Page 23 of Dario DeLuca

I settle at the desk, paper spread before me, and as I write, I become aware of the duality of my existence here—privileged yet bound, cared for yet captive.

ELEVEN

DARIO

Mia sprawls across the bed,a book in her hands. I lean against the frame of the doorway, unnoticed. For the first time since our meeting, she looks relaxed. Her relentless stubbornness has challenged me at every turn, but today she seems almost untouchable—peaceful, quiet, and damn near perfect.

She's a puzzle.

How is this the same woman who raisedmygun to me less than twenty-four hours ago?

I clear my throat, piercing the quiet room, and watch the effect ripple across her like a stone cast into still waters.

"Jesus, Dario." Mia jolts upright, the novel slipping from her grasp, her hair cascading around her shoulders in dark waves. "What the hell? Ever heard of knocking?"

The shift in the atmosphere is immediate, her tranquility shattered by sharp edges. It amuses me how quickly she chooses chaos, her peace so fragile, so easily broken. I guess we have recent events to thank for that. It’s what happens when shadows start to materialize. It festers and spreads like vines until light becomes darkness.

I focus on the book she was reading, the cover colorful with a bare-chested man on the front. A hint of jealousy pierces me atthe thought of her even reading about another man, fictional or not.

“What’s that?” I demand to know.

Mia frowns. “A book.”

Smart-ass.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Rafael. Not everyone in this house is as soulless as you are.”

There she goes, baiting me again, just itching to get a reaction out of me.

"Get dressed. We have somewhere to be," I say, my voice even as I stand firm in the doorway.

"Like hell, I will." She throws her legs over the side of the bed, disobedience radiating from her posture. "Just because you waltz in here doesn't mean I'll jump to your command."

"Appearances, Mia," I remind her. "We have them to maintain."

"Appearances can go to hell." She tilts her chin upwards in silent challenge.

I step closer, the space between the door and her bed growing slimmer by the second. "You don't have a choice."

"Seems I never do with you," she nags, the air between us crackling with tension.

"Get dressed," I insist again, leaving no room for argument.

She glares, eyes sparking with insurgence, but the crackle of fabric tells me she concedes, if only for now. The power struggle ebbs, yet it's far from over. She will challenge me at every turn, and I must admit, I like that.

She’s no pushover, something she can’t be now that she will be my wife. With the mayor as her father and me as her husband, she’ll be the Queen of Chicago, and strength is the only acceptable trait. This cutthroat world we live in will chew her up and spit her out when it’s done, but not on my watch.

For now, the focus is on Mia and getting her everything she needs to live here. She’s been cooped up in this house, and though it’s only been two days, I know she’s irritable. So today, I’m taking her shopping in town. We’re two hours outside Chicago, and no one knows our location but the family. Not even Marcus is privy to where his precious daughter has been laying her head.

Once we confirm that the person we killed wasn’t working with anyone else, only then will I take her back to the city, so I hope she can find what she needs in this quaint, rural town we’re in.

I descend the staircase, the wood cool beneath my fingertips. The foyer is empty, silence draped over it like a shroud. My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts.

Digging it from my pocket to remove it, I notice an email from Evelyn, the subject line stopping me in my tracks. My pulse races as I open the email and stare at the display. The words glow on the screen, conspiring against me in bold letters.

The black and red design is a theatrical display of loyalty and alliance. The DeLuca name carries weight, but the unseen strings sew this tapestry together. She gets safety—a bastion amidst the chaos—and I, a bride, to appease the council.

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