Page 4 of Dario DeLuca

“Mia, baby girl, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He directs my attention to the man beside him–Dario DeLuca–the surprise candidate in question.

The reality of him eclipses the rumors; his dark eyes don't just pierce—they unravel you, fiber by fiber. His olive skin stretches over a formidable frame, tattoos peeking beneath his cuffs like forbidden fruit. And his eyes are as blue as the tropical waters of the Caribbean.

“Miss Gordon,” he says, his voice a low thrum.

“Mr. DeLuca,” I reply, aware of the warmth spreading across my cheeks, undermining the cool facade I’ve kept all evening.

His hand takes mine, not to shake, but to examine—his thumb tracing the lines etched into my palm, a cartographer charting unexplored territory. The touch sends a jolt up my spine.

“Your support means so much to me,” he says.

“Of course. Chicago needs leaders who care about its future, and my dad says you’re the man his council needs to get things going in the direction the city needs. I guess using a littlemusclecan motivate anyone,” I manage to weave my strong opinion into my response.

“Oop,” Gabrielle blurts before quickly placing her hand over her mouth.

My dad gives me a stern glance.

“No offense,” I hold my hand up.

“That’s fine. Your honesty is refreshing. I happen to think you are right. It, indeed, does motivate.The muscle,” he agrees, lips tilting in a way that can’t quite be called a smile. It’s more a recognition of the game we’re all playing here.

Another man approaches one of many suits filling the room, a city councilman with an eager grin plastered across his face. He claps Dario on the shoulder, and suddenly, my presence becomes secondary.

“Excuse me, Dario,” my father intervenes, a hint of urgency beneath his polished tone. “But we must attend to other guests. I see Bishop Carlton waving us over.”

“Of course, Marcus,” Dario nods, releasing my hand but not before his fingers graze the sensitive skin of my wrist—an accidental touch that feels anything but.

“Enjoy the evening, Miss Gordon,” he calls after me, his farewell feeling more like a promise than a goodbye.

Gabrielle waits with a knowing look, the question in her eyes clear, but she remains silent.

“I’m unsure if he’s a friend or foe after that exchange. He’s so…” I trail off, unsure how to articulate my thoughts. “He’s so captivating, and not in the way politicians usually are.”

“Captivatingcan be dangerous,” Gabrielle reminds me, her tone laced with the wisdom of one who knows the darker corners of our city all too well, giving her brush with a would-be criminal.

“Maybe that’s not the right word. He’s…”

“Mystifying,” Gabrielle offers.

“Yes, that’s it.” I snap my fingers in response.

She takes a slow sip of her champagne.

“He’s also hot as fuck, sexy as sin, and did you see how big his hands were?” she continues.

“Uh, un. Stop that now. We are not about to do this.”

“I’m just saying he can get a lot of votes looking like that.”

We laugh and continue mingling with the other guests.

My gaze drifts over the crowd toward where the candidate stands with other council members and the fire chief, James Harris, Gabrielle’s dad.

Dario’s eyes lift toward mine, and his sights briefly lock in on me before returning to present company.

As the night wears on, I find myself watching him. He navigates the room with a predator’s grace. It is impressive to see how people gravitate toward him like moths to a flame.

“Wasn’t this a nice turnout?” My mother asks, joining me at my side.

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