hockey, cause I like pain

You don’t mind him lingering, especially not if he’s going to offer a helping hand, but you can tell this kind of proximity is not something Jack is familiar with. He’s tense, leaning away from you at an awkward angle, and every time Nico presses in even tighter to observe your handiwork, you can feel the way Jack’s breath pattern shifts.

Touchy Nico is strictly your Nico, you remind yourself.

“Yeah,” you agree, and Nico tears off another chunk of tape to pass over. He tosses the thin roll of what little medical tape you have left back into your first aid kit with a hollow clatter.

“I’ll put in an order,” he promises, gripping the back of your neck, “have Johnny and Alex pick it up.”

Grateful, you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek. His black eye has gotten better with another night of rest - real rest this time. It’s no longer swollen and angry looking, but the corner of his pretty eye is bloodshot, made worse by the deep purple and blue bruise surrounding it.

“More ice packs?” you request, gently touching your finger above his eyebrow, “and bruise cream?”

Nico’s face softens, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. You can read that expression like the back of a children’s book. Take care of him first and me later, baby.

“This is all so fun, obviously,” Jack interrupts, tone dry “please let me keep standing here.”

Annoyed, Nico side eyes Jack.

“I don’t care how hurt you are, watch your tone with her,” he warns, more firm than upset. No matter what the situation is, Nico has never let any of the boys take it out on you, and he’s rarely done it to you too.

His one slip up was the spat in basement of his grandfather’s mansion in Switzerland, and he quickly apologized for that afterwards.

Still, his gentle scolding makes you pause, the air in your lungs feeling thick all of a sudden. It’s not suffocating or heavy, but it’s different.

You turn to Jack.

“Let’s get your sling back on and you’re free to go,” you say, and he gives you an apologetic smile. It’s made more heartfelt by the cuts and bruises on his skin, his gentle baby face that the boys always tease him for now wounded.

Nico starts packing up your med kit, most likely taking stock of what else he needs to order for you, and you carefully help Jack get his t-shirt back on before securing his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Jack says once you’re done, adjusting the strap around his neck, “can I take more meds now?”

“Yeah, you can. Luke will be back soon with food too, okay?”

Already heading for the downstairs bedroom, Jack calls over his shoulder, “Okay, he can wake me. If I’m asleep.”

You watch him until he’s disappeared down the hall, listening carefully for the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut.

Nico comes up behind you and wraps himself around you, pressing a fleeting kiss to the corner of your eye. His fingers stroke over the jut of your hip bone through the fabric of your sweatpants.

“Go get ready,” he murmurs, “we’re going out.”

You lay your hand over his, pressing back into the hard line of his body.

“Where are we going?”

“Wanna take you and Moose for a walk,” he whispers, but the dog has heard his name anyway, and comes pattering into the kitchen. Tail wagging optimistically, Moose sits by garage door, blinking at his leash and then at Nico.

“Aw,” you coo, squeezing Nico’s fingers “look at our smart baby!”

Nico snorts, “yeah he’s a good boy.” Then he pats at your hip, pulling back with a jolting pinch to the chub on the side of your thigh.

“Get going,” he nudges you towards the stairs, “we’re leaving as soon as Luke and the boys get back to watch Jack.”

Dressed for summer weather, with Nico’s hand wrapped protectively around yours, you follow Moose along the waterfront. Nico must be feeling lax today because he didn’t make you put on his leathers before leaving the house, an item that had become a staple of your outfits since the discovery of your faux grave.

To make up for it, he lets Moose roam freely, keeping his leash folded neatly in his left hand. Usually he’s clipped to your belt, secure with you until you decide his skills are needed. His leash was made to slip quickly from your hold in case he needs to defend or attack, so Nico letting him lead must be to make up for the fact that he’s forgone the protective disguise you’ve been living in.

It’s a nice change of pace, as is the fresh air.

“Thank you,” you say, the words so quiet they’re almost swept up by the breeze coming off the river. Nico hears them though, and he looks down at you questioningly.

“For getting me out of the house,” you explain, squeezing his fingers “it’s been awhile since we’ve done this.”

He hums, stroking his thumb over your engagement ring. The thick metal of his Devils rings clinks softly against it.

“Been busy, but I haven’t forgotten what’s important. You, Moose, our wedding,” he pauses, lips pursed thoughtfully and then adds, “our family is priority.”

Priority, like taking care of Jack’s injuries before his, and him rearranging the entire organization for you. Nico being a family man has always been hidden in the fibers of the Devils, hard to pick out unless he wanted you too. You’d have never guessed a mob could be so positively tight knit until you were let it on it.

Since your trip to Switzerland, Nico has exposed some of his own hidden fibers. He’s been vocal about a family with you, and the importance of fostering and nurturing one. Sometime along the way, family went from being just you and Nico to something bigger than both of you.

It’s never been explicitly spoken, but you both know what it is.

Him spending more time at home with you, making sure you’re healthy and taken care of both physically and mentally, the way he’s been gently parenting Jack and the younger boys. Maybe it’s practice, maybe it’s natural instinct that became clear after fixing open wounds from his childhood. You’re not sure what’s the truth there, but you are certain of one thing.

Nico always has a plan.

This, this is a plan for a family, and you’re not as oblivious to it now as Timo once suggested to you. Nico has carefully shown all his cards to you since the engagement, and that’s exactly what this is.

A little slower, more deliberate, but you know he’s getting ready to turn over that final card. You’ve seen the white picket fence card and have done that. You’ve seen the shiny diamond ring with Nico on one knee card and done that. You’ve seen the alter full of flowers and black and white clothes card, and the completion of that one is growing closer by the day.

The next card will check off the final box. The card with the storks and sticky handprints, rattles and chubby hands. You and Nico both agreed you’d discuss kids in the future, and you’d left it at that. Everyday though, it’s becoming clearer and clearer that Nico might want to have that discussion.

Something foreign and thick bubbles up in your chest, heavy like that breath of air that had stuck in your lungs earlier. Unsure of what else to do, you lay your head on his shoulder, thinking of the careful way he’d reprimanded Jack earlier. You think he’d be even more careful, even better at it with an actual child.

“You’re good at this,” you tell him, and his ring clinks against yours again. The sentence goes unfinished, but you have no idea how you were planning to end it anyway.

That he’s good at planning and prioritizing maybe. You appreciate that he’s being so thoughtful about all of this. There’s a lot going on, and thinking too far ahead tends to overwhelm you. It has the opposite effect of Nico though, who finds comfort in knowing what to always expect, no matter how far down the line.

If he’s got it all thought out, he can make it happen through sheer willpower.

“I love you,” he says simply, like that explains it all, and it probably does.

You press a kiss into his bicep, “and I love you, Neeky.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that as the words are spoken, you’re in the exact same spot that he first said them to you all those years ago. By the way his gaze drops down to you, shy and sweet, you know he’s noticed too.

On this same path he willed his plan for the both of you into existence with a simple declaration of love. Now, he’s done it again. When that plan will happen, you’re unsure, but you know he’s got it.

For the first time, the thought doesn’t make your fingers prickle with anxiety.

~~~~

Nico takes you to see Mrs. Sposato in the middle of the week during a lull, the designated slow hours that the Devils have been avoiding lately. Nico's been sending them out during rushes in favor of showcasing their large, intimidating presence. His determination to show your parents that they're not welcome or safe anywhere apparently knows no bounds.

As has become protocol, you're tucked into his leather jacket, features masked behind sunglasses and his red bandana, Devils pennant and ring hidden under your top. Even so, Mrs. Sposato recognizes Nico and you before the door to the deli has even fully shut, and she's waving you behind the counter. Moose, familiar with what that entails, swishes his tail along the floor as he leads the way.

"Ah the handsome pup!" She coos as soon as you've let Moose behind the counter, and he sits all polite and perfect for her when she starts scratching at his neck. Straightening, she looks to Nico with a teasing grin. "And the handsome Nico!"

Your fiancé smirks, dimples in his cheeks and eyes sparkling.

"Ciao Emily," he greets, slipping his arm over your shoulder when you giggle. Nico being multilingual is nothing new, and while you've always melted at his accents when he speaks a different language, his Italian one makes you weak in the knees.

You have no doubt he could pick up Italian quick and easy if he tried, but the two of you sharing each other's languages has never been more than a passing thought. You've always wondered what he's waiting for, if he'll ever ask you to teach him, or if that's something that will remain on the backburner. After all, both of your mother tongues are directly associated with your dysfunctional families.

"How are you, cari?" She asks, clasping her hands together over her heart, "are you both safe and well?"

Nico blows out a breath, looking to you and his gaze carefully sweeps over your face. You press into his shoulder, lips pursed in a bitter smile, but you nod anyway. He's unable to see your eyes, but he still reads you so well.

"Well, safe," he confirms, looking back to Emily with a humorless chuckle, "a little stir crazy, maybe."

She makes a wounded noise of sympathy.

“I am happy to see you’re both okay,” she says, pausing when the bell over the door dings with the arrival of new patrons. She smiles over Nico’s shoulder, polite when she holds up and finger and goes, “someone will be right with you!”

Emily motions for you and Nico to follow her behind the counter, pausing in the open doorway to the kitchen to shout, “Joey, counter!” You don’t wait to see her youngest come out, the only other member of the family that speaks English well enough to cover the front. Instead, Nico guides you and Moose deeper into the shop, following Emily to a small break room located in the back. It’s not much, a few framed photos hang on the walls, depicting the Sposatos throughout the years they’ve been in Jersey. A circle table with a lace table cloth centers the room, a vase of fake flowers on a doily, and a small kitchenette in the corner.

It’s homey in a way Emily and her family always have been.

“Go ahead, sit,” she tells you, motioning to the tables, “water or coffee? Are you two hungry?”

Nico grabs the collar of your jacket before you can sit down, pulling out the chair and sitting in before you can.

“Water is good,” he tells Emily, smiling at her retreating form. He stretches his legs out, gripping your hips and maneuvering you between his legs. Pliant, you settle in his lap when he tugs you onto his thigh. Moose sits next to him, watching Emily fill up two glasses of water from a pitcher she pulled from the fridge.

Gently, Nico pulls the sunglasses off your face and sets them on the table, a close lipped smile dimpling his cheeks. He cups your cheeks, gaze growing warmer when you uncover your hair, settling your own hands over his for a moment.

“Sei prezioso,” Emily coos, and you both drop your hands to your lap, you more out of shyness whereas Nico is all smug. Depositing the glasses of water, she takes the chair across the table.

“Grazie Emily,” Nico says, taking a sip of his glass. He swipes your hair off your shoulder, laying his chilled palm on the back of your neck and you shiver, glad for the reprieve. As much as you like being wrapped up in his jacket and his colors, and as much as you understand the reasoning for it, the warming temperatures and humidity in New Jersey have not aided you.

Feeling stuffy isn’t your favorite thing in the world. Nico’s noticed.

Emily gives you a bittersweet smile. “Are you here to talk about the woman?” She asks, “the one that came in that day?”

Nervously, you swallow a drink of ice water and give yourself a breath to just feel Nico’s hand on your neck, the bitter cold water flowing down your throat.

“Yes,” Nico answers for you, stroking his thumb over the soft skin on the inside of your knee, “we are, and we heard she came back on her own.”

You trace your finger through the cool condensation of your glass, unable to meet her eye when you continue.

“She’s my Nonna,” you explain, “and the people with her were my parents. They um, they stopped seeing me when I met Nico.”

Nico squeezes your neck, his gaze heavy on the side of your face. You know what he’s looking for, a crack or soft spot, an indication that he needs to take over. He’s never spoken over you, and he won’t start now, but he will speak for you.

Right now, you don’t need him to, so you clear your throat, finally meeting Emily’s eye. She’s frowning at you, sympathetic and gentle. Motherly.

“They never approved of us and when they made me choose, I chose the person who would never put me in the position they did.”

At your words, Nico makes a soft sound of endearment. You lay your hand over his on your knee, slotting your fingers between his warm ones. Across the table, Emily seems to have pieced together that day with your family.

“You have always been a very brave girl,” Emily compliments, “I remember when Nico came to us after the break in, trying to offer my husband protection. To this day, he talks about how you walked in here with that dog, the way you negotiated on Nico’s behalf. You impressed us.”

You remember that day too, when Nico called you in because the deli needed help and he had no way of offering it. Emily wasn’t here that day, just her husband and her sons, and they weren’t interested in the protection of a Swiss mob. Not until you showed them that the Devils were more than just Swiss, more than just another mob.

That had been the first real negotiation you were apart of. Getting Johnny doesn’t really count, you knew Nico was always going to say yes to that. This was real though, and you’d won it.

What you remember most is how proud Nico was.

“I just wanted to help,” you admit, “this will always be my home, no matter what my parents do to try and take it away.”

Emily grins just as impressed with you now as her family was that day.

“Now it is my turn to help,” she says, “so what do you need from me?”

Nico drags his thumb down the side of your neck, another soothing gesture, and then he drops his hand to the small of your back.

“I just need to know what she wanted. When she came in by herself. Jack and Luke gave us the gist, but we need more.”

“We need anything you could possibly give us,” Nico tacks on, “anything that’ll give us a leg up.”

Emily nods, shifting back in her chair with a contemplative hum. Moose scoots his way over next to her, laying his head in her lap. Nico laughs under his breath, both amused and annoyed at his antics. All that money to train Moose and he’ll still follow whoever is going to give him deli scraps.

“She didn’t say much,” Emily says, stroking over Moose’s snout “she came up to the counter and I recognized her from the images the boys gave us. I told her we refuse to serve her, but she wasn’t here for service. She was here for y/n.”

“What did she ask about me?” You prod, subconsciously digging your fingers into Nico’s hand. You don’t notice until he’s flipping his palm over, catching your whole hand in his and squeezing.

“She begged to see you, the girl with the big dog. I guess she didn’t think I’d know you by name. Then she asked how to get ahold of you and if she could wait here. By then Joey came out of the kitchen, and we told her she wasn’t allowed in the building. Order of the New Jersey Devils.”

“She didn’t even ask for her by name?” Nico questions, somehow more offended by that than you are. Rightfully so, because you were both under the impression that it’d been more. You thought your Nonna came here and explicitly requested information on you, that she claimed you as her family. Not just the girl with the big dog.

Emily frowns, “No caro, she didn’t. I didn’t even realize she was family until Jack mentioned it.”

Defeated, you slump into Nico’s shoulder. He rubs his palm up and down your back, squeezing your fingers again. This was supposed to mean something. At least something more than it does. It was supposed to be Nonna trying to find you in hopes of righting everything that’s gone wrong in her absence.

It was supposed to be her still treating you like family. She didn’t come looking for you to rekindle anything.

“When you mentioned the Devils,” Nico continues, still tracing his hand up and down your spine “did she react at all?”

Emily hums, “a bit, yes. Not surprised, but shocked. Or scared maybe.”

You don’t know why he’s asking or why it matters, if you’re being honest. You doubt her being scared of Nico or the Devils is what kept her from actually looking for you. He can try to make it better for you, and knowing Nico he will, but at the end of the day, Nonna wasn’t actually here for you.

If you had to guess, she was just another distraction. The same as your father showing up to the bar looking for Nico.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Emily murmurs, standing up “come on Moose.” Your dog pauses, turning to Nico who waves him off. Dutifully, he follows Emily out of the break room and back to the kitchen.

Protectively, Nico wraps his arms around you and draws you further into his chest. The angle is odd, tugs uncomfortably at your hip, but you don’t care. You let him hold you, lips against your temple and body strong around you.

“M’sorry baby,” Nico murmurs, fiercely “I’m so sorry.”

He’s got nothing to be sorry for though. He warned you since the beginning to not trust her or get your hopes up. He let your optimism run the show when he shouldn’t have.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him, “I was wrong. I was really wrong and I should’ve listened to you.”

You should’ve believed him when he said M73 wasn’t your grandmother, and you should’ve realized it the moment Jack and Luke told you she came here. She’d have no reason to come looking for a way to contact you if she already was.

Nico should never have let you call these shots.

He pulls back from you, frowning sadly when you meet his gaze. You’re not crying, but he still swipes at your cheeks, drying tears that aren’t there. It’s sweet. He’s so sweet.

“I wanted to believe it too,” he admits “it’s not just on you. I knew better, not you.”

The boys have always said Nico goes soft when it comes to you. You wanted to believe you still had blood relatives looking out for you, and Nico let you. The same way he let you believe meeting his family would be good for you both. The same way he let you believe Quinn maybe still cared for Luke and Jack.

It should’ve been obvious by now that the only family you all have is right here in Jersey. No one will ever love you, protect you the way Nico does. Not even the ones that brought you into the world.

“What are you going to do?” You ask him, laying your hand over his chest. Your thumb finds the hard lump of metal that is his pendent, and you press the pad of your finger into it.

“You still get the final say, baby. You always will,” he swears, even if you don’t want it anymore. If you were anyone else in this family, that privilege would’ve been revoked after this slip up. He’s still soft on you though, because you’re not anyone else. You’re his other half, the idealist to his realist, the perfect match even when you mess up.

“I’m going to have Keefe bring them in,” he continues, “all of them. And we’re going to hold them here until we know what they’re really after.”

“What do you think they’re after?”

Nico hums, gaze sweeping over your features. It’s grounding, settling having his eyes on you. Not for the first time, you wonder how anyone can be intimidated by that handsome face of his, bruised and all.

“I think they want you,” he says, “M’just not sure why.”

You don’t really know what that means. There’s no going back to how you were before Nico, no way of repairing that relationship. They had ample time and chances to fix things with you and they never took them. You can’t go back to being their daughter and they’d have no way of making you.

You’re a grown woman now, with a family and a home of your own. They don’t control you anymore, but Nico’s words still fill you with a cold dread, the kind that makes your palms sweat and your throat close up.

You know going with them means going without Nico.

“I don’t want to go back with them, Neeky.”

“I know,” he shushes, placatingly “I know, I’m not going to let them. They can’t have you, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, soothed at his promise. Again, you don’t know why it scares you, why you even believe they’d be able to take you away from Nico and your real family, but you’ve been wrong about them before.

“You’re a devil for life,” He reminds, pressing a kiss to your forehead “you’re my girl. Anywhere you go, I go and I can promise that they’ll want nothing to do with us once I’m done.”

Pleased with his response, you rest your head back on his shoulder, replaying the conversation with Emily in your head. Nico drinks some more of his water, shaking his head when Moose howls happily from the other room, undoubtedly being fed straight off the kitchen counters.

“We should see Johnny and Alex,” you tell Nico, finally understanding why he needed to know Nonna’s reaction to the Devils name.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “if she wasn’t confused by the Devils, it’s because she’s been told about you. We need to know what my parents said to her.”

“Smart girl,” he praises, affectionately squeezing your hip “let’s go see what your boys have found for you.”

