Nico

by Sarah Castille

  He pulled her into his arms, his hand coursing over her body, in and out of her delectable curves. “You are a hard woman to resist. You are courageous, selfless, beautiful, and bold. I want to own every inch of you. I want my hands in your hair, my lips on your breasts, and my cock buried inside you. I want to take you in every way a woman can be taken. I want you to come with my name on your lips.” He slid one hand under her T-shirt, cupped and squeezed her breast.

  “Well, that’s better than ‘We get on fine.’”

  He turned his attention to her other breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple until it peaked beneath her bra. Christ. He ached for her. If not for the fact her father was on the hunt, and his men were waiting outside with Kat, he would take her right now.

  Her nails dug into his scalp, and the pleasure pain almost sent him over the edge. “Okay. Sex can be part of the deal. It helps that I find you somewhat attractive.”

  “Somewhat?” He gently bit her nipple, and she gasped.

  “Your ego is already so big I have to step around it. I’m not about to feed it anymore.”

  “There is no bigger ego boost than having a beautiful woman agree to a fake marriage proposal so she doesn’t have to marry a psychopath,” he said, amused. “Are we done with the conditions?” He eased his thigh between her parted legs. He wanted her so badly he could barely breathe, his body thrumming with a need to claim her so everyone knew she was under his protection.

  “Did you kill the Wolf?”

  Whoa. He hadn’t seen that one coming in from left field, and it served to take his arousal down a notch. “Business matters are not shared with wives,” he chided gently. “You agreed to follow the rules.”

  “I’m not your wife yet.”

  “But you will be, and the rules now apply. Ask me any question, bella. Make any demand. But not that.”

  She gritted her teeth, pressed her lips together, and he almost regretted what they were about to do. Mia would have to struggle hard to fit into the mold of a Mafia wife, and he didn’t want to see her wings clipped in any way.

  “I’ll need a bottle of vodka before the ceremony and one glass.”

  Nico kissed her softly; relieved she had backed down on her question about the Wolf. “Just what I always wanted. A drunk bride.”

  She laughed, the tension finally leaving her face. “When do you want to do it?”

  “It’s Vegas. The question isn’t when can we get married, but how many Elvises do you want at your wedding?”

  *

  Only one Elvis attended the wedding.

  One Elvis. Two witnesses (Kat and Big Joe). Two best men (Luca and Frankie). Three bodyguards, including Louis, who she now knew was a member of Frankie’s crew and went by the nickname Mikey Muscles. And a bridesmaid who wouldn’t stop talking.

  “I still can’t believe this.” Jules shook her head as the officiant, an associate of the Toscani crime family, directed Nico where to stand in the tacky Vegas chapel. “One minute I’m chilling with some Netflix and boom, two hours later I’m standing in a chapel with Elvis and bunch of mobsters. Nico sure doesn’t waste any time.” She leaned over and whispered in Mia’s ear. “You don’t have to do this. I can get you out of town. I have friends who will take you in. You never wanted to marry into the mob. Don’t get caught up in it now.”

  Fraught with nerves, Mia didn’t even try to respond. Jules hadn’t stopped talking since they arrived at the small wedding chapel that was owned by a “friend” of Nico’s. It was everything she had never imagined her wedding would be. Giant vases filled with plastic plants, fake Grecian columns, an explosion of silk flowers and a raised, red sparkly stage. Pictures of Vegas adorned the cream-colored walls, along with tacky Vegas mementos and a portrait of Elvis in a cheap wooden frame. Behind the stage, a giant pink heart, trimmed with flashing red lights gave the room a perpetual strip-bar glow. With every breath, she inhaled the scents of incense, sweat, and cheap perfume. It was as fake as the marriage was going to be.

  Mia smoothed down the hideous polyester dress trimmed in sequins and plastic beads, but there was little she could do to subdue the giant skirt, much less the padded shoulders and huge leg of mutton sleeves. Nico had suggested going for the most traditional dress so no one would have any doubts about the authenticity of the wedding. All fine and good for the man who got to wear a sleek, black tux. Not so good when his idea of traditional meant the victim of an 80s throwback meringue explosion. If Pussy Riot could see her now …

  “Oh. My. God.” Jules filled the awkward silence, when the officiant indicated he was ready to begin. “I’m going to cry.”

