Todos os capítulos de A Wife For Nico Vescari: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

~NICO~Enzo drops a folder on my desk and takes the chair across from me. He’s dressed for work. “Livorno cleared at dawn,” he says. “Rail transfer moved faster than expected. Customs didn’t even pretend to look.”“Good,” I reply. “They’re learning.”He flips another page. “Six containers. Two labeled agricultural equipment. Four industrial coolant units, same breakdown. White bricks sealed in the false tanks. Hardware under the pallets.”“Route?”“Sea to rail. Then road. No air, no detours.”“Anyone touch it?”“No. Our guys only.”I nod. “Tell Cruz his dockmasters get paid after the second hand-off. Not before.”“Already done.”He closes the folder, then doesn’t move away. That’s how I know there’s more.“We caught the rat.”I look up. “Which one?”“The port clerk in Livorno. Mid-level. He thought he was smart. Fed half-truths to the Guardia and pocketed side money from a competitor.”I lean back slightly. “Where is he?”“Adriano has him held at one of the warehouses. Hands zip-tied

~NICO~I notice the dress before I notice anything else. I shouldn’t have let her wear that dress.The thought comes back to me for the fourth time before we even leave the driveway, and that’s the problem.It just sits there, irritating, persistent like a stone in my shoe I refuse to remove.The dress was just… intentional. Like she put it on knowing exactly what it would do and didn’t bother pretending otherwise.She approaches the car with a small gold purse in her hand, gold earrings catching the light. Red lipstick. No necklace. No rings. She doesn’t need them. Her eyes do enough work on their own.I look away first.I don’t remember the last time that happened.Ignacio opens the door. She slides in, sitting beside me in the back of the Bentley, with her legs crossed, and her back exposed like a provocation carved in silk.Enzo and Sienna are in the car behind us. Security ahead. Security behind. Everything exactly where it should be.Except my focus.I’ve stopped pretending I’m

~NICO~Tomaso likes to talk when he thinks he has the upper hand, and that has always been my issue with him.We’re seated comfortably in the private lounge off the main hall, a glass of amber liquor in his hand, his posture so relaxed, the way men get when they believe time is on their side. “Business has been… frustrating lately,” Tomaso says casually, swirling his drink. “My drugs are going missing. My money is missing.”I don’t react.I loosen my cuff instead, like this conversation isn’t worth rushing. “Is that so?”“Yes.” He sighs, shaking his head like a disappointed patriarch. Fighters. Greedy, all of them. I hire them, give them opportunities, and they still steal from me.”I hum thoughtfully, already knowing exactly what he’s talking about.I say, “That’s unfortunate, and the Tomaso I know would have made an example of one of them by now.”“It’s not just any theft. It’s a pattern,” Tomaso continues. “I don’t like disorders, and I know someone is behind it.”“I can imagine,”

~NICO~The glass in my hand has been untouched for too long.Enzo is leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, shouting at the ring like she can hear him from up here. Sienna is standing beside the railing, fingers gripping it, eyes bright, invested in every movement below.I’m seated behind them, they’re watching the fight.I’m watching her. Or at least, I should be.She moves fast—faster than the last time. She ducks a punch that would’ve split her brow and counters with a hit that lands solidly in her opponent’s ribs. The crowd roars. Money changes hands.Enzo curses happily. “Yes!”Sienna laughs. “That’s my girl! She’s killing it.”I nod, my eyes fixed on the ring, but my focus slips almost immediately.Because all I can think about is last night.The way she’d looked across the dining table, her cheeks were flushed, eyes too bright. The way she’d said my name like it tasted different on her tongue.Because I want you to be obsessed with me too… since my name is Cake.I t

~NICO~I planned to train before work.Clear my head. Hit something. Shower. Leave.Simple.That’s the only way mornings make sense.I change into my workout clothes—dark tee, shorts, trainers—and head for the house gym, already rolling my sleeves up, mind running through schedules, shipments, the two men Adriano wants me to meet before noon.Then I hear it.Thud.Thud.Thud.Leather taking punishment.I stop at the door.Another combination lands hard. I already know who it is. I don’t go in right away. I lean against the frame and watch.Cake’s got the heavy bag swinging like it owes her money. She’s working it like it insulted her mother.Not textbook pretty—effective as hell.Her hair’s tied up, half falling out already, dressed in black, of course.She’s in black high-waisted shorts that hug her hips and thighs, ending mid-thigh for a full range. A black sports bra peeks under the damp tank top, Old and new bruises blooming across her ribs like war paint.She pivots, throws a hoo