Page 2 of Dario DeLuca

“Is that right, mayor?” I drawl, letting the question hang like a guillotine’s blade. “You spent your formative years getting your hands dirty, and now you need the DeLucas?”

The mayor’s mouth opens, the beginning of a plea or perhaps a protest. But his eyes betray him, a flicker of guilt, a glint of the past. “Your father...”

“Let me stop you right there.” A single hand raised silences him. “I am not my father. Whatever business you had with him ended with his death.”

My mind churns as I piece together this puzzle wrapped in shadows and silk. I sense the shift in the air, the latent energy that comes with a game well played. It’s not just about protection. It’s about power—the kind that comes from holding someone’s darkest secrets in your palm.

“But it seems to me that you need protection. That’s why we’re here, right? To save your princess?”

He nods.

“It’s going to cost you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, the sound loud in the silence.

“What do you want?” he manages to croak out.

“City council. You’re going to back my campaign,” I state without hesitation. The hold I seek over Chicago extends beyond the shadows; I crave the light, the legitimacy it promises, the power it holds.

“No way,” he protests, his voice gaining a tremor of indignation. “You don’t just run for city council. That takes time.”

“You do when you have an endorsement by the city’s most loved and respected leader.”

“I won’t.”

“Then it sounds like you better teach your little princess how to shoot a gun.” I push back from the desk, the chair groaning in protest.

“Wait,” he exclaims, and I notice the capitulation in his eyes before the words tumble out. “Done. I’ll do it.”

“Smart man.” Satisfaction curls within me, but it’s a hollow victory. I demand more than just political favors. I sink back into the chair. “I’ll protect your daughter and find out who’s behind this.”

Running my hand down the front of my trousers to straighten an invisible crease, I continue. “But…I want Mia to become my wife.”

His response is immediate and vehement. “No.”

“That’s the deal,” I say, my voice even. “Think of the marriage as collateral. You guarantee my seat on the council, and your darling daughter will be well-guarded in my kingdom.”

There’s that deafening silence again.

“Listen. You need our help, and your mention of my father tells me you’re fully aware of the DeLuca legacy. You want me to handle this threat while your image remains pristine.”

The mayor only stares at me, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he contemplates my offer.

“That kind of favor doesn’t come cheap.”

The room grows still, the tension thick enough to choke on. The dance of dominance continues, the push and pull of wills, a negotiation without words. A deal is struck without a handshake, a marriage of convenience born from necessity and greed.

He nods his reluctant agreement.

And then, the air clears, decisions are made, and fates are sealed. I rise, the chair’s groan a parting note as I straighten my jacket with deliberate care.

Rafael gathers the note and photographs, stuffing them back into the envelope to take with us. If we’re going to figure out who’s behind the threat, he’s going to need all the evidence we can find. He beats me to the door, holding it open.

As I breach the threshold, I glance back at the defeated mayor. “We’ll be in touch.”

I don’t wait for his reply and exit his office, quickly approaching his front door. The older woman from earlier is nowhere in sight, so we see ourselves out. Outside the mayor’s estate, the sun dips low, painting the sky in hues of blood and gold.

I pull out my phone and speed-dial Enzo, our Don and slightly older cousin. He picks up on the first ring.

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