~~~~

Nico decides to kill two birds with one stone.

Johnny is sent with Timo back to the docks where Jack’s attacker is somehow still alive and still not talking. It’s not information you really want details on, even if you’re confused on why Nico hasn’t killed him yet, but when Timo gives you knowing look before leaving, you know that man is only alive because Nico wants him alive. At least for now.

Alex and Dawson take over Nico’s office, carrying with them file after file of audio recordings. Everything they thought might mean something to you has been pulled aside and shared to Nico’s server for review.

“When do I get to put my thumb print on there?” Alex asks, after Nico’s disarmed the office and let them inside. You’re unsure of how many thumb prints can be added to the system, but you do know that only you and Nico currently have access to it.

For emergencies, Timo has a key that can disarm the system and let him in, but Nico has been very stern and very clear that the only people allowed in there are you two.

“Over my dead body,” he tells Alex, settling into the leather chair. You round the desk, perching on the corner that makes it an L-shape. Nico stretches his arm out across your lap, swatting at the meat of your thigh hard enough it makes you jump.

“Ow, what was that for?” You complain, kicking at his retreating hand. He snickers, nodding towards his monitor and you bite back a grin at the login that’s pulled up. It wasn’t properly shut down the other night when Timo came in to track Nico, so proudly sitting on the screen is your username and the password that reads NicosHotA$$$. Shameless, you wink at him.

The tips of his ears tinge red, peaking out from where he’s tucked his hair behind them. He shakes it off though, logging out of the software to open up his profile. It takes him a moment to pull up the file on the sever from Alex, but when he does they’re all organized by date and time, the most significant ones titled in bold.

“Are these all in Italian?” Nico asks, adjusting the volume on his computer.

“Yeah, they don’t say much in English. At least not about this,” Alex says, falling into one of the chairs across from Nico.

“They talk a lot about family,” Mercer grumbles, slowly pacing behind the desk “I haven’t even listened in that much but it’s always something about family meals.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Family dinners were the staple of your childhood. Always at the same time, always with perfect etiquette, always planned out to a T.

Nico reaches over and squeezes your knee, “come here. You’re our translator then.”

You’re tempted to tell him that maybe he should’ve left Johnny here to make this process go a lot quicker. He’s obviously trying to get something out of the man at the docks though, and if he only speaks Italian, Johnny is the only one that can communicate with him. God knows Nico is not letting you down there.

With a familiar ease, you slip into his lap and get comfortable. You get one of his fancy gel ink pens and a notepad, ready to write down anything of importance that might come up.

“Okay, go ahead.”

Nico hits play on the first one, and the room immediately fills with the staticky sound that accompanies the bugging system. You recognize the voices, your father and Nonna. Instantly, you know why this clip has been flagged. They’re talking about you, more specifically the memories of you around the house. Pictures and letters, condolences sent from family and friends.

This must have been around the time Nonna got to New Jersey. The date makes it a few days before you ran into them at the deli.

Nico perks up at the sound of your name, waiting expectantly as their conversation comes to an end and the clip starts over. He pauses it, and you shake your head.

“It was when my Nonna arrived,” you explain, “they’re just talking about pictures and condolences cards for me that must’ve been around the house.”

Nico scoffs, “they had that place as a shrine for you.”

Across the desk, Alex laughs. “Until Nico got rid of all of it.”

“I didn’t touch the photos,” your fiancé defends, “I just got rid of the lies. Anything that said you died.”

Your chest warms at the mental image of Nico stomping around your childhood home in his thick boots to defend you. You hope he rattled some of the antiques in the curio cabinets, maybe even cracked or broke them. You hope he messed up that perfectly curated space.

“Cute,” you murmur, hooking your sock clad foot around his ankle. “Now play the next one.”

On and on you go, listening to snippets in conversation from your family. You come up a few times, the deli once, Nico more than anything but never by his name. You just assume it’s him by the way he’s addressed. That boy, that man, that devil.

By the time you’ve gone through all the flagged clips, you’ve got a half story of what their life has been like since the deli. Your mother complaining about the ladies at her gym for kicking her out, your father complaining that all the good restaurants in town have refused them, your Nonna asking about Nico.

It seems she’s a bit on the outside too, confused as to how you ended up with him, why you stayed with him, why faking your death was their best option. She never gets a straight answer, at least not one that shows up on the audio files. They always just say tell her it’s Nico’s fault.

That devil has taken you, changed you.

Dawson lets out a low sigh once you’ve translated anything important, finally slumping into the chair next to Alex.

“That was a waste,” he complains, “what’s with you two and having shitty parents?”

You and Nico level him with the same unimpressed look, and he holds up two hands in surrender. Not that he really needs to defend himself, he’s right. You and Nico both got the short end of the stick when it comes to parents.

“It’s weird,” Alex says, eyebrow pinched in thought “they talk very carefully like they know we’re listening.”

“They probably do,” Nico agrees, “we haven’t been subtle about breaking into their house and her father knows I’ve tailed him before.”

Alex has sparked something in your head though. You assumed they’d be cautious about the things they say, because like Nico mentioned, they know you have access to their house. Which is why the Italian conversions are what’s been flagged. Nico and the boys assumed they’d switch to their native tongue when talking about delicate matters.

They haven’t though. Every conversation here was shut down before it could be of use. Maybe they’ve realized this is what you’d be listening to.

It gives them a lot of credit, more than you think your parents are worth, but they’ve proven to be deceptive.

“Alex, the conversations about family meals, the ones in English, are those weird too?”

He pauses, confused. “Weird, how?”

“Does my mother sound casual about it? Or is she stiff?”

Him and Dawson share a look, recalling the conversations they’ve been listening to these past couple weeks.

“She’s not casual, that’s for sure,” Mercer finally decides, “but she’s not stiff either. It’s like…like they’re excited about something.”

Nico is watching you now, eyes narrowed in thought. When you look at him, he’s gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe those are the conversations I should be listening to?”

He hums, still looking at you but his gaze is distant. You have no doubt he’s mulling over it, gears in his head moving a million miles an hour.

“Maybe,” he finally agrees, “but I’m not sure what we could find out from them that Alex didn’t already pick up on.”

Stumped for what feels like the millionth time, you frown at him. “What do we do then? Go to Keefe?”

He clicks his tongue, shrugging. Contemplative, he looks from Alex to Dawson, then back to you.

“Let’s wait and see what Johnny and Timo can get out of the guy at the docks. If it doesn’t help us, then I’m going to Keefe.”

Nico takes a minute to reach around you and scroll through the audio files again, double checking that nothing was missed. Then he leans over your shoulder and together you read through the scribbles you made, hoping for anything to click in place. After ten minutes, you’re just as lost as you were before and Mercer has begun fiddling with the stuff on Nico’s desk.

“Put it down,” Nico grunts to him, and Dawson freezes, the mini Lego figurine clutched in his hands. It’s one you got him, a custom made set of a little red devil with black horns.

Pouting, Mercer carefully sets it back on the corner of the desk and then crosses his arms defiantly. Him and Nico stare at each other, similar unimpressed expressions on their faces, and neither budge until you gesture to Alex.

“Where are we going?” Alex asks, scrambling out of his chair.

“You two are going to check on Jack and Luke,” you say, expectantly looking to Mercer, “make sure they don’t need anything before dinner.”

Obediently, they both head towards the office door, pausing to give you one last lingering look. Mercer eyes you both with a grumpy expression, turning it pointedly to Nico.

“You better keep your hands to yourself, sicko,” he warns Nico, gaze narrowing threateningly. You don’t have to see Nico’s expression to know he’s glaring back.

Alex grabs Mercer by the elbow, leading him away from the office. Faintly, you hear him laugh.

“I lived with them,” he says, voice carrying into the silent room, “they don’t keep their hands to themselves. You get used to it.”

Mercer’s response is too far away to be heard, but you still laugh. Nico doesn’t look as amused when you turn to him.

“‘You get used to it’,“you repeat, giggling “since when is Dawson such a prude with you?”

Nico scoffs, running his fingers through his hair.

“Don’t think he’s quite forgiven me for Switzerland,” he explains, blowing out a big breath, “even if he’s sympathetic to my dysfunctional excuse of a family.”

His expression goes softer, grateful, and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “he also loves you, wants to protect you. And as annoying as he is, I can count on his bitchiness to keep you safe.”

You remember when Nico first started explaining the inner workings of the devils to you. Before, Dawson was always the goofy and fun guy that sometimes manned the door at the Rock and sometimes brought you drinks at Nico’s request.

Once you could know more, he’d told you he always expected more from Dawson. He was developing too slow, taking too long to go from the irresponsible almost adult to an actual man in the ranks. No matter how opportunities Nico gave him, he never stepped up or went above and beyond.

Nico worried putting him in the loft with the Hughes boys was part of the reason, and you’d just listened and told him that not everyone was as perfect as him. You were certain Dawson would grow into who Nico needed him to be.

Your defense of Mercer was part in good faith and part in jealousy. You wish you could’ve waited until you were in your twenties to grow up, but with your parents that was never an option.

You’d been worrying about 401ks and health insurance since you were 12.

Now, Mercer has become what Nico wanted and more. It’s true that Nico can count on him to protect you. In fact, you think Mercer would take down Nico himself if it meant defending you.

“He’s learned from the best,” you compliment him, and Nico smiles, tight but grateful.

After a moment, he clears his throat, obviously changing the subject. You sit up straight, listening intently to what you think is going to be a business discussion.

“Do you want a trip or a party?” He asks you, eyebrows deeply pinched, like he’s been worrying about this question for weeks.

“What do you mean?” You ask, caught off guard by the random and unclear subject. Party for what?

“Before we get married,” he explains, “I don’t remember what’s it’s called but like where you go out with friends and I go out with friends?”

“Oh,” you realize, cheeks warming at the cuteness of it all “you mean a bachelorette party? One last hurrah of single life kind of thing?”

He clicks his tongue, eyes lighting up in recognition “yes, a bachelorette trip! We could do whatever you want, it’ll just take some time to plan and be a bit more since I won’t be with you but-“

“I’m okay,” you interject, already shaking your head “I don’t want a party or a trip or anything.”

Honestly, you thought the engagement party was enough. You celebrated than with all of yours friends so nothing else is necessary. You don’t want a bridal shower or a tacky last rodeo trip to go line dancing.

Especially not without him.

“Are you sure?” He frowns, clearly dejected for some reason “you can literally do anything baby, I’ll make it happen.”

Endeared, you laugh but shake your head again.

“I don’t want a party without you. Besides, I haven’t been single in a long time, and you and I have been more than dating for a long time too.

“I just want to marry you.”

Totally smug, Nico cups the back of your head and draws you into him, immediately passing his tongue between your lips. A little caught off guard, your yelp of surprise is muffled by Nico’s mouth, and he takes full advantage of your slack moment to dominate the kiss.

After a beat you lean into him, cupping his face and feeling the way his jaw works and shifts under your fingers.

Keep your hands to yourself, sicko.

Mercer’s words suddenly echo in your head, and before you can help it you’re laughing into the kiss, forcing Nico to pull back until just his forehead is touching yours.

He lets out a huff that’s both annoyed and amused, obviously already knowing what you’re giggling about.

“As beautiful as that sound is,” he mumbles, teasingly “I don’t appreciate the interruption. I was doing some of my best work, there.”

Before you can respond, he’s leaning it to button his mouth to yours again when his phone starts buzzing on the desk. Pulling up short, Nico lets out another annoyed grumble. He grabs his phone and flips the screen over

“Oh look at that,” he says at Johnny’s contact “your other boyfriend is cock blocking me now.”

