Page 53 of Dario DeLuca

What if something happens and he–

I cut off that dark train of thought, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. I can't think like that. He'll be okay. Hehasto be.

But even as I try to reassure myself, the worry gnaws at me. The truth is, it's not safe for me to be with him right now. Not with the threats against our family, the constant danger lurking in the shadows. It kills me, but I know deep down I must stay away for both our sakes.

My gaze flicks to Dario in the driver's seat, his chiseled profile unreadable. I still can't quite wrap my mind around what he did at the community center opening. When those shots rang out, pure terror had seized me—a helplessness I’d never feltbefore. And then suddenly, Dario was there, tackling me to the ground and shielding my body with his own.

He nearly took a bullet for me. The feared and ruthless Mafia boss threw himself in harm's way to protect me without hesitation. In that singular moment, everything changed. Those bullet holes in the concrete were proof he would risk everything to keep me safe. A shiver races through me at the memory, my heart quickening.

I sneak another glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his jaw, the curling vines of his tattoos snaking beneath his crisp dress shirt. This man is such a mystery, layer after layer, I can't seem to peel back. He confounds, fascinates, and frightens me with the intensity of my growing feelings despite every instinct screaming not to trust him.

As if sensing my stare, his gaze meets mine, pools of darkness that threaten to pull me under. An unspoken understanding passes between us, charged and raw. I feel stripped bare before him.

I tear my eyes away to focus on the road ahead, my pulse racing wildly. Outside, the heartbeat of the Chicago skyline is erratic as night falls and shadows lengthen. I feel a heavy weight in my chest as my heart is filled with sorrow, growing heavier each minute.

My mind races back, unbidden, to two days ago, to the opening—the sounds of gunfire still ringing clear as a church bell in my memory. My father, on the floor, blood-soaked shirt, red-tinged sputum coming out of his mouth. My mother hovering over him with tears streaking her face. Me calling for her as Dario pulled me away. The fear that held us captive, and to be honest, it still does. Despite the continuous updates, I’m no better now than I was then.

"We're here, Bella." Dario's low rasp shatters my daze.

I refocus as we pull up in front of a matte black jet. It’s a monster of a plane, sleek and powerful—just like the man beside me.

“Where is Rafael?” I ask. Not because I really need to know where he is, but usually, he’s only a few inches behind.

“He’s going to join us tomorrow. He’s making sure that Gabby is safe before he does.”

All I do is nod.

Dario puts the vehicle in park and kills the engine. Two men dressed in impeccable suits approach the G-Wagon. The cargo door opens, and they remove our luggage while another impeccably dressed member of Dario’s staff waits near the flight stairs.

Dario exits the vehicle first, then rounds the front to open the door for me. As we stride across the tarmac, his hand ghosts along the small of my back, commanding and protective.

We’re escorted up the steps, and I enter first. The plane's interior is muted luxury, every detail whispering comfort, but all I feel is the tightness of my own thoughts. I inch further inside, claiming the first seat I come across.

A slender brunette with striking grey eyes, dressed in black pants, a matching shirt, and a vest, approaches Dario with the flight schedule.

“Mr. DeLuca, the bar and food have been stocked as requested. Here is the manifest, and the bed has been turned down. If you or your guest…”

“Fiancée,” he barks back gruffly.

“My apologies. Your fiancée… need anything, let me know.” She retreats, embarrassment evident in the way she hurries away.

It's not her fault she wasn’t aware that I was his fiancée. It’s not like I’ve met the woman before. But it does leave me to wonder if his family knows about me. We are headed to Italy forhis sister’s wedding, and I’ve never even heard him talk about his mother and sister, so who’s to say that anyone outside the people of Chicago knows about this pending union?

The steward and another attendant close the door on the jet, and soon, we are taxiing down the runway, away from my home, my father, and everything else.

The private jetsoars smoothly through wispy clouds, but inside, my mind churns like a cyclone. I shift in the plush leather seat, my skin prickling with awareness of Dario's presence mere feet away.

As if attuned to my every movement, he rises and approaches, suit tailored to his powerful build. He offers me a tissue. Only then do I realize tears streak my cheeks, the tight knot of emotions in my chest spilling over.

"Thank you," I murmur, accepting it with a shaky hand. Our fingers brush, and electricity crackles between us, stealing my breath.

He lingers, studying me with those eyes. "Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?"

His rich voice wraps around me like velvet, soothing and unsettling me equally. I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

Dario returns with a chilled bottle of water anyway, pressing it gently into my hands. He settles into the seat across from me, his gaze never wavering. I sip the cool liquid, willing it to extinguish the heat smoldering inside me.

I take another glance at him, at once predator and protector. The duality dizzies me.

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