Chapter 4: Nico (Present Day)

I waited in the foyer, shaking out my sleeves a final time as I adjusted the lapel of my tailored suit. The clicking of heels on the polished floor signaled Alessia’s arrival and I looked up as she made her way down the stairs. My gaze swept over her appraisingly, taking in her chosen ensemble—a black dress that hugged her curves, alluring without being too provocative. A few well-placed cutouts in the dress showed hints of her tattoos, adding an air of elegant seduction, mystery, and danger. Her beauty was mesmerizing, but beneath it was a venomous edge.

I approached her slowly, circling like a predator assessing its prey. Up close, I could see the intricate details of her makeup—smoky eyes, blood-red lips. She did indeed, wear the earrings I had picked, despite all her fight. She left her hair down in soft waves, flowing down her back like liquid night.

“Sei molto bella,” I complimented her truthfully. She looked very beautiful, and I would be without a doubt the envy of every man at the gala. If they only knew what a fucking headache she gave me.

Alessia truly perplexed me. Her boldness really knew no bounds. She constantly stood toe to toe with me, questioning my authority. Every interaction between us felt like a battle of wills. It infuriated me—and yet somewhere deep down, I respected it. Alessia was not afraid of me when so many others were. But still, that didn’t mean I could tolerate her insubordination. I had to get a handle on my little wife soon, and I just prayed that she would give me a break tonight.

“Thanks,” she replied cooly. Turning away, she headed toward the door.

I followed close behind her, admiring the way she seemed poured into that dress of hers, emphasizing the sway of her hips with each step. She moved with the grace and confidence of a fucking queen, head held high, shoulders back. As we reached the waiting car, I opened the door for her, offering her my hand to help her in. She ignored it, instead settling into the plush leather seats herself.

I clenched my jaw, sliding into the seat beside her. I observed how she crossed her legs demurely, her dress sliding up to reveal a new tantalizing inch of her thigh. She looked so calm and composed, like a statue, carved from ice. It was in stark contrast to the fiery passion I had witnessed earlier, which seemed to be her default. Seeing her like this, I wondered which version was the real Alessia, or if both were just masks she chose to wear when it suited her. My vote was for the latter.

The ride to the gala was quiet, neither of us daring to speak, afraid to break the temporary truce between us. The air between us crackled with energy, like the calm before the storm. I wouldn’t feed into it, not tonight.

The gala would be full of politicians, criminals, even some small celebrities. All very powerful people with hands in both worlds. Ruthless, ambitious, scheming for ways to grow their power and influence. It didn’t matter that this was a charity gala, created under the pretense of altruism for the benefit of a children’s hospital. It was another chance for people to make moves, to poke at the holes, to play the game.

Our car glided to a stop outside the grand hotel that was hosting the gala. Outside there was a small crowd of people arriving, along with a few paparazzi snapping what pictures they could. I stepped out first, offering my hand to Alessia to help her exit. This time she took it, smiling at me appreciatively. Good girl.

I smiled back at her, placing my hand in the small of her back as I guided her up the steps and into the hotel. Alessia pressed her body close to mine and I pulled her to me. Leaning over to her, I murmured into her ear.

“Come on, principessa. Have some fun with me.”

She kept her saccharine smile, but muttered, “I’d rather set myself on fire.”

Chucking, I shook my head. “Go ahead, amore. I’ll bring the gasoline.”

The faintest twitch in her lips told me I almost made her smile and I felt a small triumph in that. I was still figuring out what made her tick, and every time I thought I had learned something, she behaved entirely opposite. She was wild, unpredictable. Yet, I found myself wanting to know more of her.

Despite us being married for weeks, I truly knew nothing about my little wife. What research I had done on her didn’t yield much, outside of the fact that she was well acquainted with her father’s lifestyle. I knew her birthday was November 13, and that she was 28 years old. I knew her current and past addresses. She didn’t attend college from what I could see, and I couldn’t even find any record of her attending high school. Not even a damn receipt for a coffee shop. In fact, there was not much information about her whole family outside of what I knew from personally working with Cormac. I had a feeling that the lack of insight was intentional—they had someone in their network who erased their footprints.