  Kat dabbed her cheeks with a tissue, and Big Joe put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Nico had ordered Big Joe to take Kat to his apartment and guard her after the wedding, but Big Joe had gone one step further and taken Kat under his wing. He had looked after her while Mia and Nico got the marriage license and rental clothes, and posed for the pictures that Mia hoped would never see the light of day. Mia was confidant Kat would be safe with him. He had shown his protective side when he faced off with Rev at the community center, but the whole cop thing was still a worried niggle in her mind. Most mobsters lied to their families about what they did, but Big Joe was such a straight-up guy, so black and white, that it wasn’t hard to imagine he really was a cop.

  Still, an unfounded accusation could have serious repercussions. Maybe after the wedding was over and the dust had settled, she would take him aside and get some answers. She liked Big Joe, and if he was an undercover cop, that would give him enough of a warning to get out before she went to Nico with her suspicions. He knew, probably better than her, how Nico dealt with traitors, and if he chose to stay after that, there was nothing else Mia could do.

  Even after a couple of shared shots of vodka with Jules, Mia’s pulse pounded when the officiant, a justice of the peace dressed in an Elvis costume, complete with wig and a rhinestone guitar slung across his body, flashed a gold incisor and opened his book.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join Nico Giuseppe Salvatore Toscani and Mia Alessandra Cordano in Holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted by God, signifying unto us the union that is between—“

  “Cristo.” Nico cursed under his breath.

  “That’s correct.” Elvis raised a warning eyebrow, and continued. “Christ and His Church; and therefore not entered into unadvisedly, but reverently, discreetly, soberly and in the fear of God—”

  “Is there a faster ceremony?” Nico said, abruptly. “Something where we can get married without the fear of God?”

  A disgruntled Elvis cleared his throat. “We do have the ten minute quickie elopement ceremony with no religious references, although you did pay for the full religious version.”

  “Fast is good.” He looked to Mia for confirmation, and she nodded. Since it wasn’t meant to be forever, it was probably best not to have a religious ceremony. Nico might not fear God, but she’d been raised Catholic and she didn’t want to take any chances.

  Elvis flipped through his book and smoothed out a page. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we have gathered together to celebrate the marriage of Nico Toscani and Mia Cordano. Marriage is a sacred promise between two people who love, trust and honor each other, and who wish to spend the rest of their lives together. Two souls share—”

  Nico coughed, cutting off the officiant’s words. With a slight frown, the officiant put down his book, picked up his guitar and strummed through a few bars of “It’s Now or Never.” Nico gave a soft grunt of displeasure, and Mia’s anxiety faded away beneath the amusement of watching Nico struggle with his self-control. If he couldn’t even make it through a simple civil ceremony, how would he ever make it through a proper Catholic ceremony that included an hour-long mass? She felt a pang of sadness when she thought about the real marriage that lay in his future with the woman who would one day be his wife.

  “Marriage is more than a contract,” the of
ficiant continued after putting down his guitar. “It is a commitment to take that joy deep, deeper than happiness, deep into the discovery of who you most truly are, deep into the essence of your being, deep into the soul—”

  Another cough from Nico. “We get the deepness. Move on. This is supposed to be the shortened version.”

  With a raised, fake, bushy eyebrow of disapproval, the officiant read. “It is not to be entered into lightly, but thoughtfully, responsibly, and reverently. Marriage is forever. And it joins families as well as hearts.”

  Mia’s stomach knotted at the serious words, reminding her that this marriage was a sham. It not meant to be forever, or even a joining of hearts. Nico had made that perfectly clear back in the hotel.

  “Do you have the ring?”

  Nico pulled a small red velvet bag from his pocket and took out an enormous diamond ring.