If it were any other time, you’d reach over and silence the phone for him, give him the opening to get back to business with you. This call will determine your next move though and it’s important that you take it.

You’re not just Nico’s girl anymore.

You’re the CEO of the business that’s being funded by Nico’s side.

He answers the call, putting it on speaker, and greeting Johnny with a breathless but gruff, “Marino, what do you got for me?”

The line is quiet for a moment, and then Johnny answers, “Hey boss, I’m good, thanks for asking. How are you? Good? You’re with my cara so I’m sure you’re great-“

“Okay,” Timo interrupts, obviously on the call too “we don’t have much so don’t get too excited. He spoke to Johnny at least but nothing very helpful.”

Nico’s jaw flexes in frustration, dark brown eyes glaring at the phone on his desk like it’s personally responsible for everything Timo is telling him.

“Marino,” he barks, “what did he tell you?”

“On the good end, he seemed shock to hear Jack was alive and could identify him which means he wasn’t aware we have someone on the inside capable of healing,” Johnny starts, all business now.

“On the other hand, all he would do is make small talk. I could tell from his accent he’s straight from Italy though, specifically the Calabria area.”

Nico looks to you expectantly, and while you don’t know everything about Italian history, you know that area.

“It’s Southern,” you explain, worriedly fiddling with your pendant, “near Sicily which is where every big mob story comes out of. I remember my parents saying there was mob activity there, not as big as in Sicily where we’re from, but that they’re more powerful.”

“They’re dirty fucking rich,” Johnny adds, tastefully “they don’t need to be big because they’re powerful. And there’s always been talk about them trying to but they’re way into owning the Sicilian area too.”

Nico is watching your fingers trace over the devils horns on your neck, forehead wrinkled in thought. He doesn’t say anything and the silence it leaves is deafening.

“Look,” Timo finally says, cautiously addressing Nico, “it’s not the best news. We still don’t have a name for the guy or details on Calabria, but this is good.”

Your fiancé doesn’t look away from your pennant.

“He doesn’t know her explicitly,” Nico finally agrees, “and he doesn’t know she’s doing work behind the scenes. Whoever sent him doesn’t know much on her.”

“Exactly,” Timo agrees, “and now that John has given us an area, we can do more digging.”

Timo is right. As bad as it is that someone from a mafia group in southern Italy is looking for you, it could be a whole lot worse. He has little information about you and the Devs as a whole, which means whoever your family hired him from didn’t know much either.

The biggest thing to do now is keep him from knowing more, from knowing you.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, softer and you realize he’s talking to you now. He catches your hand, prying your necklace out from between your fingers and tucking it back into your shirt. He wraps your hand up in his instead.

“That’s not going anywhere,” he promises, pressing a warm kiss to the back of your hand, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Grateful, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Thankfully, he still doesn’t release your hand, instead laying them intertwined on your lap.

“Timo, call Haula. Tell him to switch off later tonight with Dermy. They can have their way with him.”

“Yes, boss,” Timo agrees, trialing off at the open-endedness of Nico’s order, “until when?”

Almost eagerly, Jonny jumps in now.

“Ooo are you gonna come down tomorrow, boss?”

Your throat tightens up, stomach knotting at the question. You don’t know why Nico and the docks make you so nervous, more so than any of the other boys. It was almost something you could ignore, could live with, but for some reason this time, you don’t want to have to pretend he doesn’t go there to hurt people.

You never liked pretending though to be honest, but this feels different too. You can’t put your finger on what it is.

“No I’m not,” Nico declines, “I’ll finish the schedule up tonight for who will be there, but that’s not the focus. The next couple days are about Jonas, I want everyone focused on that.”

“Yes, sir.” Timo and Johnny agree simultaneously. They bid their goodbyes and Nico hangs up, flipping his work phone back upside down on the desk.

You curl up into his chest, happy to feel so small and safe with his arms around you. Nico tucks his face into the top of your head, silently comforting you the best way he knows how.

After awhile, he speaks again.

“Think about the Bach trip,” he mumbles, “we could go together if you want. It might be nice, to not be here for a couple of days.”

Stubbornly, you want to shut him down again. You can’t even imagine when I good time for this would even be. You still have to deal with your parents, have to get back to a clean bill of health, and finish planning the wedding that is getting steadily closer. Besides, the only friend you have that’s not a Devs boy is Nola and she’s weeks away from welcoming a baby into the world.

A Bach trip with her is impossible, and going without her isn’t an option.

He’s prioritizing family though, prioritizing you, and you love him for it. At the most inconvenient of times, he’ll still take you away from it all.

“Okay,” you agree, and he thanks you with a kiss to the temple.

“Don’t call Quinn either,” he adds, tone firm “I don’t want you talking to him.”

You weren’t looking forward to informing Quinn about Jack’s injuries, and you were even dreading telling Jack that you reached out to the eldest Hughes, so you’re more than happy to just let it be.

Except you really think he should know. No matter how much you hate Quinn, you still think he wants to be in his brothers’ lives for the better and this might be his way in.

You open your mouth to tell Nico as much, but the words don’t come. Instead, your overcome with the reminder that you looked for the best in a family member just earlier today and all it did was hurt your feelings.

