All Chapters of A Wife For Nico Vescari: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

~CAKE~Eliana is humming off-key while my hands soak in warm water, and I’m staring at my reflection like it might give me answers if I glare hard enough.“Stop looking at yourself like that,” she says. “You’re going to scare the nail tech.”“I’m not glaring,” I mutter. “I’m thinking.”“That’s worse.”I glance at her. She’s perched on the salon chair beside me, legs crossed with her phone in hand, hair wrapped in foil like she’s auditioning to be a baked potato. Her outfit is like always, soft and expensive-looking. She had on cream trousers, fitted brown top, and gold hoops. She was effortless, as always. I look down at myself instead. I was in Nico’s clothes. He had sent a text message informing me of my hair and nail appointment and ordered me to wear something from yesterday.So here I am, in a short skirt that sits just high enough to make me aware of every movement. A plain white top tucked in, cinched with a slim brown belt. White sandals. White hairband pulling my curls back

~CAKE~By the time we arrived, the place felt… unreal.The suite Nico arranged sat tucked into the estate like it had grown there naturally, as if it belonged to the land and not to money. Wide glass panels. Pale stone floors. Soft lights that didn’t demand attention but still somehow made everything glow.My mother stopped just inside the doorway, pretending she’s fine.I know she isn’t, because she keeps adjusting things that don’t need adjusting. The sleeve of her blouse. The strap of her handbag. The same curl near her ear she’s already fixed three times.Rosa Coogan does not fidget unless something matters too much.“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to,” I tell her gently as we stand inside the suite. She gives me a look. “And miss my daughter’s wedding preparations? I will never forgive myself.”“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, Cake.” She smiles as she steps in, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes slowly moving from the high ceilings to the furniture to the view beyond t

~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 nea

~NICO~Adriano doesn’t hesitate.The first man is already crying by the time the gun goes off. He collapses forward, knees folding uselessly beneath him, blood blooming across marble that cost more than his entire bloodline.The second doesn’t get the chance.Adriano shoots him mid-breath, like he’s swatting a fly that annoyed him once too often. No theatrics. No satisfaction. Just work being done.Bodies hit the ground, and that was my favorite sound in the whole world.Good.I don’t look away. I don’t need to. Death has never unsettled me. What unsettles me is incompetence. Disobedience, and the audacity of thinking mercy is weakness.Enzo drags the last man forward.He’s barely recognizable now, his face is swollen. One eye sealed shut. Blood drying in ugly streaks down his jaw and neck. Enzo holds him upright by the collar, like he’s a coat that needs hanging.Marco Bellini.He was an ally—former ally. He once sat at my table and thought that bought him proximity.Blood spills fro

~CAKE~Nico’s office sits above the club like a throne no one asked for.From here, you can see the dance floor clearly, bodies moving, lights flashing, the music vibrating through the walls.I step closer without meaning to.I remember dancing here with Elianna the night she got away from Javier. She was elated, free even. Then there was the guy not taking no for an answer, and me breaking his nose when he finally crossed the line because I wasn’t having any of it.So… he owns the club.Which means he saw that.The thought sits weird in my chest for half a second, then I shove it away. Nico Vescari doesn’t strike me as the type to watch women dance for fun. Especially me.He stands behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that look built for violence.I notice the tattoo lines running along his forearm.I’ve never seen them before.He’s always in black button-downs. Even when he rolls up his sleeves.How did I never notice?“Pay attention,” he says, pu