Page 44 of Dario DeLuca

Get a grip.

Focus.

Taking my cue from Gabby’s introduction. Evelyn calls out, "Mia? You ready, hon?"

Nerves flutter in my belly as I study my reflection. I grab a steadying gulp of air. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's do this."

I stride onto the stage, the spotlight an unwavering beam casting my shadow across the expectant faces. My heart beats asteady rhythm of purpose. This community center is something my dad holds near and dear to him.

"Imagine," I begin, voice clear, "a place where dreams aren't just whispers in the night but possibilities waiting at your fingertips." My words fade away for a second. Dario comes behind me as a silent pillar of strength.

His hand finds the small of my back, a gesture of support. We share a glance, and for a moment, the world narrows to his encouraging smile. Our lips meet briefly, a promise in front of the world before he steps back, allowing me my moment.

“This center, with its sports programs igniting the spark of teamwork, STEM functions unraveling the mysteries of the universe, and guidance on paths less traveled—be it college or vocational training—embodies our future. This center isn't just a building; it's the heart of our community. A place where potential is nurtured, and dreams are given wings.”

The end of my speech is greeted by rousing applause. My cheeks ache from the brilliant smile I've had plastered on all night, but I can't shake the lingering glow of pride and accomplishment.

This is happening. All those nights hunched over blueprints and budgets, the endless back-and-forth with my dad and the city—it's finally paid off.

I make my way through the crowd, exchanging air kisses and handshakes with donors and local influencers. Dario is off handling some calls, so I continue working the room solo.

"Mia? Mia Gordon?"

The familiar voice stops me in my tracks. I spin around to see Jake Thomas grinning at me, arms wide.

"Oh my god!" I launch myself into his embrace, my ponytail whipping behind me. "Jake, I can't believe it's you!"

We rock back and forth, his deep chuckle rumbling against my cheek. His arms are still solid, still comforting after all these years. We pull apart, both of us beaming.

"Damn, girl," he teases, giving me an exaggerated once-over. "Looking like a whole snack as usual."

I give his chest a playful shove. "You're one to talk, Mr. Modelizer. Have you been working out even more?"

Jake strikes an over-the-top bodybuilder pose, bulging biceps straining against the sleeves of his crisp dress shirt. We both crack up at his antics.

"What can I say?" he says with a wink. "Gotta keep up with all the thirsty coeds throwing themselves at me."

His arm slides around my shoulders, giving me a gentle squeeze as we reminisce about our college days.

Jake's arm is warm and familiar around my shoulders as we catch up, laughing over shared memories from our university days. His natural charisma puts me at ease.

“Remember that frat party where you dared me to streak across the quad?" I shake my head, cheeks flushing at the reckless memory. "I thought I was going to get expelled for sure."

"Hey, you're the one who went full Monty!" Jake protests with a grin. "I only said run through in your undies."

To demonstrate, he casually drapes an arm across my back, hand hovering innocently at my hip as he reenacts my naked sprint. We dissolve into another laughing fit at the ridiculous visual.

His touch is entirely platonic, but from the corner of my eye, I catch Dario's piercing gaze locked on us from across the room. His intense stare isn't one of curiosity but of molten fury barely restrained beneath that impassive mask.

A rush of unease ripples through me as our eyes meet. Even from this distance, I can see the muscle twitching in his squarejaw. From his heavily inked forearms exposed by the pushed-up sleeves of his steel-gray suit, he’s practically radiating anger.

In three long strides, Dario closes the gap between us, his presence suddenly looming like a menacing storm cloud. I open my mouth to greet him, but the words freeze in my throat as he seizes Jake's wrist in a vice-like grip and wrenches it away from me.

The violence of the action is shocking—Jake lets out a stunned gasp as Dario's powerful fingers wrench and twist. There's an ominous crack, like a snapping branch, and Jake crumples with a strangled cry of pain.

"Jake!" I lunge forward, but Dario is already hauling him up by the neck of his ruined dress shirt, shoving him back against the bar hard enough to rattle the glassware.

My heart pounds rapidly as I stare at Dario in disbelief. His face is contorted with an almost feral rage, and his upper lip is curled back from his clenched teeth like a snarling beast.

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