“Okay,” you repeat, eyes slipping shut when Nico lays a strong hand on the back of your neck. You don’t know how long he’ll let you sit there until it’s time to get up, time to keep going, so you bask in it, knowing he’s got it all under control.

~~~~

Jesper ends up being the biggest help on the day of Nola’s baby shower.

You should’ve guessed he would be with all that goes into running Sötis. The special themed drinks and food for holidays, the accompanying decorations, and the overall creativeness he puts towards the place, a baby shower is easy for him.

Him and Jonas work out a menu, and then take over your large kitchen to make it happen. Hoards of decorations arrive and slowly but surely the backyard is transformed into the cutest Swiss inspired picnic area, exactly what Nola and Jonas requested.

Every detail is perfect, from the monogrammed place settings to the silverware wrapped in red ribbon.

You didn’t join the Devils to be a party planner, but looking around the backyard, you think you’d have potential. With the help of Jesper of course, and the numerous boys Nico donated to the effort too.

“Interesting call-up, huh?”

Timo stands beside you, arms crossed over his chest as he subtly nods across the yard to where a certain group of boys have snuck away. They’re tucked tightly into the corner of the fencing that runs along the whole property, very obviously trying to hide from any more instruction.

Jack is out, arm still in a sling and face bruised, but he’s practically hunched over with happy laughter as Luke and Mercer hold Casey upside down, shouting at him to keep chugging what you’re guessing is beer out of a baby bottle.

You share an amused look with Timo, your smile growing when you spot who’s just over Timo’s shoulder.

“Call-ups,” you correct, nodding to the landscaped area by the pool. Timo follows your direction, shaking his head when he finds Nemo and Alex both hovering around the photo area. Alex is clearly done with his work, watching with his hands on his hips as Nemo keeps adjusting the flowers in the planters and the flag banner centered between the balloon pillars that reads WELCOME BABY SEIGENTHALER!

“Oh my god,” Timo snorts, turning back to you with wide eyes. The both of you lean into each other with laughter, equally confused and endeared by the two opposite boys Nico has brought to New Jersey.

You’re unsure of what he was going for if you’re being honest, because they’re both very different from each other, but you suppose Nico was intentional in it.

Nico is always intentional.

“He’s a sweetheart,” you coo, breathlessly clutching at your chest. Nemo is now straightening the ABC blocks stacked on top of each other, tongue poking out of his mouth.

A familiar hand finds its home on the curve of your spine, Nico pressing into your side. His body is warm and strong, the smell of his cologne fresh now that he’s gone upstairs and changed before the honored guests’ arrival.

“Who’s a sweetheart?” He asks, carefully reaching over to take your earring between his fingers. They’re a simple, dangling pearl in a gold setting, different from the usual diamond studs you wear.

It’s sweet that Nico noticed almost immediately.

“Nemo,” you smile, pointing a finger over at him “he’s been fiddling with the balloons for ten minutes.”

Nico barely glances over, rolling his eyes. It’s not in annoyance though, because his lips curl into a pleased smirk. He lets go of your earring, cupping the side of your neck instead.

“Of course he has,” Nico murmurs, gaze sweeping over your face “you asked him too.”

“Yeah, he’s sweet. Alex already gave up.”

His eyebrow quirks up, imploring.

“Well Alex doesn’t have a crush on you.”

For a delayed moment, you think Nico is talking about Timo, and you instinctively turn to look at your best friend. He splutters, eyes wide as he holds both hands up in innocence.

“Not him,” Nico huffs, taking your chin between his finger and thumb. He makes you look at him, lips pursed with laughter. “You, baby.”

“Me?” You ask, voice nervously squeaking. Behind you, Timo breaks into laughter.

“You.”

“No way.”

“Way, baby.”

“Say sike, Hischier.”

“I will not be saying sike, y/n.”

At the use of your first name, you pause, looking from Nico to Nemo, and back. He blinks at you, waiting. This time, when you look back over at Nemo, he catches your eye, and his face splits into a giant grin as he waves.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, covering your mouth in horror as everything slots into place. You think of every time you mothered Nemo, how he’d blush and babble and run from you. You thought he was just uncomfortable with being taken care, that he’d get used to it like all the other boys did.

You never in a million years thought he was getting flustered and shy because he had a crush on you. You’d even asked Luke if Nemo had a boy crush on Nico the same way Jack does.

“This is very flattering to me, personally.” Nico snickers, placing his hands on your lower back and pulling you flush against his body. “Nemo was so fucking obvious and you didn’t even notice.”

Embarrassed, you roll your eyes and half-heartedly pull away from him. Just like you wanted, his hold tightens and you’re pressed nose to nose with him.

“Too caught up in me?” He taunts, voice low “Love my attention so much you didn’t even notice the little puppy chasing after you?”

Giggling, you lock your fingers together at the base of his neck, leaning it to touch your nose to his bruised cheek.

“Can you blame me?” You murmur, “look at you, Hisch.”

Nico’s smirk grows cockier, still teeming with mirth.

“You outgrew puppies a long timo ago, huh?”

You don’t have to answer. He kisses you, messily nipping at your bottom lip as a hand slips dangerously low. Behind you, Timo gags.

“This party is for welcoming a baby, not making one.” He grumbles, swatting Nico’s hands away. Biting back a flustered grin, you tuck under Nico’s arm, blinking innocently at your best friend.

He looks between you and Nico, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re both freaks,” he continues, tone full of laughter despite the frown on his face “poor Nemo is in love and Nico is dry humping you in front of him.”

“I do not dry hump!”

“He dry humps me in front of everyone,” you say at the same time, ignoring the offended look Nico gives you.

“I’m gonna help Bratter bring out the food,” Timo shakes his head, waggling a warning finger at Nico before heading back towards the door.

When you turn to Nico, he’s still glaring at you.

“What?”

“There is nothing dry about my humping,” he hisses, grumpy “nothing between us has ever been dry.”

“You’re right,” you reply, “I’m a walking slip and slide over here.”

He is not amused by your teasing, eyebrows pinching together and he grabs your face again, holding you still as he leans in.

“What was that, baby?”

Right, no teasing. Not when it comes to this. Nico doesn’t care if one of the boys has a crush on you, he probably even finds it entertaining. What he doesn’t like, is you entertaining anyone but him.

When he wants a real answer, you give him a real answer.

“I love you, Nico,” you murmur, “you treat me so good.”

A slow smirk dimples his cheeks. “Good girl,” he pecks a kiss to your mouth “now come on, hostess. We’ve got guests to take care of.”

You bite at your bottom lip, grabbing his wrist before he can pull back. “And you’ll take care of me after, boss?”

He’s amused now, touching his lips to your forehead. When he responds, it’s spoken tenderly and weighted, clearly meaning more than what you asked.

“Always, baby.”

That always hangs with you for the rest of the night, even when Nico isn’t within reach. He’s always watching of course, glancing over at you from the porch while he’s drinking beers with Jonas and Jesper, catching your eye when you and Timo both shriek in disgust after Nola lets you feel the baby kick, and even in the moments you don’t see him watching, you know he is.

You can feel his words though, just as tangible as his hand is on your thigh during dinner or his lips on your cheek after your toast to Jonas and Nola.

Nico has promised you a lot over the years with that word, and you know you can always trust it coming from him, but something about it tonight feels different.

It’s more in a way you can’t explain.

Watching him help serve Jack a plate of sweets, you wonder if he’s having dreams again. He’s always so steady and solid, no matter what is happening around him, but the only time you’ve really seen him waver and shift, is when his childhood starts to creep up in the middle of the night.

The thing is, he’s not acting different in a bad way. He’s not on edge and irritable the way he was the last time he had a nightmare, and you’re certain he hasn’t had another one since. He promised he’d tell you if he did, even if it meant waking you at 3 am.

Maybe something good is coming from all of this, you think, catching Nico helping Nola waddle her way down the porch steps. He gently offers his arm to her, laughing when Jonas meets him at the bottom, and just as kindly he hands her off to her boyfriend.

There’s a brief second where he hovers, where Nola is still on the bottom step and her fingers haven’t met Jonas’ yet, and Nico reaches out, hands braced like he’s waiting for her to fall. To your utter demise, you realize it’s her stomach he’s ready to protect, the swell of her child that Nico was eyeing carefully.

You blink, breath stuck in your chest, and Nola is with Jonas, crossing the yard to the table with piles of gifts, and Nico grabs his beer off the porch railing before following.

“Hey,” Timo takes the stack of messy plates from your hand and dumps them in the trash bag he’s been carrying around.

“Hm?” You hum, blindly grabbing trash off the table and handing it to him, unable to take your eyes off Nico. Nola and Jonas have taken their seats by the gifts, and your fiancé is moving their gifts closer to them. He’s calm and thoughtful about it, careful in a way many don’t notice about him.

“It’s okay to say you want it,” Timo murmurs, fingers brushing over your elbow and grabbing your attention.

“W-want what?”

Your skin feels overly warm when you meet the knowing look in his eye. It’s the same look he used to give you when you would spend a week at Nico’s apartment and then insist it wasn’t serious.

Timo never fell for your denial. He never fell for Nico’s either.

“This,” he gestures to the party, to Nola and Jonas “you can say you want this and still not be ready for it, ya know? It doesn’t change the meaning.”

You do want this. You think you’ve always wanted this, even when you were just a girl. A safe and warm home, a big family to share it with, a man who loves you for you no matter what.

You’ve never doubted that you want this. That only creeps in now that you’ve almost got it, because the thought of losing it sucks all the air out of your lungs.

“This is your fault,” you tell Timo, suddenly choked up “telling me about him and his 5-year plan and now I want in on the 5-year plan!”

Timo laughs, loud and obnoxious, and slings an arm around you to pull you into a bruising hug. He lays his cheek on top of your head.

“Aw Sweets,” he sighs, wincing when you pitch as his ribs “he’ll tell you if you ask, you know that. It’s probably written down in his office somewhere anyway.”

He’s right about all of it, but you don’t tell him that. Not just because you want to be stubborn, but because Alex and Johnny are herding you two over for present time now.

Nico has gotten all the gifts balanced within reach of Nola and Jonas, and you can’t help but giggle when you notice he’s put yours directly on top. He knows you’ve realized it too, if the sly smirk that rises on his face as you tuck into his side is anything to go by.

Jonas scoops up the gift, shooting Nico an amused look before handing it to Nola.

“From Nico and y/n,” she reads out, flashing you a big grin, and then catching the thinly added “and Alex too.”

The group erupts with laughter, Jonas taunting Alex as he dutifully files away the card Nola hands him. Then she’s tearing at the wrapping, already oohing before she’s even fully pulled the gift out.

It’s mostly clothes, as her and Jonas requested, but there’s two special gifts inside that you and Nico had discussed and added as well. The first is a soft cotton blanket, carefully folded in the box so that the stitching at the bottom would be visible.

“Oh my goodness,” Nola gasps, showing everyone the Devils red baby blanket that’s been embroidered with devil horns and their birth year.

The last part is less cute and less sentimental, but more practical than anything else you’d given them. It’s in a thick envelope, sealed with Nico’s bright red wax stamp, and Jonas must know what it is because he plucks it from Nola’s fingers, looking almost reverent as he opens it.

Inside is just a slip of paper really, nothing that gives them any real power, but it holds the biggest promise that Nico has kept to himself all these years.

It’s details to a private insurance fund, one he’s been funneling money into ever since Jonas and Nola came over to New Jersey with them. Its original purpose was protect Jonas, in case they ever needed out, Nico had money set aside to ensure he could leave cleanly.

Now, that money has been turned into protection for their child. If anything were to happen to Jonas, on top of Nola being cared for by Jonas’s salary, their child also has care and wellbeing funds. Not contingent to loss or tragedy either, but whatever it may be needed for. Everything that’s left in there by the time the baby turns 18 will be immediately granted to them.

“In case she wants to take after her parents and move abroad,” Nico jokes, unable to handle the way both Nola and Jonas are looking at him. They don’t look shocked, but you’d guess Jonas had some kind of idea about it. He’s an original Dev after all, and he’s not the first one to add a baby to the group, yet he’s blinking suspiciously fast as he nods to you and Nico.

“T-thank you both,” he calls, “so much.”

Nola is already wiping away tears when they move onto the next gift, and by the fawning her and the other ladies do. you should pay attention and ah with them. You can’t though.

Your body has swelled with warmth again, heart beating heavily at your ribs and all you want to do is look at Nico. Tilting your head up to peer at him, you wish you could physically see into his brain, that you could ask everything you want to ask without getting overwhelmed.

He has to know you want this, the same way you can tell he does too. It feels like you’re both teetering on the edge of an unsteady bridge, waiting to see who will decide to cross it first. It’s obvious it’ll be Nico, but you know he won’t ever take a step forward without you.

Feeling your stare, he glances down at you, smile both bashful and shy. Neither of you say anything, but he buttons his lips to your mouth for a chaste kiss, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Wrapped boxes and tissue papers are torn open, Nola cries and Jonas laughs, and slowly but surely they get through the pile of spoils for their daughter.

You try to pay attention and fail spectacularly, too caught up thinking about what Timo so gladly likes to remind you. Nico always has a plan. He’s had this plan for all his men since he made the Devils. You know Nico’s biggest requirement of his men is loyalty. He craves it as much as he gives it, and this whole time he’s had plans in place to protect their futures.

He never got a chance to run away from this life, but he’s created a safeguard for anyone else who may want to.

You wonder what plans he has in place for his future family, if he’s got bigger and better safeguards for the kids that will hopefully run through this same backyard.

Whatever they are, you know they’ll ensure his children never get treated the way he did, so you have no reason to ponder over them.

“There’s one final gift,” Nola announces, clearing the thickness out of her voice. Jonas picks up the little pink and white box, but instead of opening it, he gestures to you and Nico.

“It’s for someone else to open though,” he adds, “would you both come up here?”

Nico leads you by the waist to join them at the center of attention, chuckling awkwardly when Jonas hands the gift to him.

“Open it together!” Nola adds, clasping her hands together in excitement. Clutching the gift in two hands, Nico motions for you to open it, so you untie the thick strip of ribbon and lift open the front box.

The lid of it flips back, revealing tendrils of pink confetti inside. Cushioned by the pink strips is a framed sonogram dated from last week at Nola’s appointment. Below it are two elegantly frosted cookies of a baby bottle and rattle, and in swooping black frosting are piped the words, ‘Will you be my godparents?’.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, immediately turning to Nico. He’s still staring at the cookies, eyebrows lowered thoughtfully and you know, that unlike you, he’s not at all surprised you were asked.

He’s contemplating, and he’s taking way too long to do it.

“What the fuck is it?” Haula shouts from the back of the group, and laughter rises up.

Nudging Nico with your elbow, you draw his gaze down to yours and give him a look. Worry later, answer know. He reads you quickly, like he always does, and clears his throat, schooling his expression into a polite smile.

“Jo, Nola,” he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief “of course we’ll do it.”

Nola erupts with excitement, rushing over to hug you both. Nico cradles the gift in one arm to join in on hugging her and Jonas, clapping his friend on the shoulder and looking far more moved and grateful when they share something spoken in soft Swiss German.

“We still don’t know what the fuck it is!” Haula shouts again, and everyone groans and shushes him.

“They’re the godparents,” Jonas explains, pride evident in his tone. Nola’s smile is full of it too as she tucks into Jonas’s side, eyes gleaming at the two of you.

The devils group all cheers, not rowdy and obnoxious, but honoring. It’s always been clear as day what god parents mean in the mob world. They’re not chosen out of convenience or even friendship. In this world, it’s deeper, because when you swear to protect and help raise mob children, it could actually mean life or death.

It’s not just showing up for birthdays and recitals, it’s knowing that the godparents will step between them and a bullet if needed, no question asked.

“Yes, we are.” He says, soft and devoutly peering down at you. You grab on the hem of his shirt, stepping in closer and meeting his eye. We’ve got this, you think, you and me.

The hint of a smile pulls at his lips and then he’s leaning down to kiss you, mouth barely touching yours when Jonas interrupts.

“You know it’ll be confirmed in a church right?”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, but Nico isn’t as gracious and openly groans as he flops to rest his head on your shoulder instead. You rise to your toes and cradle the back of his head, silently laughing at Jonas’s shit eating grin.

“You’ll survive, Hisch,” Jonas adds, thoroughly amused but genuine. No one actually thinks that Nico would burst into flames if he stepped foot in a church or that he’d decline the confirmation.

He may despise churches and religion, but for his Devils, he’ll always show up. Hell, even if the lies about him were true, he’d stand in that church with his heels smoking to make Jonas proud.

You’re sure of it.

The boys start to help Jonas load all their gifts into the car, and Nola starts to make the rounds thanking everyone, and Nico sets the gift box off to the side in favor of wrapping you up in his arms, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Hi, Neeky,” you murmur, cradling his jaw in your hands and his stubble scratches at your palms.

“Hi, baby,” he replies, dimples sinking into his cheeks as he smirks. He’s looking at you so warmly, eyes practically mirroring the stars and it makes your belly grow hot.

“What?” You giggle, blushing when his smirk widens.

He shakes his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours, and he just keeps admiring you for a moment. A bubble of heat seems to settle around you, the rest of the party fading away.

“When we get married,” he finally whispers, “and when we do all this, it won’t be in a church.”

Your breath catches, stuck in your lungs again. A church was never in the equation for the wedding, something you both agreed on a while ago, so you assumed a baptism in the church wasn’t either. Even if the plans for kids haven’t been decided on, you’ve never cared for the church and you know Nico has an aversion to it, therefore it wouldn’t be important to your future.

Having him verbalize it feels like the step you haven’t had the guts to take yet. By the way he’s carefully watching you, you know he’s testing the waters, toeing that line even more.

“No,” you agree, “it won’t be. It’ll be somewhere special, important to us.”

Finally, he kisses you, hands strong and warm on the curve of your lower back when he nudges you even closer, and you know those hands will be just as careful and safe with your goddaughter as they are with you.

You hope Nola and Jonas know it too.

A little over an hour later, the house is dark and still, Timo and Moose asleep downstairs, just across the hall from where Luke still snuggles Jack to sleep every night. Down the hall, Mercer and Casey have taken over the room Jack and Luke usually share, Nemo is tucked away in his bed, and Alex has offered up the floor of his room for an air mattress for Johnny. Even if there’s plenty of other spaces for Johnny to sleep for the night.

Finally alone for the first time all night, Nico still has his hands on you, wet fingertips tickling up at down your bicep, the other carefully cradling your hip.

Lazily, you trace your finger through the damp hair on Nico’s thigh, making swirling marks with the foamy suds bopping on top of the bath water. He lets you entertain yourself like that for a bit, silently watching your hand dancing up and down his thigh, his face tucked into your shoulder.

You keep waiting for him to nip at your skin, maybe press those sloppy and hot kisses he always uses when he wants to start something. He doesn’t though, instead just holding you against his chest and pressing chaste kisses to the side of your neck, no rhyme or reason to them.

“Shouldn’t have that in the water,” he tells you, nuzzling at your neck. The hand resting on your hip comes up out of the bath, completely engulfing yours under his.

“I don’t want to take it off,” you frown, and he traces his thumb over the band of your ring. You expect him to chastise you, to warn you in that scolding tone of his that you’re going to mess the ring up or knock the pearls loose.

He hums, “we’ll just have it get cleaned and more often.”

“You’re being awfully nice.”

“M’always nice to you.”

“Not when I’m being difficult.”

“You’re not being difficult,” he promises, pressing another warm kiss to your neck “you’re being such a good girl for me, actually. Sweet and soft, so pretty against my chest.”

Flattered and a little flush, you reach over your shoulder and tangle your fingers in the damp ends of his hair, drawing Nico in even closer.

“Nico,” you plead, arching into his touch. His laughter is warm on the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Baby,” he murmurs, “gotta tell you something, and m’not asking permission, okay?”

You still, fingers still dipped in his hair and hand tangled in his. Your rigid muscles don’t deter Nico, his fingers still tracing up and down your bicep.

“Are you listening,” he asks, hooking his chin on your shoulder, and you nod. “Tomorrow, I’m going down to the docks-“ he squeezes your arm in warning when you start to protest, “I’m going to the docks, I’m going to talk to our guest down there, and we’re going to get rid of all of them, for good.”

As much as you hate Nico going to the docks, you’re mostly relieved. The Nico in this tub with you, the one that sleeps next to you and kisses your face, is not the same Nico that enters the docks. If anyone can get the man down there to speak, it’ll be him.

You’re honestly shocked he hasn’t gone sooner.

“I know you’re not asking for it,” you say, “but you do have my permission, Nico. I’m with you, every step of the way.”

He shifts, nose digging into your cheekbone and lips brushing your cheek. You untangle your hand from his hair, cupping his face instead.

“You and me, baby,” he promises, fingering at your diamond ring. The one that’ll tie you to him for the rest of your lives.

No matter who tries to get in the way of it.

~~~~

“That’s against the rules!” Mercer had exclaimed, outraged to see Nico in his tactical gear. He hadn’t even had a chance to say anything to them, barely at the bottom of the stairs and halfway through tucking his gun away.

“I make the rules,” Nico had snipped, coming over to present you with his colors. Dutifully, you tied the bandana around his thigh and checked his gear.

Mercer squawked at that, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “And you’re letting him?” Him and Nico continued to glare at each other as you finished checking over Nico, making sure he had his chipped watch on and his lucky pocketknife with him. Then you walked him to the garage door, tucked his pendent under his black t-shirt, and sent him off with a kiss.

Now, Nico has been gone long enough you couldn’t possibly call him back home, but Mercer is still glaring at you, disappointed and annoyed.

As annoying as he can be, his agitation makes you swell with pride. The Dawson that’s been following you around lately is a far cry from the one that you flew out to Switzerland last year. He has the same goofy, gapped smile, and you know he’s still running the loft like it’s a frat house, but he’s also grown into his role here in New Jersey.

Him being comfortable enough to step on Nico’s toes and thumb at the cracks in safety protocols is a big deal, and as much as him and Nico huff at each other, you know your fiancé respects him for it.

The only other person close enough to Nico to do that is Timo.

Timo, who’s also seemed to notice the new Dawson Mercer, and by the pleased grin on his face, you’d say he’s quite pleased with the development. After all, Timo has been the one training Mercer for you.

You approach Mercer, unapologetic when you meet hud unyielding gaze.

“He’ll be home by dinner time,” you placate, “and then we’ll be one step closer to being done with this.”

He sighs, the stiffness in his shoulders fading with the exhale. A boyish grin slides across his face, both teasing and loving in equal measure.

“What?”

“Nico’s an asshole,” Mercer says, cheerily “and he’s pretty fucking stubborn…I see why you love him so much.”

Timo snorts, grabbing his water off the counter and heading towards the living room. He stops long enough to swat at the side of your leg and then ruffles Mercer’s messy hair.

“Yes we all love the psychopath that is Nico,” he says, and then side eyes you “some of us more than others.”

You grin, bashfully waving Timo away even though he’s already walking away from you and Mercer. The younger boy pats the top of your head, all fondness, and then he nods towards the office.

“Come on before Big T yells at me.”

You make a face, following after him “Timo does not yell.”

“He yells at me all the time.”

“He’s never yelled at me.”

Mercer gives you a look over his shoulder, “No one ever yells at you. You’re the princess.”

Timo is waiting at the closed office door, arms crossed over his chest and tapping his foot impatiently. He doesn’t yell at you to hurry or anything though, and you give Mercer a cocky smirk as you press your thumb to the lock.

“See?” He says, “no one would dare raise their voice at Nico’s princess. If that were me, Timo would’ve been yelling 2 minutes ago.”

“Cry me a river, Merc,” Timo scoffs, nudging you into the office. Giggling, you settle into Nico’s overstuffed desk chair. The leather is soft and worn despite still being new, and the smell cologne of his cologne clings to it.

They take up the chairs opposite of you, Timo immediately reaching for the humongous stack of papers on the corner. They’re transcriptions of audio from the bugs in the your parents house that were provided by Johnny and Alex, and over the past couple days everyone has taken turns reading over them and highlighting anything important.

Nothing has caught your’s or Nico’s eye, but you know he wants to be thorough. After Switzerland, he goes above and beyond to make sure nothing is going to slip under his nose by hiding in plain sight.

So you hunker down, pink highlighter cap bitten between your teeth and attempt to make a dent in the stack of transcriptions. Mercer kicks his feet up on the desk, using his thigh and a binder to stabilize his work. Timo ends up putting on music, his curated daylist playing softly through the speaker of his phone. You curl up in Nico’s chair, one leg tucked up into your chest, and read over so many useless conversations you feel like your eyes might bleed.

For hours, all that becomes obvious is one thing: your family doesn’t mention you nearly as often as everyone thought they would. When you do come up in conversation, there’s no real significance to it.

You don’t know if you should be relieved or hurt. A part of you is glad. This could mean they don’t have any real plan, that these past actions aren’t strategy to something bigger. They’re just acts of defense, fighting back after Nico drew battle lines. The other part of you is upset. They don’t even regret the way they treated you, at least not enough to even talk about it.

