Page 36 of Nikola

Enrico Marchetti wasn’t an idiot, and the fact we didn’t use that reasoning during our meeting would be a dead giveaway.

“Well, I could marry her,” Nikola deadpanned, his expression serious.

I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not.”

“No,” Sasha said, stabbing his cigar into the ashtray. “You ever say that again and I’ll blind you, nephew. Besides, you two are cousins.”

Not really, but I wasn’t going to point that out now. At this very moment, it worked to my benefit to emphasize their familial ties.

“And I’ll slice you up and throw you off my yacht,” I supplied, my gaze settling on Nikola. He wouldn’t be my choice if he was the last man on this earth. “She’ll never marry you.”

“Why not?” the little fucker dared to challenge. “Better me than that Amadeo Marchetti. He thinks himself to be a Casanova type, if you know what I mean.”

“My Skye won’t marry either one of you,” I gritted, reveling in the satisfaction of being able to deny him.

“Okay,” Nikola agreed, seemingly too calm and collected, and something about it bothered me. He was too much like his father at this very moment. “Then let’s plan on how to eliminate Enrico Marchetti.”

Ah, I spoke too fucking soon.

My phone buzzed, and the moment I read the message, I knew our plan was already doomed.

Enrico: Sending a courier with a contract. I’m expecting both of your signatures, or a declaration of war. Try to kill me, and your wives will hear of it.

That was a cheap fucking shot. Nix was best friends with Enrico’s wife, and he knew that she’d kill me right along with the Nikolaevs if she got wind of our scheming.

“Fucking Italian asshole,” Sasha hissed, and I lifted my eyes to meet his murderous expression as he scanned his phone screen.

“Watch it, I’m Italian,” I growled. “Although, I agree. He’s being an asshole.”

“Who? What? Why didn’t I get a text?” Nikola questioned, his eyes darting between us.

“Marchetti expects us to sign the marriage contract he’s sending over, and he’s using his wife’s friendship with Phoenix to ensure compliance,” Sasha explained. “Fucking tattletale.”

I pushed my hand through my hair, then typed a reply.

Me: Send it over and we’ll sign it.

My best bet was to keep delaying the wedding date until another solution presented itself.

12

NIKOLA

Itried—I really did—to do right by Skye. She deserved life outside the mob, but if Sasha and Dante planned to marry her off to a mobster, it would be me and nobody else.

The biggest problem: Dante and Sasha.

Skye once claimed that nobody wore a suit better than her papa, and that she preferred men to wear three-piece suits. It was either that or shirtless men.

She failed to mention her papa was also a hard-core Nikolaev hater.

I could see it in his eyes.

Of course I knew about the beef between him and Sasha that started when Phoenix Leone committed to be a surrogate for my uncle and aunt. This distaste I read in Dante’s eyes would be hard to overcome.

Staring at Dante Leone, my mind whirled as I pondered the ways I could get what I wanted out of my uncle and future father-in-law. Yes, father-in-law. Sometime over the past weeks, I’d decided to lay my cards out and be honest about what I wanted.

And that was Skye—captivating, unpredictable, and utterly impossible to ignore. Or maybe it wasn’t just her; maybe it was the idea of anyone else having her, the thought of someone else uncovering the layers I was still trying to navigate. Either way, it didn’t matter. I’d tried to resist her, tried to convince myself that wanting her was reckless, foolish, dangerous. But in the end, my resolve crumbled spectacularly, leaving me caught between desire and the fear of losing something I never truly had.