  Elvis whistled low, losing the thin veneer of civility to show his Mafia roots. “Now that’s some rock. You sure you want the shortened version? For an extra five hundred, I can give you a private show of the King’s best works.” He picked up his guitar again and strummed “Wear My Ring Around Your Neck.”

  Mia stared at the gaudy stone set up high on a thin gold band. “It’s … sparkly. And huge. Very huge. Are you sure no one is going to chop off my arm to get it? I mean … it’s not an ordinary diamond.”

  Guilt flickered across Nico’s face. “No, it isn’t. And if anyone tries to touch you, his life won’t be worth living.”

  “No threats during the ceremony, please.” Elvis segued into “Big Boss Man,” as if he issued that kind of warning every day. But then he was a mob associate, so maybe he did.

  Nico scowled. “Get on with it.”

  “The marriage ring seals the vows of marriage and represents a promise for eternal and everlasting love.” He handed Nico a card. “Read this and put the ring on her finger.”

  Nico glanced at the card and then met Mia’s gaze. “I will love, comfort, honor and protect you; forsaking all others to be faithful to you until death do us part.”

  Emotion welled up in Mia’s throat as he pushed the massive ring on her finger. Although she had never given much thought to marriage, hearing the beautiful words, knowing they weren’t real, made her ache inside with longing.

  Elvis sang a few bars of “Are You Lonesome Tonight,” and Mia choked back a sob.

  “You okay?” he asked, pausing mid bar.

  “Yep. Fine. That was just so beautiful.” She stiffened her spine, reminded herself of why she was doing this and how much better it was that she was marrying Nico and not crazy Tony Crackers.

  After Mia repeated the pledge, and they exchanged a few generic vows, Elvis beamed. “Until today, you were two separate individuals. Now you will be one. By the power enthroned in me, by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  Mia leaned in, expecting a chaste peck on the cheek, a pretend kiss for a pretend marriage. But there was nothing pretend about Nico’s kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, sealed his mouth over hers and kissed her hard and deep. Mia melted against him as his tongue swept through her mouth, leaving no inch untouched. A claiming. In every sense of the word.

  “Get a fucking room,” Luca yelled.

  Nico broke off the kiss with a scowl. “A little respect. You’re talking to the new Mrs. Nico Toscani.”

  Mrs. Toscani? She hadn’t agreed to change her name. Mia forced a smile. Her new life had just begun.

  EIGHTEEN

  “Go big or go home. That seems to be your motto.” Mia walked around Nico’s penthouse at the Casino Italia. He had brought her here after a few celebratory drinks, expecting they would be in bed together already. But she’d been wandering around for the last five minutes with no indication that she intended to sit down, much less get busy consummating the marriage with him.

  He to admit, the penthouse was impressive. Soaring floor-to-ceiling windows gave him a 280-degree view of the city, while inside, thick Berber carpets and rich mahogany floors spread across three thousand square feet of space. He had already shown her the entertainment room, multiple seating areas, powder room, large master bedroom, dining room, and three massive bathrooms. Nico had given the designer a brief for understated elegance in neutral colors and let her run with it.

  “I was kinda hoping to see your place,” Mia said. “I don’t know much about you. People usually know something about the man they marry before they tie the knot, other than that he’s a mobster and runs a casino.”

  Nico shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it carefully in the closet. They had returned the rented wedding clothes on the way home, and he swore he’d never wear an ill-fitting tux again. “This is it.” He’d never thought about his living environment before. It was a place to sleep and occasionally entertain.

  “Seriously, you live in the hotel?”

  “My office is downstairs. I’m available to handle any emergencies. It’s efficient.” He walked over to the polished granite wet bar in the corner and raised a quizzical eyebrow. She was unusually cagey, aloof, despite the vodka shots she drank with Jules before and after the ceremony. He understood her sense of disquiet, could almost hear the thoughts in her head because they were the same thoughts he was having.

  What the hell had they done?

  After this night, when they went public with their union, the fallout might be worse than either of them had anticipated. But no matter how bad it got, it couldn’t be undone.