“Hey,” Timo gently calls, and you drop your hands from where you were rubbing at your eyes. It takes a few blinks for him to come back into focus, and when he does, he’s holding a slip of paper out to you, thick lines of blue highlighter on it.

“What did you find?” You ask, scared to take it and read it for yourself. He hesitates, still trying to hand it to you but eventually purses his lips and places the paper in front of himself again.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, “it says there was crying noises on the feed and then your dad says, ‘there’s no need for worries, she’ll be safe and sound soon, back where she was always supposed to be’ and then your mother says, ‘pray she is still worth it’ and then they switch to Italian-“

“What does that mean?” You ask, sinking further into Nico’s chair “what do they mean by back Timo? What are they-“

Your voice fails you, fear cutting through your vocal cords like a knife. The cap of the highlighter digs into your hand from how tightly you’re squeezing it, and you force your fingers open to set it back on the desk. Your fingers feel tingly, palms sweaty and clammy, so you wipe them on your thighs.

You’re panicking. You know you are, and it’s in a way you haven’t felt in a while. The last time you felt like this you went running from a rooftop bar to a back alley, and you never made it back inside.

“Y/n,” Timo prods, tone even and calm “sweets, take a deep breath an-“

On the desk, your phone comes to life, buzzing across the polished wood with Nico’s contact. You don’t hesitate to grab it, trembling as you answer the call on speaker.

“Baby?” Nico asks when you don’t greet him, “you there?”

“Yes,” you croak, finally able to find your voice again. Just hearing him has helped, knowing he’s just a cry for help away. “M’here, sorry I’m here.”

“You okay?” He asks, voice lowering with concern “what are you doing?”

“I’m with Timo and Dawson,” you clear your throat, running your hands over your face. Breathing is starting to come easier again, the alarm bells in your head fading away. “We’re-we were reading through transcripts again.”

“Oh?”

“There’s-Timo found a weird one, I’ll show you when you get home,” you swallow, pleadingly staring down at his name on your phone screen, at the numbers on the call time counting up “Please tell me you’re coming home?”

“I’m coming home,” he immediately promises, sincere in that way he only gets when he can tell something is wrong “I’m still at the docks right now but I just, I need your help with something real quick and then I can leave, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, taking a deep breath. You square your shoulders, sitting up straighter. Across the desk, Timo and Dawson are looking at you with similar expressions of empathy. “What do you need me to do?”

You hear shuffling, Nico’s heavy boots on concrete as he walks. “I got him talking,” he says, “not a lot but he keeps saying something in Italian and then says to tell you. I don’t think he’s playing a game, I think he’s given in.”

Based on past experiences, you’d assume the same. Not a lot of people dare play games with Nico, not unless they’re stupid, and this man has almost survived a week in the docks so he’s at least a little smart.

Nico continues, “I’m going to put you on speaker and let him say it. You are not to say a word back to him, you understand me?” His tone has gone firm and mean, sharp enough that you know to roll over on this one.

“I understand.”

“I mean it y/n, not even a breath. You can’t react to anything he says until it’s just me and you on the phone, got it?”

“I got it Nico,” you swear, “it’ll be like I’m not even on the line.”

“Good girl,” he replies, “be quiet for me, yeah?”

On the other side of the desk, Mercer raises an eyebrow at Timo. “He seems very comfortable talking to her like that.”

The rustling coming through the speaker halts.

“Mercer,” Nico warns,

“Sorry, I’ll be quiet too.”

The sounds of movement resume, shuffling and the scrape of a metal door opening. To be safe, you mute the microphone on your end, blowing out a deep sigh.

Something hard thumps on the other line.

“Talk,” Nico barks, mean enough that it makes you jump “no fucking games.”

Timo purses his lips, frowning at your reaction to this version of Nico. You suppose they were right, Nico at the docks is a very different Nico than you’re used to.

“Diavolessa,” a voice croaks, broken and rough by exhaustion, accent thick “Non sono il nemico. Sono stato mandato per salvarti dal diavolo. Ne sta arrivando un altro, e ti mostrerà la famiglia.”

Nico, you think, didn’t have to worry about you making a peep. You’re stunned into silence, jaw clenched shut and hands wrapped up in your t-shirt so tight you’re surprised the threads haven’t snapped.

“Baby,” Nico finally murmurs, voice closer now. He must’ve taken it off speaker, must have the phone to his ear again. Impossibly, it makes you feel safer. Like he’s right next to you.

Your voice is just a hushed whimper, weak with fear. “Nico.”

“Tell me what he said,” he demands, concerned and upset, “did he threaten you?”

“H-he warned me,” you whisper, the back of your throat stinging uncomfortably “he said he’s not the enemy. That he was sent to save me…”

“Save you?”

“From the devil,” you continue, “from you. And that some is coming for me, some who will show me family.”

The air is eerily silent, both in the office and over the phone. You can feel Timo and Mercer watching you carefully, no doubt on the edge of their seats.

“Nico,” Timo says, worried and you realize your waterline has filled with tears. You sniffle, wiping at them with the back of your hand. “Nico, the transcripts here, they’re talking about her being back where she belongs again soon.”

He swears, soft and mumbled under his breath, and it’s in Swiss German but you’ve learned from Timo that he’s saying fuck.

“Y/n,” he calls, gentler and careful “are you okay?”

Staring at his name on your screen, you shake your head.

“I’m scared, Nico,” you admit, the words just a wet mumble but you hear the way they make him sigh “you were right, at the deli. About them wanting me back. I’m scared, I don’t want to go anywhere, I can’t-“

“You’re not going anywhere,” he cuts in, steady and confident in that way that comes so easily to him. “You’re mine, baby. You’re a devil, and no one can change that, capisce?”

Dumbly, you nod even though he can’t see you. More tears have slipped down your cheek, and you wipe them away, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Capisce,” you repeat, but it still sounds thin and rattled.

“Hey, are you listening?” Nico murmurs, “listen real close for me, yeah?”

You lean in, turning your ear towards the phone but it’s unnecessary. You don’t need to strain to hear the sound of Nico’s gun going off, the heavy thud of a body fully slumping over. Somewhere in the back a familiar voice goes, “whoo finally boss.” Haula, you realize.

“Anyone coming for you,” Nico says, earnest “will have to get through me.”

“And they’ll have to get through us to get to Nico,” Mercer adds, just as firm. You peer up at them, find Timo nodding in agreement.

“We’ve got your back sweets,” he promises, “whatever you need. You’re the boss.”

You nod, taking slow and calming breaths for a moment. Nico stays on the phone, but his voice gets far away when he whistles and orders, “Haula, take care of this. I want his ring.”

“Yessir,” Haula chirps, even further away. Nico’s heavy boots thud as he walks away from whatever mess he’s left behind.

“My love,” he coos, too soft for a man that’s probably holding this phone with a blood stained hand “I’m coming home now.”

“Okay.”

He sighs, “I promise you’re safe, baby. I built that house to keep you safe, and I built the Devils to keep you safe.”

“I’m safe,” you agree, “I just-I want you home.”

Nico laughs, gentle and breathless and sweet in a way that doesn’t belong at the docks. It’s the opposite of death and violence, full of love and tenderness. You can’t help but warm at the sound, impossibly fond of the fact that this man loves you so much he can kill for you and make you blush.

“I’m on my way now,” he swears, “I’ll see you soon.”

Relaxing, as much as you can with the threat still hanging over your head, you let Timo steal your phone.

“We gotta a plan, boss?” He asks, on the edge of his chair.

“Always,” Nico replies, easily “call Keefe, tell him her whole family is to come in tomorrow for an update on the devil.

