Page 71 of Dario DeLuca

“It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated? Seems to me it’s a lot more than that.”

The creak of the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to find Dario standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on mine.

“Marcus, you look like you’re healing well,” Dario chimes as he saunters over to the side of the bed. The scent of smoke lingers in the air as he walks by

“Seeing my princess makes it all the better. How’s the campaign going?”

“I’m still in the lead, but the points are dropping since the…community center incident. Evelyn thinks attacking some of these issues head-on and showcasing me in the community and with Mia will help gain the voters’ confidence.”

“I see. It seems like a sound plan, and I know Evelyn can turn things around.”

Even before the forced marriage, my dad always thought highly of Dario despite his family obligations. He used his construction company for all the city's projects.

“There have been some new developments in other, uh, business that I will bring you in on when you are a little stronger.”

“Well, you know where I’ll be when you’re ready.”

Dad's gaze is heavy with concern, his eyes filled with a knowledge I'm only beginning to understand—the cost of power, the weight of legacy, the sacrifices made in the name of survival.

“I think we should get going so Dad can get some rest,” I suggest, wanting to get Dario away from here so he can tell me what’s going on.

“Your mother should be here soon. She went to get us something to eat at the soul food place. These hospital options, although healthy, are not the best.”

“I would say you are definitely feeling better.” I chuckle.

My dad always loves a good meal, and his comment gives me the reassurance I need to know that he’ll be fine.

Dario takes my hand in his, applying light pressure that sends delicious currents to my core. Our eyes meet, and I know his thoughts without him speaking a word. I see a flicker of something that makes my heart race.

"Marcus," Dario says, his voice low and gravelly. "It's good to see you."

Dad nods, “You too. And, Dario, make sure you keep my baby girl safe.”

“You don’t worry. I’ll go to war with God for her.”

As we turn to leave the room, I take one last look at my father. He's watching us with a mixture of pride and sadness. I know he wishes things were different, but this is the bed he made for us and our family.

Strange bed partners in the world of politics, it’s a known fact. One hand washes the other to promote its agenda. Now that I know why my dad called Dario for a favor, I still don’t know Dario’s angle.

As we walk down the hallway, hand-in-hand, I can feel the stares of the hospital staff and the security guards. They know who we are, and they know what we represent. But they also know that we're not to be fucked with.

We may be an unlikely pair, a Black woman and an Italian man, but we're a force to be reckoned with. We're the future of Chicago, ready to take on whatever comes our way. This is just the beginning, and I can't wait to see where our story takes us.

TWENTY-NINE

DARIO

“Mr. DeLuca,what sort of cake did you have in mind?”

My mind is so overwhelmed with the scene before me that the question catches me off guard.

“I’m sorry. What?” I manage to utter, my brows furrowing in an attempt to regain control over my thoughts.

“The groom’s cake for your wedding? Did you want a classic yellow or?—”

My frown deepens, confusion sweeping over me in waves. This is supposed to be a meeting with my campaign manager and constituents to settle the minds of anyone worried after the shooting at the community center. But when I look around, I see a grand ballroom dripping with crystal chandeliers and plush velvet accents.

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