Page 31 of Dario DeLuca

"You do look magnificent,” he breathes into my ear.

"Thank you," I reply with a mixture of gratitude and bashfulness.

His scent, the proximity, the perfect synchronization of our movements—it's exhilarating and intoxicating. With each step, we fight the rising tide of an attraction neither of us wants to admit.

The music envelops us, a pulsing heartbeat that echoes the erratic drumming of my own. We move as though the melody were written just for us, our bodies a testimony to the complexity of the feelings we're not allowed to voice.

With each step, he guides me more assuredly. Our hips are in conversation, our closeness a daring flirtation with the line between propriety and the palpable tension that crackles like a live wire.

The room spins, a vortex of light and sound, but his steady gaze anchors me. In this moment, we are not the guarded players in a grand masquerade. We are just two souls, stripped of titles and pretense, dancing on the edge of something terrifying and real.

The music fades, and the crowd's applause trickles to silence. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air. Dario glances down at me, and surprisingly, it calms me. My father taps his glass to get the crowd's attention. "Here's to Mia and Dario and a future filled with happiness and prosperity."

Crystal flutes chime a symphony of wealth and status as they clink in a toast to us—the fabricated couple of the hour.

Dario leans in, his lips hovering near mine, and the world narrows down to the space between us. It's a staged kiss, a practiced peck meant for show, but when his mouth brushes mine, it feels anything but rehearsed.

There's a charge in the air that pulls me into orbit around him despite the gravity of our shared disdain. His lips are soft, contrasting with the hard lines of his jaw and his iron grip on the city's underbelly.

For a moment, I forget the man he is, the criminal empire he commands.

My heart hammers rapidly, echoing the music still playing in the background. It's a performance, I remind myself—a display for prying eyes that dissect every move and glance. We pull away, and I catch the faintest smirk on Dario's lips, a silent acknowledgment of the charade.

The crowd’s murmur fills the void left by the absence of his touch. They see only what we present, the illusion of unity and love blossoming between two of Chicago's most powerful families. But beneath the surface, there's a tumultuous sea of secrets and lies.

As the evening progresses, the toasts keep coming, each reminding me of the role I must play. Every smile and touch is part of the act, a show of devotion that's really about convenience and survival. Once lively and dressed in delicate fabrics, the guests quietly disappear into the Chicago night, their laughter and compliments fading.

"I'm not sure what's going on, but there's something there,” Gabby insists when she stops by to say goodnight.

“I promise you, there isn’t.”

“That kiss said otherwise. Goodnight,Mrs.DeLuca.” She smirks and then saunters off, leaving me here alone.

Suddenly, the reality of the situation reels me back to the situation at hand. I look up and see Dario giving Rafael directions and my parents walking toward me.

“This was an amazing evening,” my father says. “You are the spitting image of your mother when I met her thirty-five years ago. Beautiful. Goodnight, princess.” He places a kiss on my cheek, but I don’t respond. I instead turn to my mother.

“Mom, have a wonderful evening. I’ll be in touch…hopefully.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

“You two looked wonderful tonight,” Evelyn beams as she approaches. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure how this would go given the short notice, but the early buzz is that you two are the new ‘it couple’ of Chicago. And I don’t have any information yet, but I’ll email you any campaign updates. I’ll start a new marketing strategy in the morning. Good night, you two.” She leaves, and now it’s down to us and the staff.

“Ready to go?” Dario asks.

“Yes, warden. I’m ready to return to cell block D,” I joke.

“Mia,” he gives me a stern look.

“Yes, I’m ready to go. It’s a long ride back to your illustrious estate.”

“You can head to the lobby. I have a call to make.”

“What? You’re not going to escort your lovely bride-to-be? It’s all about appearances, remember?”

“Ah, there’s that smart, sarcastic mouth I’ve grown fond of.”

“And there’s the next corrupt politician. See you in the car, dear.” Any affection I thought I was getting for Dario DeLuca is gone.

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