“He knows what to do.”

~~~~

Nico can’t recall the first time he witness an interrogation. He was young, way too young to be there, but Katja was training Nina and Nico was between Nannies. The latest one had quit the day before, showing off the bloody bite mark on her forearm as reason. Nico couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to, the gap in the wound lined up perfectly with his missing front tooth.

It wasn’t the first nanny to call him a devil child and leave, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last, so he spent a day following his father and Luca around, chasing after them and wincing when his father’s men tripped over him or kicked him out of the way. He was a small kid, ironically enough. So small that he was barely seen hiding behind Luca’s legs as his father ripped through the man tied up in his grandfather’s basement.

Nico remembers hating the smell of blood after that. He hated it so much he never bit another Nanny again.

He learned the most important part of interrogating though; be the devil. Get under the person’s skin, annoy and prod at them until they break. Most of the time, pain isn’t necessary if you can piss someone off enough into talking.

Nico is very good at that. He was born a devil.

Wrapping himself around you, Nico presses his nose to your temple, watching your features soften as you lean into him. Through the two-way glass, Keefe is staging the room, laying out files and glasses of water, everything to look normal.

It’s not a normal police visit.

“I’ll get them,” he whispers, “I’m going to make them cave, okay? And this will all be over once we know everything.”

You place your hands over his, and Nico parts his fingers so you can slip yours between them. Moose, laying on the floor between your feet, tilts his head back curiously.

“I know you will.” You say, squeezing his palm.

“Anything I say in there,” Nico begins, “anything I do, I would never do to you, you know that right?”

He doesn’t want to scare you, but he needs you to know. With you, he’s not a devil, he’s not scary, he’s not a mob boss. No matter how much those start to overlap with you becoming his wife, he’ll always be just Nico with you.

“Yes,” reply, bemused “I know, Nico. You don’t scare me, never have.”

Nico hums his approval, pecking a kiss to your temple. He stops himself from making a move for your mouth, because Keefe is tapping the glass now.

“They’re here, into position boys.”

It’s a bit of a squeeze in the observation room, Timo, Mercer, Alex, Nemo, Johnny, and Casey already a lot of guys, but Nico has tossed in McDermid and Jonas too.

They all push in closer at Keefe’s signal, crowding in closer to the glass, bulky weapons and tactical gear taking up even more room. Moose shifts grumpily at your feet when Timo’s boots thump next to his head, and Nico pulls you in even closer.

Timo glances over, an easy and crooked grin on his face.

“We got you, Sweets.”

He holds his fist out and you carefully knock yours against his with a soft laugh. He gives Nico a wink, confident and smug in a way Nico needs him to be right now. You’ll see it, you’ll feel it. He needs you to be the strong, capable woman he knows you are.

Even if you’re scared.

In the interrogation room, Keefe and two officers escort a familiar group of three in and to the metal table, now lined with three chairs instead of two. Your mother sits first, just as stiff and poised as she was the last time she was here. Per Nico’s instructions, she’s missing her purse, awkwardly folding her hands in her lap.

Your father and Nonna sit next, him holding her elbow to offer a steady hand even though she moves better than most elderly people, especially ones that have supposedly been ill.

Keefe does the spiel, welcoming them and asking if they’re comfortable, sitting across from them and offering them water. Then he pulls out a pen and his notepad, clicking it open.

“We’ve taken some big steps in our investigation of Hischier,” he begins, “I’ll get into the details in a moment, but before I do, I’ve just got some questions for Rosetta here.”

Nonna sits up straighter, carefully laying her hands on the table. They’re clasped together the same way your mother’s hands are, the rings on them catching under the light. Nico pauses, squinting at her sun-spotted hands. She’s got a wedding ring on her left hand, a band tucked with it, but she’s always got one on her right hand. Silver and engraved with detailing Nico can’t make out from here.

“What can you tell us about your granddaughter, y/n? When was the last time you saw her?”

“My y/n,” she coos, “she’s such a beautiful girl, always has been. From the day she was born, she had this big, beautiful smile-not many babies smile like that…”

Nico squeezes you tighter, heart aching in his chest. You’ve always had a pretty smile, have always been able to reel him in with it. He’s not at all surprised to hear that you were wielding the power of that beautiful smile since the minute you opened your eyes.

He hates that Nonna knows that too, that your family has experienced all those good things about you. They don’t deserve it.

“And she was growing into a beautiful woman the last time I saw her. She was maybe 13-14, the last time I came to Jersey.”

Messily, Keefe scribbles on his notepad. Nico can’t see but he bets Keefe isn’t even writing anything down, at least not legibly. It’s for show anyway, this conversation will be on Nico’s security footage.

“You were away for a long time,” Keefe comments, “what held you up, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Nonna’s expression crumples, and she lays a delicate hand on her chest as she croaks, “I was caring for my husband back home, he was being treated for an illness. It was too hard to travel, to come see her. When he passed, it had already happened.”

“What happened?”

“She was gone,” Nonna whimpers, “taken by that man, disowned her family.”

He taps the pen on the table, “taken? You’re saying y/n was abduction by Hischier?”

The shift happens instantly. Your parents never claimed any abduction, never accused Nico of taking you against your will. They said you’d chosen him instead, that out of rebellion you picked him over family. Like you’re just a dumb girl with a crush, being played by the big, bad mafioso.

Nonna is telling a different story.

“In a way,” your mother interrupts, the cracks in her facade peaking through as she nervously laughs “I mean what else would you call it? He’s a criminal, he’s kept her from us, it’s like abduction. She thinks it’s love, to him it’s just power. It always is with those men.”

Keefe flips through his notepad, reading over god knows what. “From my records, y/n and Hischier are in a consensual, willing relationship. She’s never reported otherwise, even with the type of man he is.”

Eye big and watery, Nonna leans in closer, “is he as bad they say? Hischier? Your investigation, tell me, is my y/n safe with him?”

Leaning back in his chair, Keefe lets out a low whistle. At the signal, Nico presses a parting kiss to your cheek, and he heads to the door, everyone but Alex and Johnny following him. It only takes Nico a moment to get from the observation room to the door of the interrogation one, an officer pulling open the door for him.

Flanked by his men, Nico enters the room. There’s a hushed silence, heavy with shock and surprise. In the halt in conversation, Keefe stands up, swiftly moving out of the way for Nico and the Devils to pour into the room.

“Funny you say that,” Nico greets, wagging a finger at Nonna “last I checked, she’s my y/n.”

Your father is the first to reaction, shoving his chair back with a teeth-grinding scrape. That’s the only step he gets to take before Jonas and Mercer are on him, rifles up and red dot lined up perfectly between his blazing eyes.

“Uh-uh,” Nico tisks, “sit down.”

He hesitates, lips trembling with anger but heavily sits back in his chair. Jonas and Mercer round the table, Nemo joining them until all three have guns on each member. It’s not until then that Nico takes Keefe’s chair, kicking his boots up onto the table. Timo joins him, his own gun ready at his side.

“You’re crooked,” your father spits, turning his glare towards Keefe, “you’re a crooked fucking cop! You’ll never get away with this!”

Keefe laughs, heavy and heartily, clapping a hand on Nico’s shoulder. “Come on man, you should know the city better than that by now. The only man I answer to, is sitting right here.

“And he’s more upset with you than he is me.”

With that, Keefe and his men leave the room, the door shutting loudly behind them. Casually, Nico shrugs, pulling one of the files off the table into his lap. Mindlessly, he flips through it.

“He’s right, you know,” Nico laughs, “everyone in Jersey lives under me and answers to me.” Taunting, Nico glances up at your father “even mechanics out in Jersey City will do what I say.”

It feels blissfully good to see all their faces pale, to see the anger start to bleed out of your father’s eyes, wavering with fear. Nico drinks it up like water during a drought, chest puffing with pride.

“Even people like you.”

Your mother, nose turned up in disgust, denies, “we have never answered to you!”

Amused, he raises an eyebrow. “No? You don’t think so?” He tosses the file back on the table, dropping his boots back to the ground in favor of leaning in, taking up more of the limited space they’ve been given.

“How have you enjoyed the gym lately? The girls still talking about you in the sauna?” He turns his gaze to Nonna, laughs when she flinches back in her chair, “How about the deli? Get anything good? I personally enjoy the Devil Delight sub, but I am biased.” His gaze snaps to your father. “What about your home? You feel safe there, Lorenzo?”

Your father clenches his jaw at the dig, hands tightening into fists on the table. Surprisingly, Nico thinks he might already crack, that your father is going to make a jump for him. He doesn’t get the chance, Jonas touching the barrel of his gun to the back of his head in reminder.

“Did you feel safe on the 5th? When you came home and your doors were locked, but someone had been inside, hadn’t they?

“How about back in July, 2022? Did you feel eyes on you at work? Following you down the street?”

Nico clicks his tongue, “Or what about Christmas Eve that year? When I was hand delivering flowers to the bedroom upstairs? The one at the end of the hall, to the left? With the pretty pink, floral wallpaper? I bet you felt real safe, huh?”

They’ve deflated at his rant, the real meaning becoming obvious. Nico has been watching them, has been a part of their lives for far longer than they thought. He has always been around and he always will be.

“What do you want then?” Your father grits, “what’s the point?”

“Wants,” Nico musses, “what do I want? Truthfully, I’ve never been a wanting man myself. I think wants are wasteful. Needs on the other hand, those are different. Everyone needs something.”

Then, just to be a shit, he rolls his head to peer at Timo, sly smirk rising across his face.

“My needs are always meant, aren’t they? I’ve got the prettiest girl for that.”

His best friend chuckles, shaking his head in amusement at Nico. He knows the routine too, before he was your body guard, he was Nico’s right hand man in these investigations. The good cop to Nico’s bad cop.

He looks back at your mother, delighted to find her looking even more outraged, horrified by his implications. He’s always hated the holier-than-though prudes.

“I’m guessing she didn’t get that from you,” he adds, gesturing to her with a lazy circle of his hand. Your mother huffs through her nose, tilting her chin up at him in defiance.

He could’ve guessed she’d be tougher than your father.

“I don’t want anything, I just need an address.” He gets back on track, turning expectantly to your grandmother, “one I’m assuming you’ll be able to give me.”

Nico doesn’t make it a habit to intimidate and scare old ladies, but he revels in the fear masked across her features. It’s in the worry lines of her frown, the wrinkles by her eyes, the creases by her trembling mouth.

“M-me?”

“You,” he nods, “I’ve got a bit of a problem, a rat from Calabria got into my business, one that came over with you.”

Despite her fear, your Nonna doesn’t react to that one. Not enough for him to really get anything out of her, but her right pinky twitches, and Nico knows he’s got something to keep poking at.

“Can I see her?” She begs, green eyes brimming with tears “my y/n? Please just-just for a moment?”

Mocking and mean, Nico laughs. He laughs long enough that it scares her even more, makes her shrink back into her chair. Your father does too, looking a greenish when Nico slams his hand down on the table.

“My y/n,” he corrects again “don’t make me repeat myself!”

Nonna whimpers, sniffling.

“I’ll tell you whatever if you just let me see her, please, diavolo.”

Nico nods towards your father. “You know where to find her, the cemetery, right? That’s where you left her.”

“Yeah? And where did you leave her?” Your father grits, “she sure as hell wasn’t with you the last time we saw her.”

Cruel and mocking, Nico laughs. “You think you won? Think she’s not with me?”

“No,” he insists, “she’s not with you, because she’d never let you do this to us, to her family!”

This time, Timo joins in on the laughter. They’re loud and obnoxious about it, nudging each other like it’s some inside joke. Nico is glad he finds it funny too, your father saying that. It’s twisted that he thinks he can still call you family, that you’d defend them after everything they did. He thinks you’re still loyal to them.

Everyone knows you’ve only ever been loyal to him, to the Devils.

Catching his breath, Nico snaps his fingers at Nemo and Casey. “Hands on the table,” Nico demands, “all of you, now!”

Startled, all three of them place their hands on the table, carefully folded together. Nemo and Casey pull out the large zip ties Nico stocked in their gear, not the most stable option they’ve got, but for this kind of chat, they’ll do. The plastic is biting and tight, too thick to break without some effort, but it’s just meant to scare them into staying still.

If they really tried to move, to break out, someone’s bullet would stop them before they could get far.

Your father looks smug, even after Nemo has locked his wrists together. He thinks he’s got Nico, that his claims about you were true and he’s pissed Nico off enough into hurting them.

He can’t help but grin in satisfaction at that.

With them all secured and at gunpoint, Timo gets up from the table. His boots are heavy on the cement floor, enough so that Nico can track his steps behind him as he gets to the door and pulls it open.

A part of him wishes he’d gotten up, that he could see you strut into this room with Alex and Johnny armed behind you, with Moose and Timo protectively by your side. A bigger part of him is more than happy to watch it all flicker across your mother’s face, first fear, then recognition, then shock, and finally, something Nico could only say is akin to malice.

“Y/n!” Your Nonna gasps, eyes wide. You don’t respond to her, instead coming to stand by Nico. He stands up, pulling out Timo’s chair for you, but before you even think about sitting down he’s taking you by the throat, drawing you in for a kiss.

Like always, you mirror him, sloppy and messy with it at he very clearly dips his tongue in your mouth. You even laugh, cute and amused when he palms at your ass, blatant and cocky in front of everyone.

He’s a private person, but he’s unashamed when it comes to you.

“Hi, baby.” He greets, pulling away and licking at his lips. Nose still brushing his, you grin back, ducking forward to lick at his bottom lip. It’s quick, the movement barely there, but by the way your mother gasps he knows she caught it.

“Hi,” you say, laying a hand over his heart. Then you take your seat, crossing one leg over the other and petting at Moose’s head when he sits beside you. Nico sits too, smirk growing even more sly when your mother glares at him with disgust.

“Well?” You ask, impatient “you wanted to see me to talk, now talk.”

He has flashback to Switzerland, to you coming into his grandfather’s house, guns blazing and speaking to him just like that, like you owned the room, owned him. It’s so fucking hot he thinks he could take you right here, lay you across the table and have his way with you.

It’s not what he’s usually into, voyeurism or what ever the fuck it’s called. He’s into you though, and he’s really into pissing off your mother.

“You’ve known then?” Your father asks, tone laced with betrayal “about what he’s been doing?”

“Oh,” you laugh, unapologetic “I’ve more than known. Everything he does, we do together.”

“How shameful!” Your mother spits, “we’re your family, y/n! How could you turn on your family!”

You scoff. “You are not my family! Family doesn’t disown their old child for choosing something that made her happy, family doesn’t fake their deaths, and family doesn’t attack someone you love!”

“We were protecting you!” Your mother shouts, “look what he’s done to you, what you’ve become!”

Nico leaps across the table, grabs your mother by the throat and squeezes. Not enough to actually choke her, but enough that her inhales are just a wheeze. Jonas pins your father down before he can move, and your Nonna jumps back in fear.

“Watch your fucking tone,” Nico hisses, shoving your mother back in her chair, “talk to her like that again and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

Your mother grabs at her neck once he’s released her, gasping for air as if she’d just spent minutes underwater. He rolls his eyes at her dramatics.

“You’re done talking,” he decides, “it’s my turn to ask questions. You either answer or I’ll get angrier, and they don’t want to see me angry, do they baby?”

Cheekily, you cup the back of his head and wink, “No, boss. They don’t.” You purr, all flirty and proud, and Nico is fucking obsessed with you.

Unprompted, untrained, and yet you match him stride for stride in here, are just as irritating and unashamed as he is. He didn’t even need to warn you earlier, didn’t need to make sure that you know his taunting is just a joke. He going to dangle you like a prize in front of them, act like your just something to have and control, and he doesn’t want you to take it seriously.

He should’ve known you wouldn’t. You’re the perfect little freak to match his, the most incredible little mob wife, and you read him like the back of your hand.

He has to tear his eyes away from you, force himself to focus back on business.

“I asked for an address,” he reminds, raising his eyebrows at Nonna, “it’s time for you to talk.”

“What address do you expect me to have?” She mumbles, defeated. “What are you looking for?”

“I’ve got a gift to mail back,” he says, casually “and I’d like to get it back to its owner sooner rather than later. Before it starts to smell.”

Your father gulps, terrified. “W-what is it?”

“Oh,” Nico chirps, cheerily “the craziest thing, you wouldn’t believe. It’s a finger, a pinky one specifically, but the real kicker is the silver ring on it. Engraved with all these symbols.

“I had my boys take a real good look at it-we all know what a pinky ring means, right?- and they found something so interesting. It’s Italian, the markings of an old mafia in southern Italy. Specifically, Calabria.”

“We don’t know anything about that place,” your father insists, “we haven’t been to Italy since before she was born.”

Your Nonna, however, looks nervous. Lips pursed and fingers trembling. He glances down at her right hand, then back up at her.

“That’s funny,” he comments, “because you’ve got the simplified version of that ring on your hand.”

As if just remembering her ring, your Nonna tucks her hands into her chest, hiding them from it. Not it matters, he’s been looking at that ring the whole time. He knows what it is, what it means. The same way you wear the simple version of his ring around your neck, she’s wearing it for someone in the Italian mafia. Someone who isn’t smart enough to know to hide it.

Stunned, or maybe scared into silence, Nico eyes all of them. Your mother hasn’t made a peep since he touched her, and he doesn’t think your father or Nonna are going to bother opening up their mouths again either. Not with how badly they just fucked up.

“You’ve really given yourselves away these past couple weeks,” Nico continues, glad they’ve finally shut up. “Reporting a break in, lying to Keefe about the sneaky deals you made with the cemetery. Bringing a foreign mafia into my city, letting him hurt my boys.

“You were careful with the bugs, I’ll give you that, but not careful enough. And you weren’t at all careful with our guy Marky, letting him fuck around with your cars like that. You’re lucky I don’t find car bombs very amusing, because that would’ve been so much easier.”

He blows out a tired breath, cracking his neck before leaning onto the table, imposing and uncomfortably close to them.

“I’ve put most of it together, not that it was hard with how quick you are to lie. You couldn’t even get the story straight with each other,” he laughs in disbelief, “I used to regret taking her from you, you know? I never wanted her to make a sacrifice like that, to lose something so important to her.

“Now I know it was for the best, because she was never safe with you, never protected and respected the way she should be.”

Nico sits back in his chair, takes your chin between his fingers and lovingly strokes his thumb over the curve of it. He knows you’re hanging onto every word he says, curious as to what he’s pieced together, but you don’t rush him.

“My pretty girl,” he murmurs, smiling comfortingly. Then he turns back to your family, “when were you going to tell her she was already born into the mafia?”

At their silence, he keeps prodding. “When were you going to tell her that you didn’t cut her off for picking the mob, you cut her off for not pick your mafia, your famiglia?”

When they still don’t speak, he grits his teeth, fishing out his pocketknife and flicking open the blade. He doesn’t have to do much with it, just lay the shiny polished blade out on the table.

“Now is when you fucking speak,” he orders, like their dogs in need of a command. To his surprise, it’s your mother that answers.

“That summer,” she answers, thin and poised “she was to find out that summer exactly who we are, what she was born for.” Then she looks Nico up and down with disdain. “You got to her first, not out of coincidence, I’m sure.”

That makes him laugh, pleased to hear they think so highly of him. It was out of pure coincidence that you came into his life. It wasn’t until his overthinking last night, him silently pouring over more files and evidence in the dark of your bedroom that he started to theorize.

Seeing Nonna’s ring today confirmed it.

“Tell her know,” he growls, “explain everything to her, beg for her to forgive you and maybe I won’t slit your throat.”

“Y/n,” Nonna begins, “you have to understand, you know how the lifestyle is. We did what was expected of us…”

It’s Nonna that spills the story.

Her husband Matteo was always a member of the mafia in Sicily. She married into it, was happy and eager to be his mafia wife. It’s the norm for the woman around the life to become that. They’re always meant to be mafia wives. Your mother was one too, married your father to join the family. They always knew whatever child they had would be one too.

You were meant to be a little bit more.

True to Johnny’s claims, the Sicilian mafia was looking to unite with Calabria, to become bigger and more powerful, to overtake the mob families that were taking over Europe. They needed to be bigger before another family started taking over countries. A family like Nico’s, who has ties into three countries now.

The deal was put in place. The boss of the Calabria mafia agreed to marry into an alliance. His first born son would marry your parent’s first born daughter. He wanted bigger though, wanted more than Italy.

Your parents were sent to New Jersey, where you’d be born and raised as a citizen until the time came for marriage. You’d marry, become the mafia wife you were meant to be, and it would root the Italian mafia in the States, specifically in a place with a good location off the ocean and no ruling organization, yet.

At just 18, Nico beat them here. The Hischier child that was supposed to have Germany switched up and took New Jersey, took another continent instead of a country. They’d hoped by the time you finished school, Nico wouldn’t be strong enough to fight off the Italian mafia. That you could still marry, still fulfill the promise.

“We were so careful with you,” your father says, “demanded perfection and hard work to keep you safe from him, away from him until you could marry. He figured us out though, he got to you first.”

Nico did figure them out, but not back then and certainly not about the marriage deal. He’d figured it out last night, the afflicted way your parents spoke about you and the Italian family member coming to visit. The warning that someone was coming to bring you home.

He thought of how easily you fit into his life, how you seemed engrained with everything that made a picture perfect mob wife. Stories of you obsessing over school work, of not being allowed mistakes, always working, always getting better. Perfection was demanded.

It reminded him of Nina. She was raised similarly, shaped and molded by his own harsh mother. It was mob tradition, and your family had done it to you. Because you’re a mafia daughter.

“You didn’t disown me for choosing him,” you finally mumble, shaking your head in disbelief “you disowned me for choosing.

“Nico didn’t find me, didn’t take me from you. And you’d know that if you had ever let me speak that day I told you about him.”

There was no conspiracy behind you and him, no big plan. He didn’t target you, didn’t stalk you and trick you into being with him.

“She came into my bar,” Nico explains, meeting Nonna’s eye “with that big, beautiful smile, and I couldn’t say no to her. I was helpless to it, to her.”

“We’re supposed to believe that?” Your father asks, incredulous “it was all coincidence? You ruined her, you’ve made her a monster!”

“Everything I am is from you!” You defend, strong and angry “you made me like this! You’re cold and calculated and liars! Everything I thought I had growing up, everything I thought we were was a lie!

“And all you’ve done since then is belittle me, mock me for falling in love, for finally having something real. You killed me for it!”

“We did that to protect you!” Your mother argues, “what do you think would’ve happened when we told them we couldn’t fulfill our end of the deal because Hischier got to you first? They would’ve killed all of us!”

“No,” you deny, “they would’ve killed you. And Nico would’ve killed them before they could ever get near me, the same way he did to their little rat.”

“You’re not safe with him,” your Nonna croaks, begging and pleading, just how Nico wanted them to “his family, his influence is all falling apart. His father is gone missing, betrayed by his own men. How long until that happens here? What will you do?”

“I know about Rino,” you spit, “I made Rino disappear, I got his men and his wife to turn on him.”

You’re upset now, more than Nico wanted you to be. You deserve to be angry, to take it out on them, but he never wanted to overwhelm you.

Placating, he soothes his hand through your hair, cupping the back of your neck. You turn to him, eyes alight with anger. He knows better though, reads you better than anyone else. Underneath it all is hurt, is rejection, betrayal. Your whole life has been a lie, has been hypocrisy.

Nico draws you into him, pressing a kiss between your eyes. You bite at your bottom lip, seeming to get what he’s saying. Today has been enough. You’ve got the truth, you’ve got the everything you need to know about them. You now know that you can’t trust them, that reuniting is not in the picture.

“Your biggest mistake,” he says, still looking at you but addressed your family “was trying to make her just somebodies wife. She was never meant for marriage, she was meant for ruling.”

A watery but grateful smile tugs at your lips. He’s always been clear that you would never just be a wife, a silent partner is his life. You control and rule everything he does.

“You can’t trust him, y/n,” your mother insists, that pleading tone bleeding into her desperate words “what about this is permanent? With us, with Delvecchio, it’s permanent!”

Bingo, Nico thinks. There’s his name, there’s the guest that’s coming to visit. The man, Delvecchio, who is coming to claim the bride promised to him over twenty years ago. He’s got no want to keep your family around any longer, but he refuses to be wasteful. Not when he can still use them later.

“This is permanent,” you reply, more collected and confident than earlier “more permanent than what you had lined up for me. With you, I get a wedding ring and a forced marriage, maybe a mafia ring when he finally dies.”

Carefully, you extract the chain tucked into your shirt, displaying the pendent and ring to them.

“I’ve already got both here,” you flash your hand at them, large diamond and pearl ring taunting them.

“I told you,” Nico responds to the horrified looks on their face, “she’s my y/n.”

He grabs your hand then, the two of you riding to your feet. He motions to the boys and then manhandle your family to their feet, all the fight taken out of them now that they’ve seen the truth.

You’re a Devil, a Hischier, and you always will be.

“Your passports have been pulled,” he informs them, “as have your IDs. If I so much as see a tracker on one of your vehicles head out of the city, I will take an interest in those car bombs.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Your father asks, “what are you going to do with us?”

Nico shrugs, “I’ll be coming back for you. Once our friend gets here from Italy, I’ll need you. To identify the body, of course.

“In the meantime, you’ll be spending the rest of the day with my good friend Haula. He’s got a hot new branding iron he’s being dying to use.”

He signals for them to fully detain your family now, ignored the sound of them struggling against the hold of his men. Instead, he throws his arm over your shoulders, guides you toward the door with Moose in tow.

Alex has barely opened the door to leave when your mother calls out for you again.

“Y/n please don’t do this, don’t let him do this.”

You pause, looking over your shoulder.

“Hischier,” you correct, “it’s terribly rude to call a boss by their first name. Don’t make that mistake again.”

