask your daughter what her own contribution is, apart from sleeping with half of your business associates in Rome.”

The man looks ready to explode.

Nico doesn’t care.

“You have three minutes left.”

He turns, already pulling me with him, grip firm at my wrist like this conversation never existed.

I don’t look back.