Page 20 of Dario DeLuca

I stare at the shards of broken glass around their feet. My bride’s tantrums are already costing me a fortune, and we haven’t even made it down the aisle yet.

“Yeah, well, it will end up like the other one if someone doesn’t let me the hell out of here. Dario, you’re about to be another vase short.”

“Continue,” I say to my team. “I’ll handle this.”

I stride toward her, my pace unfaltering, even as her presence incites a maelstrom within me. This wasn't part of the plan. All she needed to do was play her position until we tied the knot and secured my seat on the council.

But she had to go and get herself damn near kidnapped. Now, I’ll keep her here to ensure she doesn’t get herself killed before we can see things through.

So these little fits of hers end today, or I’ll be forced to lock her in a room like a prisoner. Frustration simmers beneath my skin, a serpent coiled tight, ready to strike.

Mia stands in the foyer, her long, natural hair a dark cascade down her back. Her curvy body vibrates with rage. Suddenly,the room goes still and only the sound of my soles against the marbled floors can be heard.

She watches me, fighting to keep her composure, struggling to hide the fear creeping over her features. Last night, she witnessed me murder a man, but the first rule of survival is never to show just how afraid you are.

So she stands her ground, save for the subtle step back as I encroach on her space. But it’s the stern look with her chin tipped up that I must commend her for. It’s as if she’s daring me, testing my hand to see how far she can push me.

Her father warned me, and now I see she will be a handful. She's chaos incarnate, a storm I'm drawn to despite the destruction she promises.

"Let me go!" she screams again, the words a sharp blade against the quiet of the house.

"Enough," I mutter, low enough for only the shadows to catch. The responsibility of my position weighs heavily on me, and I maintain my composure. However, her boldness and the intense look in her dark eyes provoke a reaction within me.

As I move closer, each step emphasizes my authority. She is now in my world, where consequences are severe and maintaining control is essential for survival.

"Back the hell away from me,"she hisses, defiance etched in every line of her face. Her fear is tangible now, a living thing between us, yet there's a thrill in the challenge she continues to give.

“Or what?” I bite. “Hmm? What are you going to do, Bella? Fight? Run?”

Mia’s only response is the death stare she’s yet to let slip from her beautiful features.

“No. You’re going to behave.” I reach for her arm, but she dips and twists to keep me at bay. “You’re going to show kindness to my staff and stop breaking my things.”

Out of spite, Mia glares at me before tossing the vase to the floor. My jaw tics as I bite back the anger. When I step toward her, Mia slips from my grasp with surprising agility, reaches around me, and snatches my gun.

It's heavy in her petite hands, a burden too much for her hold. It’s evident in her shivering and the slight trembling of her limbs from fear, and yet there’s a resolve there that stirs something dark within me.

Our positions have shifted now, with me in the center of the foyer and her back to the hall. I can see from over her head as Rafael approaches slowly. Holding up a hand, I let him know that I’ll handle Mia myself.

“Don’t test me. I’ll blow your kneecaps off,” she threatens, the gun wavering in her hand as if it’s a stranger to her.

It’s cute that she believes that.

I stare at her, entertained by her bravado. Amusement tugs at my lips, a smirk teasing across my face. She’s a wild thing, fierce and untamed, and it’s... intriguing. She hates me. I can read the burning loathing in her gaze. If Mia wasn’t such a good girl, I bet she’d pull that trigger without a second thought.

Step by step, I close the distance between us. Each footfall is a silent drumbeat heralding the inevitable. She retreats until her back meets the wall, with nowhere to flee. Mia realizes quickly that I'm the predator here and she is the cornered prey.

The cold barrel of the gun presses against my chest, a point of contact that sparks a charge in the air. In one fluid motion, I disarm her with ease. The Glock leaves her grasp, and she stumbles, further pinned by the wall and my presence looming over her.

"Rule number one," I say. "Never raise your gun unless you're ready to kill a man."

Mia raises her hand and strikes, her palm connecting with my cheek—a sound that echoes through the silence like a gunshot. Heat floods my face, and my control snaps.

I pin her against the wall, my body a shield and a cage. There's power in this, in the pressing of flesh, the shared heat of our breaths.

"You're begging me to treat you like a fucking brat, aren't you?" The question hangs heavy, laden with implication.

Defiant and beautiful Mia doesn't offer words, only a look that sears through the layers I've built, reaching something deep, something primal within me.

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