~~~~

Nico barely gets you out to the car before he’s on you, crowding you back into the door of the vehicle and grabbing your face. You go willingly, grabbing at his forearms and melting into the way he kisses you, the way he completely covers your body with his.

Timo and Alex both turn their backs, offering some privacy and acting as armed guards. Your family is being led out the back of the station as he dips his tongue in your mouth, ready to be transported to the docks for the day. Their vehicles have already been moved, taken back home by Marky.

Any sign that they were here today has been erased.

“When did you realize?” You ask him, panting heavily “when did you find out the truth?”

“Last night,” he replies, “I couldn’t stop thinking about everything, and I was trying to come up with a plan to get them talking. Thinking through it all again, I realized.”

Your eyes search his.

“You didn’t know before,” you whisper, not a question but a confirmation. “You didn’t pick me to save yourself.”

He shakes his head. “I picked you because I love you,” he promises, “and because you picked me first when no one else had.”

You touch your forehead to his, sniffling with emotion. “You saved me, Nico,” you whimper, “you saved me without even knowing.”

“You saved me too, baby. And I’m going to keep saving you, I swear.”

He kisses you again, pulling you tightly into his embrace, uncaring of the sound of three vehicles pulling away from the back of the station, barreling towards the docks.

You don’t have to worry about them anymore.

~~~~

Nico is a chronic planner, the same way he’s a chronic over-thinker. He knows there’s to flaws to both, just as much as there’s benefits, which is why he’s good at forcing himself to pivot or change gears if needed.

He told you it was just a drive. Squished Moose in the backseat of his fancy new standard car, the one he’d fucked you in too many times to count, and rolled the windows down, and went barreling down the highway with you in the passenger seat.

Windblown and beautiful, he runs through it all in his head, this new direction. It’s not what he planned, not what he ever really wanted, but it what he needs to do.

Alex and Timo are already waiting when he pulls into the parking lot, both of them dressed in black slacks and black button ups. The bag he’d left out in the living room hangs from Timo’s shoulder, just as he was instructed.

“Nico,” you ask, eyeing the large brick building behind them. “What are we doing here?”

He puts the car in neutral and pulls the emergency break up. Then he shifts towards you, legs squished in the small car but he doesn’t care.

“Getting married, if you’ll have me.”

Dumbfounded, you blink at him, mouth opening and closing in shock a few times. You shake your head, reaching over the gearshift for his hand.

“W-what are you talking about? The wedding and the planning and-“

“It’s still there, still happening,” he promises, squeezing your fingers “I’m going to give you everything you want and deserve, baby.”

“But-“

“But there’s a man coming over here for you, and he thinks he’s going to marry you.”

“I’m not marrying him, Neeky.”

He smiles, pleased. “I know that baby, but I don’t think he’ll give you up without a fight. For us, for you, I think we do this right here and right now. No one has to know, but it’ll protect both of us legally.”

Your gaze drifts over his face for a moment, examining him. He’s got no doubts though, no reservations. This is what he wants, what he needs to do to take care of you.

He promised they wouldn’t take you from him. This is how he does it.

“It doesn’t mean anything less than a real wedding,” he promises, “I’m not doing this out of convenience, I want to do this to be with you forever, baby.”

You laugh, thick but happy. “I don’t have a dress.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he shakes his head, “I’ll take care of you.”

And he does. He gets you inside the courthouse, hand locked in yours and giddy smiles on your face when he sends you off to the bathroom with Timo and Moose, the duffle bag on his shoulder puffed up with a pretty white dress.

“She’s happy,” Alex tells him, watching Nico button up his own white shirt “she’s so happy, boss.”

He can’t help but smile, butterflies swarming his chest. He thought he’d be nervous once he got here, that he’d tremble and buzz the same way he did when he proposed. This all feels natural though, comfortable. Like it was a long time coming.

“She is,” Nico agrees, straightening his collar “we are.”

It’s all already been lined up and is ready to go when you step out of the bathroom with Timo, Moose at your feet. The dress is simple, picked out by Nico and Timo to make sure it’d be something you love, even if you didn’t get to choose this one.

It’s slick and shiny, drapes over the curves of your body perfectly. You look beautiful, all wrapped up in white with your devil horns and ring out for everyone to see.

“Wow,” he murmurs, awed. He reaches out for your hand, drinking in the sight of you when you take his fingers and let him pull you in. “I-you’re so beautiful, y/n.”

“The dress is perfect,” you tell him, biting at your lip. You’ve got those big, moony eyes he loves so much, widen with adoration and devotion, and he can’t think of a better expression to be looking at on his wedding day.

“The girl wearing it is perfect,” he amends, “the dress just shows that off.”

You cup his jaw, lips glossy and warm when they touch his.

“Let’s go get married, handsome.”

The judge is already waiting when Nico leads you into the room, Alex and Timo following behind. They’d don’t exactly as he asked, and the room is dim, lit up with dozens of candles and bouquets of flowers. Still clinging to each other, you come to a stop in front of the judge and her podium, Alex lining up behind you and Timo lining up behind him.

Moose, sits carefully between the both of you.

“Mr.Hischier,” the judge greets, and then nods kindly at you “would you like me to read through the vows or have you brought your own?”

He hasn’t, didn’t even think about them for tonight. He thought he wouldn’t need them until next August, but he’s got a million and one things he can say about you.

“We’ll stick to us,” he decides, brightening when your whole face lights up. “We’ll save the big stuff for the actual wedding, tonight it’s just us.”

She nods, “very well. You may begin whenever you’re ready.”

Nico goes first, even if it’s not tradition. He doesn’t care, not when you’ve got both hands engulfed in his and he can feel them shaking in excitement, can see it swimming in your eyes.

Alex was right, you look so fucking happy to be here with him.

“Y/n, my sweet, darling girl,” he starts, heart thumping heavily in his chest “you are my everything. You’ve become the reason I get up every morning, the reason I find joy in everyday, the reason I sleep so soundly every night. You know everything about me, the little bit of good and a lot of the bad, and you’ve never ran away from it or shamed me for it.

“You embraced it, loved me for it. You took everything about me and made it beautiful, made it yours. You protect me, take care of me, stand with me through everything, and I will always do the same for you, baby.

“I promise to always bring you hot chocolate when you have a bad day, to kiss away all your tears, to do my funny voices when you’re upset, to let a bunch of teenage boys disrupt our lives because you adore them so much, and to always tuck you into bed every night. I promise to love, and protect, and care for you for eternity. Not even death will keep me from being the husband you deserve.”

Your cheeks have gone flush, shades of pink and red bleeding across them as they smile at him. Tears brim in your eyes too, making them glossy and so fucking pretty. He’s always thought you cry so beautifully it’s unfair.

“Nico,” you begin, voice cracking with love and it makes his own eyes well up with tears, dangerously on the verge of crying. You notice immediately, joking out a laugh that has your own tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Aw baby,” he coos, releasing one hand to carefully swipe at your cheeks. You sniffle, pressing into the touch.

“You said you’d kiss them away,” you murmur, so sweet and expectant that it fully breaks him, and he’s laughs as his own tears streak down the side of his face.

“I did,” he agrees, gently laying a kiss on each of your cheekbones. You bat your eyelashes at him, pleased and preening under his affection. Still holding the side of your face, he encourages “go on baby, let me hear you.”

You take a shaking breath. “You’re my best friend Nico. You’re the person I want to tell everything too, the person I want to see every minute of every day. No matter how grumpy you are, no matter how much are boys have pissed you off that day, I still want to see it, to see you.

“Because you’re the first man to ever take me for me, in all my entirety, and not run away, not try to change me. All the soft, sensitive parts of me that would drive a normal person crazy, you’ve loved and protected. You’ve given me a real family and a real life that I can actually call my own, and I know life with you will always be that way.

“When I think of home, it’s you. When I think of safety, it’s you. When I think of happiness and love, it’s always you. I promise to be all those things for you too, to be your home and your safety and your happiness and your love. I can’t think of anyone more deserving than all those things than you, Schao. And I will always lead beside you as your friend, your partner, and your wife. In life and death, it’s me and you.”

Impatiently, he pulls you into his body, laughing wetly when you wrap your arms around his middle, and he paws at your hip, straining to hold himself back from kissing you.

“Nico, do you take y/n to be your lovingly wedded wife?”

“I do,” he swears, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Y/n, do you take Nico to be your lovingly wedded husband?”

“I do,” you repeat, bitten lips smiling so wide he thinks your grin might fall off the edges of your face.

“By the power invested in me by the state of New Jersey, I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, Mr. Hischier.”

Nico surges forwards, buttons his mouth to yours. It’s wet and messy, made sloppy by tears and giggles, but it tastes so good, feels so good to kiss his wife.

Both Timo and Alex start cheering and clapping, and their excitement gets to Moose, who starts howling by your feet. It echoes through the empty courthouse, and you laugh, curling into Nico’s shoulder to peer down at the overly happy dog. Nico cups the back of your head, blinking a few more tears out as he dots kisses to your hair. You kiss him back, over his shoulder and chest, his neck and jaw until it’s the two of you staring at each other, husband and wife.

“Witnesses, if I could get you to sign the marriage certificate.”

Timo and Alex step up to join the judge, eagerly scribbling their names on the certificate, sealing you to Nico for the rest of your lives.

“Mrs. Hischier,” he calls you, wiping at your damp cheeks again.

“Mr. Hischier,” you reply, pecking the corner of his mouth.

“Alex Hischier,” Alex butts in, eagerly waiting for Nico to let you go. He doesn’t, not entirely, but he does enough for you both to engulf Alex in a hug. Your first boy, first love in the Devils that wasn’t him or Timo.

“M’so happy for us,” Alex sighs, airily “we’re an official family.”

Timo jumps in then, wrapping all three of you up in his large frame. It reminds Nico of the kitchen back in Switzerland, the way you’d hugged and jumped around with everyone at the promise of getting to marry him. Impossibly, you look even happier now, squeezing Timo into a big hug and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I told you we got you, Sweets,” he repeats, “because we’re a family.”

It may be a secret, may be a moment that will stay between the four of you forever, but Nico doesn’t care because right now, kissing you again as Moose yips and the boys cheer, this is a family.

A real family, one Nico will protect beyond his dying breath.

“I don’t care how hurt you are, watch your tone with her,” he warns - I love when he gets like this for her 🧎🏻‍♀️

“I love you,” he says simply, like that explains it all, and it probably does.  - LOVEEEEEEEEEE ugh. Love. Love love.

You’re not crying, but he still swipes at your cheeks, drying tears that aren’t there. It’s sweet. He’s so sweet.  -ugh!!!!!!!! Cause he knows how sad she is and that inside the little girl in her is crying and she has to be brave right now and that sucks 😭

“That was a waste,” he complains, “what’s with you two and having shitty parents?”  - LOL!!!!!! This made me snort!

“You better keep your hands to yourself, sicko,” he warns Nico, gaze narrowing threateningly. You don’t have to see Nico’s expression to know he’s glaring back.  - Dawson’s evolution as a character has honestly been so fun. He has such an attitude with Nico and I love the balance between Alex being their puppy and Dawson being the guard dog.

“Oh look at that,” he says at Johnny’s contact “your other boyfriend is cock blocking me now.”  - HAHAHAHA HE IS SO SASSY!!!!!!

It was almost something you could ignore, could live with, but for some reason this time, you don’t want to have to pretend he doesn’t go there to hurt people. - Ooooooooo I am so curious about this development. And can’t help but think this shifting from the beginning of the chapter and the talks of the next card…. Maybe!?!?! Has something to do with it!?!? 

“Don’t call Quinn either,” he adds, tone firm “I don’t want you talking to him.”  - grrrrrr little monster boy 👹

“Too caught up in me?” He taunts, voice low “Love my attention so much you didn’t even notice the little puppy chasing after you?” - you two should go get handsy together and piss off Dawson. 

“We still don’t know what the fuck it is!” Haula shouts again, and everyone groans and shushes him.  - dead. I’m literally gasping for my last breath right now. Why is he like this!?!?! 

On the other side of the desk, Mercer raises an eyebrow at Timo. “He seems very comfortable talking to her like that.”  - HAHAHAHAHA Okay we need to keep this version of Dawson forever. I am in love. Call it out babe.

“Talk,” Nico barks, mean enough that it makes you jump “no fucking games.” Timo purses his lips, frowning at your reaction to this version of Nico. - 👀👀👀👀

I am really torn on Nonna here.. on the one hand, maybe she is really worried and scared and not part of anything bad. On the other hand, It smells like manipulation…. Edit: fuck that bitch.

It’s not what he’s usually into, voyeurism or what ever the fuck it’s called. He’s into you though, and he’s really into pissing off your mother. - HAHAHAHAHA

“Watch your fucking tone,” Nico hisses, shoving your mother back in her chair, “talk to her like that again and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.” - I shouldn’t…. Ya know… like this… but… I do. Mhm.

“My pretty girl,” he murmurs, smiling comfortingly. Then he turns back to your family, “when were you going to tell her she was already born into the mafia?” - WHATTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

These people have some serious fucking audacity to act like they’re better than the Devils/Nico with the shit they were trying to pull. End it Nico.

“Your biggest mistake,” he says, still looking at you but addressed your family “was trying to make her just somebodies wife. She was never meant for marriage, she was meant for ruling.” - SOBBING!!!! Oh my god 🫶🏻😭

He shakes his head. “I picked you because I love you,” he promises, “and because you picked me first when no one else had.”  - they needed this moment ❤️

“But there’s a man coming over here for you, and he thinks he’s going to marry you.” - I CAN’T. I CANNNNNTTTTTTTT. He said nah. IT’s done. Bye.

Yeah. Hey so. That last line? Making me nervous. Like yeah it’s cute!!!!!! But also is this foreshadowing? Because I am not gonna be okay if you kill this man off at any point. He lives forever. Doesn’t even die of old age. Just does the Benjamin button and stays 25 forever. Thanks.

you’ve been thinking about the wall at the end of the hall for weeks. the one where the light pools in the afternoon and there’s nothing there to catch it.