  Yes, they had an attraction, an incredible chemistry that had sparked the night they first met. But for all that they had spent some time together, they were still strangers. Two people who had been walking different paths, now on the same road together. Nico had never expected to love his wife. Marriage was a contractual union, a business arrangement, a means of showing power and producing heirs. Love and intimacy were for mistresses. And yet, when he was with Mia, he imagined having both.

  Mia shook her head. “I’ve had enough, thanks.” She trailed her fingers over the wooden credenza. “Where is you in this suite? Magazines, pizza boxes, pictures, sports gear—the kind of stuff that tells a wife what kind of man she’s just married, what he does on his time off, how he relaxes…”

  “I’m here just to sleep,” Nico said. “My days are taken up with work. There is no time for hobbies or relaxing.”

  “Liar,” she teased, giving him a flash of the Mia he knew. “That motorcycle we rode on to get here is definitely for chilling out.”

  “Not when you’re screaming at me to go faster. I didn’t realize I had married a speed demon.”

  She grinned and Nico’s tension eased the tiniest bit. Nothing in Nico’s life had ever truly belonged to him. Even the casino had been built with Mafia money. But now Mia was his wife. His to have, his to hold, and his to protect. Although she insisted it was just a marriage of convenience, the words he spoke, the piece of paper he signed that evidenced their union, meant something to Nico—something he hadn’t been prepared for when he agreed to the plan.

  He watched her open doors and cabinets, peer behind curtains, and inspect the computer station and the electronics systems. She was stalling, trying to put some distance between them. So he gave her some space. He turned on one of the televisions, sat on the cold, beige leather couch, and stared at the football game on the screen as she walked around some more.

  “What does this do?” She pushed a button and the window slid to the side, giving her access to a vast outdoor patio with a rooftop swimming pool, small garden, and hundreds of twinkling lights that Nico had never once walked through.

  “Terrace.” He came up behind her, looked out at the starry night.

  “If I lived in this place, I would be out here every night,” she said, stepping outside, her voice without the strain he’d heard since she said”I do.” “It’s so beautiful, peaceful.”

  “You do live here.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “This is your home
now.”

  “I can’t live in a hotel.” She stiffened in his arms. “It’s too … I mean … It’s nice. Really nice. But it’s kind of … bland. No character. And it’s too clean and tidy. I’m not a tidy person. You saw my place. This isn’t me.”

  “You can go to your place to visit whenever you wish. But you are my wife now, Mia. You live with me.”

  She shuddered and pulled away. “I forgot about that part for a minute there.”

  Nico felt a tightening in his gut and followed her back into the suite. He headed over to the bar, poured a shot of Johnnie Walker, and threw it back. Why the hell did he care whether she liked the place or not? It wasn’t like they were going to spend a lot of time here. They were both busy people with businesses to run.

  He joined Mia on the couch and looked out over the city spread out below them. His father thought of Vegas as a punishment, but Nico had always loved the city. It was all about glitz and glamour, hope and dreams, energy and opportunity, none of which were reflected in his presidential suite.

  “If you were decorating, what would you do different?” Mia pulled a cushion on her lap and hugged it tight. “How would you make it yours?”

  “Never thought about it.”

  “Oh.”

  He looked over, saw her face fall, realized his own walls had come up and she was trying to get them down. Fuck. He hadn’t expected it to be as bad as this. It was like there was a bridge between them that they were both afraid to cross.

  “Come here.” He held out his hand, and she scooted sideways along the couch until she was only one cushion away. Nico leaned over, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. Almost instantly, he felt something click, and she softened against him with a sigh.

  “Try.”

  Nico twisted his lips, tried to remember a place he’d stayed or a picture he’d seen or something that had resonated with him when he was fitting out the hotel. “Il Tavolino.”

  She laughed, leaned against his shoulder. He felt an overwhelming need to carry her to the bedroom, strip off their clothes, and lie with her skin to skin, find the connection that had brought them together in the first place. But he knew better than to push. Sex was the white elephant in the room between them, the consummation of the marriage. If she needed to go slow, he would rein himself in. Control. He exercised it every minute of every day. It was just much harder with Mia, who made him want to let go and indulge the streak of wild that coursed through his veins.