Page 54 of Dario DeLuca

“Mia," he says softly, a command and a plea.

Inch by inch, he's dismantling my defenses, but I ignore him. I stare out the window, the setting sun painting the sky in brilliant streaks of orange and red. The thought of our imminent arrival fills me with a thrill of exhilaration…and trepidation.

"What's your sister like?" I ask suddenly, startling us both. I turn my head toward him and see a ghost of a smile curve his lips.

"Passionate. Stubborn. Fiercely loyal to the family." He cocks his head. "Not unlike someone else I know."

I nod, intrigued by his response.

"She sounds like a force to be reckoned with," I remark, a hint of admiration in my voice.

Dario's lips quirk up in a knowing smile. "Indeed, she is. She may not always agree with my methods, but she understands the importance of loyalty and honor."

The private jet's gentle hum calms me. I lean back, the leather cradling me, a soft, silent whisper against the roar of engines. As I drift into a restless sleep, for the first time, I find myself yearning to unlock the enigma of Dario DeLuca.

My thoughts float to him working out in the gym, holding me close as we danced at our engagement party, taking me in the most delicious way anywhere he wanted to. It's like a movie on the inside of my eyelids, flickering, soothing, until I'm adrift.

Awakened by the shift in altitude, a gentle dip downwards, I flutter my eyes open. Outside, the landscape transitions to misty green mountains dotted with rustic villas. The plane dips again, and my stomach swoops, though I can't tell if it's from the turbulence…or him.

Below, Italy unfurls like a tapestry of old and new, stitched together with rows of olive trees and the golden glow of ancient cities. We're descending, the jet slicing through clouds that look like the soft foam on top of cappuccinos. The sleep in my eyesgives way to clarity. The wheels touch down, and it's real—Italy, the land of old-world charm and whispered tales.

We glide to a halt, and my heart beats against my ribs. Dario’s hand brushes mine. This is it—we’re here, the home of the DeLuca family. The airstrip is a long gray paved road amidst the green, and at the end, a blacked-out SUV waits. Its door swings open as we approach.

Dario’s fingers tighten around mine, a silent pulse of strength. “This is the First time back since my father’s funeral. He wanted to be buried at home."

He loads our bags into the trunk before we climb into the vehicle and are whisked away. The road to the estate unwinds before us, a path draped in the weight of his past and the whisper of olive leaves. We pull into the semicircular drive, and I peer up at the grandeur of the property.

Nestled in the embrace of rolling hills dotted with vineyards and olive groves, the DeLuca estate sprawls across the landscape like a testament to timeless elegance. The main villa, a grand structure of warm terracotta and stone, stands proudly, its weathered façade a palette of earth tones whispering tales of past generations. The red-tiled roof gleams under the caress of the setting sun, creating a dance of light and shadow across the manicured lawns.

A gravel driveway, lined with cypresses that reach for the heavens, leads to an arched doorway where ivy clings to the ancient walls. Beyond, the gardens are a celebration of nature's artistry, with bursts of color from wildflowers, the soft murmur of a nearby brook, and the fragrance of lemon trees filling the air.

Marble statues and fountains carved from local stone stand amidst the greenery. Their elegant forms are a tribute to the rich cultural heritage that imbues every corner of the estate. Walkways of cobblestone meander through the grounds,with secret nooks and secluded benches offering respite and reflection.

In the distance, rows upon rows of meticulously tended grapevines promise the bounty of harvest and the continued legacy of DeLuca's winemaking traditions.

The entire estate, set in the peaceful Italian countryside, is more than just land and buildings; it's a vibrant setting that beautifully combines history, family, and nature into a picturesque scene of rural harmony. But what secrets await me in the land of his family? The mysteries of his past? I shiver in anticipation, knowing there's no turning back now.

TWENTY-THREE

DARIO

I pauseoutside Mia's bedroom, steeling myself before rapping my knuckles on the thick oak door. Ever since we arrived at my family's home in Sicily, she has shut herself away, a ghost haunting these halls. I don’t blame her—her entire world has been flipped upside down. We’ve been here a few days, and she’s set like that the whole time, only coming out of her room to eat. And even then, I’ve had to force her.

The attack at the community center rattled us all, but I know the dread that’s taken over her is all because of her father. My guilt gnaws at me for failing to protect the mayor. The image of his blood-soaked body crumpled on the floor replays in my mind.

He was lucky.

The bullet went straight through him, missing all his major arteries. Whoever tried to take him out failed. And by now, they are well aware of that fact and possibly on to their next target.

So I brought Mia to this place that has forever meant refuge to shield her from whoever struck out against us. My sister Carmela's wedding was the perfect pretense, but keeping Mia safe is my sole purpose until I can get to the bottom of this shit.

Searching my father’s files was useless when you consider that we have no idea which one of his past enemies may be out of the shadows now. And finding the connection between them, my father and the mayor, is like finding a needle in a haystack. Marcus was the lead attorney on several cases that involved my father.

It could be anyone looking to settle a score with the Gordons and, clearly, the DeLucas. The only question that makes sense is who would be stupid or bold enough to attack while we were present.

My family has reigned over Chicago for years. The name comes with the same level of respect as the city has for its beloved mayor. Fucking with a DeLuca was a death sentence. So whoever it is doesn’t give a damn about dying—someone who has shit else to lose and is prepared to take everyone down with them.

"Come in," her soft voice drifts through the door.

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