the painting’s in your tote, still wrapped in the brown paper the woman at the flea market folded around it. an abstract in a chipped gold frame — big careless slabs of red and rust and hot pink shoved up against each other, not trying to be anything in particular. eleven dollars. you’d stood in front of the booth for a full minute before you understood why you couldn’t put it back down. it was warm. in a house full of right angles and the color of wet concrete, it was just — warm.

you measure with your eye, then with the level on your phone, then with your eye again. tap the nail in. it goes cleaner than you expect, and when you hang the frame it sits a little crooked, so you nudge the bottom corner with one finger until it doesn’t.

then you back up to the other end of the hall to look.

it’s loud. that’s the whole thing about it. against all that gray it’s almost rude — all that red practically buzzing, the gold of the frame catching the window light — and you stand there in the middle of his hallway with your arms crossed, grinning at it like you got away with something.

you take a picture. thumb hovering over his name. but you don’t send it.

you want to see his face.

———

he’s home a little after six, gym bag over one shoulder. you’re up off the couch before the door’s all the way shut.

“don’t take your shoes off yet. i got you a surprise.”

“yeah?” he gets one shoe half off, then leaves it. “what’d you do.” but he lets you take his hand, lets you walk him backward down the hall toward it.

he sees it.

you’re watching his face, because that’s the part you’ve waited for all afternoon — and it does open, it does, just not the way you’d been picturing. he laughs. surprised, easy, the sound he only makes when his guard’s all the way down and something’s caught him sideways.

“baby.” he’s grinning at it. “that’s the ugliest thing i’ve ever seen.”

he’s still in it, delighted — “where’d you even find that?” — looking from the painting to you and waiting for you to be in on it with him.

“flea market, over on vine.” you say it too fast. “eleven bucks.”

and the afternoon just goes out of you. quiet. all at once. you feel the grin you walked in with come off your face before you can keep it there.

he catches it. half a second late, but he catches it — he watches everything — and the laugh settles.

“it’s just not my thing,” he says. gentler now, looking at you instead of the wall. trying to walk it back to somewhere okay. “good find, though. eleven bucks, you can’t lose.”

“right?” you hear yourself say it. “it’s hideous.”

you reach up and straighten the corner that doesn’t need straightening, and you let him think you’re both laughing at it. it’s the easiest thing in the room to do. he rolls the shoulder the bag strap sat on and tips his head toward the kitchen, says something about what you’re doing for dinner, and goes.

behind him all that red goes on buzzing against all that gray.

———

you leave it up three more days. he doesn’t bring it up again — but then, to him there’s nothing to bring up. it was a bit. he walks past it on the way to bed, on the way to the kitchen, the way you walk past a thermostat.

so you take it down.

it’s a tuesday, he’s at the facility, and it comes off the wall easier than it went up. you wrap it back in the brown paper. the nail you leave — pulling it would mean spackle, and there’s no point making a project of it. just the bare nail at the end of his hall, where the light still pools and there’s nothing now to catch it.

it rides in your passenger seat to your place.

your hallway’s narrow and already crowded — photos, a mirror you painted, a row of cheap postcards. you find a spot between the window and the closet and tap the nail in yourself, and it goes up against your wall like it was cut for it. here it doesn’t fight anything. it just looks like the rest of you.

you step back and look at it a while.

it’s a good little painting.

———

you’re back at his place that weekend like nothing happened, because nothing did, technically. you made dinner. he did the dishes, sleeves shoved up, while you sat on the counter and told him about your week.

it’s later, when he’s coming back from the bedroom pulling a clean shirt on, that you catch him stop.

just for a second. at the end of the hall.

he’s looking at the bare stretch of it — the nail still in the wall with nothing on it. you watch it not quite land; he figured the ugly thing had run its course, and a nail with nothing on it doesn’t say anything to him yet. he tugs the shirt down and keeps walking.

you figure that’s the end of it.

it isn’t. he’s easy through the rest of the night, loose, but when you’re loading up your bag by the door he leans on the edge of the hall and tips his head back toward it.

“hey — what happened to your painting?”

“oh —” you zip the bag and pull the strap up onto your shoulder. “took it home. it wasn’t really a this-house kind of thing.”

you say it light. like it’s nothing, because you’ve decided it’s nothing.

he doesn’t answer right away.

you look up and he’s standing there with one hand on the edge of the wall, and you watch him run it back. all of it. the way he laughed. ugliest thing i’ve ever seen. the eleven bucks out of you too fast, your face going before you could stop it, the hideous, right? — the out you handed him so he’d take it. three days of walking past it like a thermostat. the bare nail. the painting forty minutes across town in a hallway he’s never seen, where you’d decided it should live instead.

he gets to the end. you can tell the second he does.

“…oh,” he says.

his hand comes off the wall. he looks at the empty stretch of it like it’s saying something to him it wasn’t an hour ago.

he doesn’t say anything else. he’s looking at you the way he watches film of a game that’s already over — like he can see the whole thing unfolding and there’s no reaching in to change the play.

———

he shows up thursday. no text, just the knock, and when you open the door he’s already got the look — the one he gets when he’s decided something on the drive over and is bracing to go through with it.

he doesn’t say hi. he comes in, walks down your narrow hall like he’s been here a hundred times, and stops in front of it, between the window and the closet.

then he lifts it off the nail.

“hey —” you’re behind him. “what are you doing?”

“taking it.” it’s already under his arm, no paper, just the bare frame against his side. “it’s mine.”

“you didn’t even like it.”

he turns around. whatever he usually does in a corner — the joke, the warm pivot, the easy version of the sentence — he’s not reaching for it.

“you put something of yours on my wall,” he says, “and i laughed at it.”

his jaw works. he looks at the painting instead of you.

“i gave you my opinion on it. like you’d brought it over for a grade.” he stops. “you let me think it was a joke because that was easier than telling me it landed wrong. you handed me the out, and i took it.”

he drags a hand back through his hair. the frame stays tucked against him the whole time, like setting it down isn’t on the table.

“you’ve been in it the whole time,” he says. quieter. “you’re the only thing in that house i’d notice if it was gone.”

a breath.

“so it’s going back up. tonight.”

———

you follow him back across town. he doesn’t put the painting in the trunk — sets it in the back seat, upright, like it’s a person.

at the house he goes straight to the end of the hall. the nail’s still there, right where you left it, nothing hanging off it. he hangs it back up without measuring, without the level on his phone, and of course it sits crooked.

he steps back. looks at it.

reaches out and nudges the bottom corner with one finger until it isn’t.

the same fix you made the first time. he doesn’t know he’s making it.

“better,” he says.

you stand at the far end of the hall, where you stood that first afternoon — except now he’s next to you, shoulder against yours, the two of you looking at eleven dollars of red and rust and hot pink glowing against all that gray. it still doesn’t match a single thing in the house.

he doesn’t tell you it’ll grow on him. he looks at the other walls instead — the empty ones — and you can feel him seeing them for the first time.

“bring the rest of your stuff next time,” he says.

like it’s nothing.

“i’m not moving in with you.” you say it from where you’re leaning, shoulder still against his. “it’s been five months.”

“five good months.”

“joe.”

“you’re here four nights a week. your shampoo’s in my shower, there’s a drawer.” he counts it off easy, like he’s had the argument loaded for a while. “you did one wall better than the decorator i paid for the whole house. that’s a tryout. you passed.”

“that’s a sample size of one wall.”

“so move in and do the rest of them.”

you laugh. “we’ve known each other five months. people don’t —”

“people do it in less.”

“people who aren't the only one giving something up do it in less.”

he doesn’t have a fast one for that. tips his head — fine, that one’s real, and he’s not going to be the guy who throws money at it to make it not real. but he’s still got the look, the one that decided something on the drive over and hasn’t undecided.

“the sentiment, i love,” you say, gentler. “you want me here. you want the house to have me in it — i got that the second you hung the ugly thing back up crooked. the u-haul, give me a year.”

“we’ll see.” he’s not agreeing to the year. there’s the grin now — the one you walked in with all those days ago, except it’s his, and aimed at you instead of the wall. “i think i can wear you down before then.”

———

he's the one looking at you now, not the painting.

you don't decide to do it so much as stop deciding not to — you turn into him, hand flat on his chest, and he goes still under it. not guarding himself. holding his breath, like moving wrong might end it.

"hey," you say.

he lets the breath go.

you kiss him. and there's none of the ease he does everything else with — he kisses you back a half-step behind, the smoothness that runs every room he walks into no good to him here — in his own hallway, the painting glowing red beside you, the one thing in the house with anything to say. just a guy with his hands coming up to your face, catching up.

you kiss him until he stops being behind it. you feel the moment he quits keeping up and lets you have the pace — his hands going slack on your jaw, then sliding back into your hair to hold on instead of steer.

"come here," you say against his mouth, even though he's already there.

you walk him backward down the hall. the same way you walked him to the painting that first night, except he goes easy now, no surprise to brace for, letting you steer him by the front of his shirt past the bare walls he's going to let you fill. the bedroom's dark. you leave it that way.

you take his shirt off first. he lifts his arms, ducks his head, and then he's just standing there letting you look at him — and you watch the joke arrive. the easy line, the thing he'd hand anyone else to take the edge off being looked at this long.

he doesn't say it.

"stay here," you tell him.

"i'm here." he means it the way he meant the hard sentence in your hallway. present. no exit cued.

you get the rest of it off between you. you take your time — no show in it, but no hurry either, because you want to watch what waiting does to him. and something it does. the guy who walked in cocky thirty seconds ago, who said i can wear you down, is gone. his hands come up like they want to help and then don't know where they're allowed, and he lets them drop, and he just lets you.

you put a hand flat on his chest and walk him back until his knees hit the bed. he sits. you climb into his lap, and he makes a sound low in his throat when you settle against him, both hands finding your hips like it's the only place they're sure of.

you kiss him slow, and you can feel how hard he's holding still underneath you — like if he moves he'll stop being able to let you run this. so you run it. you take one of his hands off your hip and put it where you want it, and his breath stutters against your mouth, and he follows you there. he's good with his hands the way he's good at everything — except there's no plan in it now, just him learning you in real time, reading you off every sound you make.

"there," you tell him, when he gets it right.

"yeah?" low, rough. he does it again, watching your face like the answer lives there.

you don't make him wait long. you lift up, reach between you, take him in your hand — and he goes still all over, jaw tight, bracing. then you sink down onto him slow, and the sound that comes out of him is nothing like the man who's smooth in every room he walks into. his forehead drops to your shoulder. his hands clamp down and stay.

"god," he breathes into your skin. "okay. okay."

you set the pace. slow at first, rolling down against him, and he lets you have every bit of it — whatever instinct a man built like him has to take it back, to flip you, to run it, he doesn't use it. he just holds on and feels it and says your name when you grind down, says it again, like it's the only word he trusts himself with.

then you slow. almost to nothing. he makes a sound, hips lifting to chase you, and you put a hand flat on his chest and hold him down.

"say you're sorry."

his eyes come open. "— what?"

"for my painting." you roll down once, slow, and feel his whole body try to follow it. "you laughed at my painting."

"i'm sorry —" it comes out fast, on a breath, like he'll say anything to get you moving again.

"mm. too easy." you go still. "sorry for what."

"for laughing."

"at."

his jaw works. you can see him clock that you're going to make him say all of it. "at your painting."

"and?"

"and —" his hands flex on your hips, and whatever's left of the smooth guy is gone, and he says the real one. "it was the best thing in that house. and i laughed at it."

"better." you give him an inch back — a slow grind, just enough to pull a groan out of him — then take it away again.

"now tell me how bad you want me to move in."

"you're killing me."

"how bad." you don't move.

"bad." it breaks out of him. "i want you in it. i want to come home and have it not be empty. move in."

"mmm." you tilt your head like you're thinking it over, rolling down slow while you do, and you watch him try to hold the thought and lose it. "i'll think about it."

"you said — god — you said a year."

"i said i'd think about it." you lean down, mouth at his ear. "you wanted to wear me down. so wear me down."

"baby —" it slips out of him. the same word he laughed the painting off with. nothing easy in it now.

you tip his face up. make him look at you — and that's his line, the one he'd run a whole room with, except you're saying it and he's the one who does it, eyes coming up to yours, glassy and open and not hiding a thing. he doesn't reach for the joke that would put the wall back between you. there's no wall left to reach for.

"i've got you," you tell him. you, to him. the line he'd usually be the one saying.

something goes out of him at that — the last of the holding-on. his hands start to shake where they grip you, his breath goes ragged, and you can feel him fighting it, the instinct to hold the line even here, even now.

"let go."

and he does. he comes with your name in his mouth and his face pressed to your throat and both arms locking around you like he's the one who needs holding through it. you don't stop. you take him all the way to the end of it, slow, until he's shaking and spent and still won't let go.

you follow him a breath later — his hand finding its way between you, clumsy and sure at once, working you until you come apart with your forehead dropped against his.

after, he doesn't let go. keeps you in his lap, both arms around you, his face in your neck, his heart going under your palm.

"a year, huh," he says into your skin. low. half gone.

"a year."

"...we'll see." no argument left in it. his arms don't loosen — he holds onto you the way he wouldn't put the frame down, like setting you anywhere else isn't on the table — and you stay where you are, in his lap, in his house, and let him.