Page 7 of Dario DeLuca

Her father reaches out, a hand hovering in the air, an aborted gesture of comfort. "It's for your protection, Mia."

"‘Protection?" She repeats the word. Her chair scrapes back, a discordant note that echoes through the room. "You're serious?"

Mia snatches the tumbler from Rafael as he attempts to bring the glass to his lips.

I smirk at the confused look on his face as she downs the whiskey as if it's water.

"This is crazy. You can't seriously expect me to go along with this?" she says while slamming the tumbler on the desk.

"Crazy or not," Marcus says, his voice low and firm, "it's necessary. Dario can keep you safe—this marriage is the price."

She stands, her chest heaving. Each exhale is a storm brewing on the horizon.

"Your safety is paramount," I say, every syllable etched in stone. "The rest is just detail."

Her hands clench at her sides.

"This marriage," Mia's voice is a whip crack, severing the air between us, "willneverhappen."

The words hang, an ultimatum of her defiance. She pivots on her heel and storms out of the office.

I watch her exit, the sway of her determination as thick as the curves beneath her dress.

"Feisty," I muse aloud.

The mayor allows himself the ghost of a smirk. It's a fleeting thing, disappearing from his face as soon as it forms.

"Yeah, well, you're in for a lifetime of that," he remarks.

The door clicks shut behind her, a definitive punctuation mark to her proclamation.

I stand, my movements measured, the weight of the situation settling on my shoulders like a mantle. Marcus watches me, his gaze a silent conversation we've had before.

Protection comes at a price — it always does.

And right now, the mayor of Chicago regrets ever making a deal with me. In the reflection of the polished mahogany table, I catch a glimpse of myself. The tattoos that cover my skin are hidden beneath the tailored lines of my suit, but they pulse with a life of their own.

Mia's protest, fierce as it was, will not change the path we're set upon. This marriage will happen, and I’ll get what I’ve wanted all along–a seat on the council.

The room feels colder now, stripped of her presence. A hollowness echoes against the walls, a reminder of the void we're trying to fill with assurances and alliances. But some voids, I know, are vast and unyielding.

"Stubbornness can be a virtue," I say to the space where she once stood. My voice carries no farther than the confines of these walls, but there's a certainty to my words. In the dangerous ballet of our world, it's not just strength that keeps you alive — it's the will to bend without breaking.

"Or a vice," Marcus counters, his tone unreadable. His eyes, though, betray a glimmer of pride for his daughter's moxie.

“Touché.” I tip my head in his direction. “We’ll be in touch once I learn more about this threat in a few days.”

The room settles into stillness once more. We are three pieces on a chessboard, each move fraught with peril and promise.

As I leave the room, the image of Mia's retreating figure is seared into my mind. Her words strongly challenge the inevitable, but I’ll remain unfazed. The marriage may be a point of contention, a line drawn in the sand, but forces greater than her will or mine are at play. And as the leader of the Chicago DeLuca family, I am no stranger to the sacrifices demanded by duty.

I step into the corridor, the silence hugging me. Mia is long since gone, but a trail of her perfume lingers. She is the flame that could ignite an empire or reduce it to ashes.

Rafael follows me as I navigate the labyrinthine halls, acutely aware that the path ahead is fraught with the danger of desire. But I am Dario DeLuca — and I do not fear the fire.

I embrace it.

FOUR

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