Page 72 of Nikola

I had everything arranged too, but when the priest saw Skye passed out cold and reeking of alcohol, he drew the line.

“I’m sure there is one somewhere,” he reasoned.

“Want to send me the number of the one that married you?” I retorted in a dry tone.

“He stopped returning my phone calls.”

“How convenient.”

“Are you sure you can’t change your uncle’s mind?” Matteo asked. “From what I heard, Dante Leone is a hard nut to crack, but your uncle always wanted Skye closer to him and Branka.”He chuckled. “Doesn’t get closer than slapping the Nikolaev name on the girl.”

I scoffed. “You would think, but apparently I’m worse for Skye than any other man on this planet.”

“Well, do what you must, and then ask for forgiveness later.”

“That worked out for you because Morrelli isn’t as crazy as my uncle,” I pointed out. “I might not live through the ordeal.”

Matteo chuckled. “Just convince her to marry you. She wants you, doesn’t she?”

“And how would you know what Skye wants?”

He scoffed. “Jesus, Nikola. The girl had eyes for you for as long as I can remember. It’s more than I had with Ari.”

“Well, I can’t force the marriage today since no priest will do it with her drunk as fuck. But I do have another idea,” I said.

“Care to share with the class?”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Not with what I had planned.

I sat watching over Skye’s passed-out form as the tattoo artist worked on inking my name on her wedding finger and hers on mine.

Things might not be going according to plan, but I was determined to make do. The tattoo artist was the one I’d used myself many times. The best part: neither she nor her partner had any qualms about my instructions, so they got straight to work. The woman worked on Skye while her husband worked on my own tattoo.

Once they finished with the ink, the artists left and I eyed her finger with smug satisfaction.

My plan had been to marry her today, but I decided to be flexible. And I had my sister to thank for it, of all people. She gave me the idea to make a sex tape. Once Amadeo Marchetti saw it, he would refuse to marry Skye. No self-respecting mobster would marry her after such an overt—not to mention public—show of betrayal.

And then she’d be mine.

I locked the room back up to ensure no one bothered her, then checked the surveillance feed. She had her phone, so I knew she’d call me, but I’d also get a motion alert the moment she woke up.

In the meantime, I made my way to the torture room where theothertattoo artist waited for me. The fucker who inked my woman’s ass.

“Mr. Boucher, tell me what possessed you to tattoo my woman,” I drawled in greeting as I shut the door behind me. “Did you or did you not touch her ass?”

His eyes widened and he stuttered, “Wh-what? No… N-no, I d-didn’t.”

“Furthermore, you gave my sister a tramp stamp,” I added, tsking. “Big mistake. Didn’t you ask to see their IDs?”

“They were old enough.”

“Ah, so you admit to tattooing them.” He whimpered, shooting to his feet, but before he could break away, I grabbed his shoulders and forced him back on his ass. “Don’t you fucking think about it, or I’ll be tempted to make this worse for you.”

He froze, shoulders heaving with the force of his sharp breaths. I grinned savagely, leaning against the wall just as Adrik returned.

“Ahh, right on time,” I drew out. “Meet my cousin. I can’t get blood on me today, so he’ll do the honors.”