Page 16 of Dario DeLuca

Her demand slices through the air, but I focus on the stop light ahead. I roll to a stop, just enough to gauge my next move before committing to the right turn. It’s a calculated risk, one that maintains our momentum. Always keep moving.

Mia doesn’t get it, at least not yet. Rafael and I scoured countless hours of footage, the pixels blurring into a meaningless haze. But one thing stands clear, we haven’t found much on the faceless threat, the asshole who dared to come after what’s mine.

By contract or not, Mia now belongs to me. She’s going to be my wife.

I may have put a bullet between the fucker’s eyes tonight, but we don’t know if he was working alone. So, stopping isn’t an option. It’ll only make us more susceptible to being cornered.

But as I crawl into a right turn, a flicker of movement catches my eye—Mia’s hand, deft despite her trembling. The lock disengages, and she seizes her opportunity. She bolts, a sudden sprint fueled by primal instinct, away from the SUV…away from me.

I force the SUV into the park and am out of the car before rational thought can take hold. My door slams shut behind me, a dull echo to the pounding of my pulse. I round the front end.

The pursuit is brief, the distance between us shrinking. I reach out with an iron grip, encircling her wrist, and the connection is searing.

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice is a sharp blade slicing through the night air.

She spins in graceful fury, and her hand connects with my cheek—an open-palmed revelation that stings my flesh. Pain blooms across my cheek, and my grip on her wrist tightens, a silent reprimand for the transgression. I freeze—just long enough to feel the sting, the heat, the unexpected stir of my dick against my slacks.

Breathing deep, I taste blood on my tongue as I wrestle with the beast of my temper. But the universe has its own agenda. Red, white, and blue lights slice through the darkness, reflecting off the brick walls of nearby buildings. From the corner of my eye, a patrol car turns the corner, its horn a muted warning or a prelude.

I stare at her and see her mind racing to figure out if she should scream for help. She doesn’t see the effort I’ve taken to protect her. She only sees the man who claims her without asking, who threatens her world and keeps her tethered to a fate she didn’t choose.

“Scream, and there’ll be consequences,” I warn, breath skimming her ear.

The moment stretches, taut as a wire, until instinct takes the reins. With a swift motion born of desperation, I pull her close, lips crashing onto hers with a ferocity that belies our situation. Mia melts against me, a surrender that sends a triumphant thrill down my spine. A silent plea for her compliance echoes in the press of my mouth against hers, demanding submission, demanding trust.

The police continue to drive past us, their lights receding and easing the tension in my shoulders fractionally. I can feel the heat of her body, the quick rise and fall of her chest. Once they’re out of sight, I lean back to watch her face without breaking the embrace. Her eyes meet mine, her breathing hitched.

“And Bella… watch those hands,” I murmur against her lips, “you won’t like me pissed off.”

With a nudge, I guide her back to the SUV. I grip the frame of the passenger side door, using a tilt of my head to order her to get inside. Reluctantly, Mia moves into place, only for me to lean in close, so close I feel her breath on my skin.

“Try to run again, and I won’t hesitate to tie your hands to your ankles.”

Mia swallows so hard I hear the squelch of her throat.

“Understand?” The word is a caress and a command all at once.

She nods, a slight dip of her chin. I release her, not because she asks, but because I choose to. Because for now, she’s learned the lesson I’ve imparted: that her safety, her life, rests in my hands.

Mia slides into the passenger seat, the fight leached from her bones—for now. Her legs are barely in place before I let the door slam and walk to the driver’s side. The vehicle shifts under my weight, and I waste no time putting the still-running car into drive.

Glancing at her, I say, “Seat belt.”

We quickly devour miles, taking off into the night. Chicago’s glittering façade receding into the distance. Silence swells between us, thick as the tension that coils in my gut.

“Where are you taking me?” Mia’s voice breaks the quiet, her tone a blend of fear and challenge.

“Somewhere safe,” I say, my attention riveted on the road, unfurling like a dark ribbon under the headlights.

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you. Take me home.”

“No.” I keep my voice steady. “You’ve proven you can’t be trusted with your safety on your own.”

“So what? You kidnap me instead?” The bite in her words almost draws blood, a testament to her spirit. “How do I know you aren’t the person I’ve been in danger of all along?” Her question hangs in the air, a specter of doubt.

“If I wanted you to die, princess, your daddy would have never gotten a warning.” The words leave my lips like a bullet, final and irrevocable.

The conversation stalls, and I wrestle with anger over her attempt to flee from being my wife. The fact she’d rather riskbeing captured by enemies than accept her place beside me slices through my pride.

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