A Wife For Nico Vescari

~CAKE~ 

It's four in the morning when I unlock the door to the apartment and find two men standing inside like soldiers. 

My senses dulled after the long walk through the quiet streets of Rome, immediately coming alert. 

My mother is seated at the kitchen table, looking frail in the weak light, her hands laced on her lap. 

"Hey, Mom." I keep my eyes on the men who are staring with just as much interest. Two cups of coffee sit in front of them, still steaming but untouched. 

"Hey, Bel. Some of your father's friends came for a visit." My mother smiles, waving a hand at me to come over. 

"Friends, huh." I approach the table, watching them warily, already thinking of ways to knock them unconscious. 

I've never seen these men, and they're making house calls at four in the fucking morning. Their rugged-looking faces don't seem like the type of company my Dad used to keep. 

"We just dropped by to see how everything is going," one of them speaks up in heavy Italian, his eyes moving from my mother to me.

"I told them we're okay," my mother says, continuing to smile. "They wanted to see you before they left." 

I shrug my shoulders. "Well, they've seen me." 

I don't hide my expression that says get lost.

They nod, with the man speaking again.

"Buona giornata." {Have a pleasant day}

I watch them leave, a strange feeling in my gut. Once the door closes and I lock it, I turn to my mother and arch a brow, demanding an explanation. 

She sighs, waving a dismissive hand. "Your father had a lot of friends. You can't know all of them... Where are you coming from?" 

I stifle a sigh at her change in topic but say nothing. Moving to the table, I drop my bag. She glances at it and frowns. 

"I told you not to go fighting." 

"If I listen to you, then we're going to starve." I keep my voice light, but it does nothing to stop her from taking offense. 

She takes a shuddering breath, and her eyes fill with tears.

For fuck's sake.

"I'm trying my best, Cake! I'm sorry if that's not enough for you. Though your father's death left us with nothing, have I ever let you starve?" 

"I'm sorry." I rub her back in comforting circles. "That was stupid of me to say." 

"I hate that you have to get hurt for money. This isn't the plan your father and I had for you. Why don't you get a real job? Stop this fighting." 

"Mom-" 

"Eliana came by last night. That firm, they called you both back for an interview tomorrow." 

"An interview doesn't mean I'll get the job." 

"But promise me you'll go and give it your best." 

There's no arguing with my mother when she gets like this, so I nod. Her face brightens immediately, the tears vanishing.

"Good." 

I point to the bag. "Take what you need." 

Despite the fact that she doesn't like the fighting, she takes the money to settle our bills. Whatever she leaves behind, I throw into my savings for a nicer apartment.

"You won this much?" She asks in disbelief after a few seconds. "It's over five thousand dollars in here." 

What?

I halt mid-step on my way to my room. 

My pay was two thousand, and that was what I took. 

"That can't be right." 

She spreads the bag and dumps everything on the table with all the crisp dollar bills falling out in fat bundles. 

My jaw drops. 

Among the clean notes and my mask, I quickly realize my other belongings are missing. My boxing gloves, extra clothes, my vibrator and more importantly, my journal. 

"What the..." 

That's when it hits me like a bolt of fucking lightning. A flash of shifty dark eyes, that cold, deep voice saying, trust me. 

We had collided in that dark hallway and I must've picked up his bag by mistake. 

Shit.

I stare at my mother, her thin hands already counting the wads, smiling like her birthday came early. 

"This is good. It's more than enough for the month after I pay the loan office. Maybe even more if we really pinch, so you don't have to fight again." She looks so relieved that I can't bring myself to tell her the money isn't mine. 

She would insist I return it and the glow I haven't seen in her eyes for a while would fade. 

I shake my head, wondering why the stranger stole so much.

Unfortunately, I can't do anything about it. I'm never going back there and with his masked face, I won't even find him. 

Probably for the best. After all, I got shot at because of him.

Once my Mother has finished dividing the money, which is ten grand in total, I shove the rest in the bag and toss it under my bed. 

Whoever the man is, I hope he threw away my journal. I hate the thought of a stranger reading it.

*** 

The stranger is in my room when I wake up. And for whatever reason, I'm not afraid. 

I sit up slowly, the haze of sleep lifting, my eyes growing alert as I find him on my bed like he belongs there. 

A black mask covers his face, so I see just his dark eyes.

"Your money is under the bed," I say but it gets no reaction from him. Only his eyes burn into me with an intensity that makes my skin come alive. 

The heat rushes downward and starts an unwelcome pulsing in between my thighs. 

A pulsing that attacks me in the mornings and always ends with me pulling out my vibrator. And has no fucking business coming when I'm staring at an intruder.

The proper thing is to tell him to take his money and get the fuck out but the words don't make it past my lips. My attention rapidly shifts as he starts moving. 

Slowly, he climbs into my bed, gloved hands reaching for my legs and my heart starts racing. 

Slap his hand away, Cake. Kick him in the fucking throat. 

My instincts scream but the pulsing has taken over, filling me with hungry heat. So I stay put, wanting to know how this plays out, and what he intends to do to me.

It's fucking crazy but it's been too long since a man touched me. 

And the best thing is, he can always leave and I'm okay with never knowing him or seeing him again. 

Maybe that's what has given me the confidence to allow a stranger to touch me in my own bed. To have my breath hitch as his gloved hands trail up the smooth skin of my thighs and dig into the waistband of my shorts. 

He pulls my shorts down and flings them away, the air hitting my pussy as he spreads my thighs wide.

I swallow dryly as he kneels between them, placing both legs on his broad, hard shoulders. 

I can barely hear the sound of my breathing as his head begins to lower. 

Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I'm playing with fire.

As if he could hear my thoughts, his eyes lift briefly and lock onto mine, dark and unyielding. 

"Trust me." 

That deep rumble sends a shiver racing up my spine and my hips betray me, arching slightly off the bed. 

He doesn't say another word; he doesn't need to. His urgent hands alone are commanding enough, and fuck me, I'm obeying. 

Where's the fighter, Cake?

His face dips lower, one finger moving aside his mask to expose his mouth. His hands dig into my hips, holding me in place and when the first touch off his tongue hits me it feels like electricity shooting through my body.

I gasp, my hands fisting the sheets, as he drags his tongue upward with just enough pressure to make my toes curl.

"Fuck," I say. "You're good." 

Then I remember my mother sleeping in the next room and slap a hand over my mouth. 

The wet smacks of his mouth on me, and my own desperate whimpers fill the room. 

Heat builds in my belly, coiling tighter every swirl of his tongue and soon I lose my damn head.

My body trembles, thighs clamping around his head as I grind against his face, chasing my release. "Don't stop," I beg. 

He doesn't. 

He licks me harder, faster, until the orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, ripping a cry from my throat.

As I ride out the aftershocks, gasping for air, he rises up, his eyes gleaming with something feral through the mask. His hands move to his pants and unbuckles it. 

As he positions himself between my legs, his gloved hands pins my wrists above my head. 

Then he drives into me in one brutal thrust. 

I arch off the bed with a sharp cry and hit the ground. My eyes blink open in the darkness, my heart hammering like I've just run a marathon. 

"Holy fuck." 

I'm drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs, my thighs slick with arousal. 

It was just a dream. Just a goddamn dream. 

I blow out a breath, a flush creeping up my neck as I sit up.

A sex dream of a complete stranger?

Rubbing my face as the dream fades, I try to shake off the sensations still tingling between my legs and move to stand.

My eyes fall to the space beneath my bed and it's empty. The bag of money is gone.