Page 73 of Dario DeLuca

Rationally, I know she's just playing her part to perfection. Yet the more time passes, the more I find myself drowning in what lies between the lines, the heated depths of her gaze, the reassuring slip of her fingers through mine, the protective way her body molds so seamlessly to my own, as if she was born to be cradled in my embrace.

With effort, I tear myself from the temptation of her mouth to sweep a look across the assembled crowd. More cameras flash as I pretend to understand what the wedding planner says to Mia and me.

They circle us, getting shots at every angle. We move about the space, going over to where the baker is with an assortment of cake samples. I’d ignored the question previously, but now there is no avoiding it, not when people are hanging on our every word. Mia picks up what looks to be red velvet and feeds it to me.

My eyes grow wide, and she laughs.

“Good, right? And it’ll fit your color choice.”

“That is good,” I admit.

"I’m glad you like it. We also have this delicate white cake with a buttercream frosting that I think would be perfect for the bride’s cake,” the baker adds.

I stare at her, just as confused as I was earlier. “There is more than one cake?”

Mia chuckles. “Yes. We could do one cake, but I thought having one for each of us would be good.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” she counters.

I shrug and look at the baker. “Two cakes it is.”

The room erupts into soft laughter as I give in to my bride-to-be’s wishes.

“Whatever the lady wants…”

“Mr. DeLuca. What do you have to say about the rumors circulating about you being a violent Mafia boss?” a reporter yells from the crowd. Just like that, Evelyn’s worries come to fruition.

Suddenly, the room goes still as his accusation hovers over us like a storm cloud. All gazes turn to me, unanswered queries circulating in their eyes.

“That would certainly explain the violence that seems to follow you around like a persistent stench.”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid with coiled menace.

“You want the people of Chicago to vote you into office, but can they trust you? Sources say that you are a brutal, evil man who broke a man’s hand because he spoke to your future wife. And you’ve yet to address the shooting at the community center in which both you and your fiancée are involved. What about the recent bombing on the south side? Surely, that isn’t just a coincidence.”

His questions come in rapid succession, antagonizing me. My hands form into fists as anger boils inside me. I am readyto unleash the fury, violence, and intimidation tactics that are as natural as breathing to me.

But then Mia's delicate arm wraps around mine, our fingers lacing together in a gentle yet firm grip. The simple contact is like an electrical current, grounding me, dissipating the simmering anger coiling tighter with each accusation flung our way.

I turn my head, breath catching at the unwavering strength and devotion shining in her brown eyes. At this moment, the noise from the reporters becomes a distant hum as Mia's presence brings me comfort. She is my shield against my own harsh tendencies, the gentleness that softens the rough edges shaped by years of conflict and aggression.

My fingers tighten around hers, and I draw strength from her quiet courage. When I face the vultures again, it's with a steady voice and the self-assured poise of the polished politician I'm supposed to be.

"The attempts to derail my campaign through rumors and innuendos are transparent," I state evenly, letting my gaze sweep over the reporters with glacial calm. "I won't be deterred from my sworn duty to protect the people of this city and restore safety to our streets. What is happening in our city won’t be tolerated, and we will do everything in our power to bring the person who shot our beloved mayor, my father-in-law, to justice."

I raise Mia's hand to my lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles as her radiant smile threatens to undo my hard-won composure. "With my family at my side, giving me strength, I will do everything in my power to end this cycle of violence."

The possessive emphasis on the wordfamilyis visible to everyone. Mia is more than a campaign prop, more than a supposedly love-struck bride. She is the strong anchor for myhumanity, the comforting refuge in the harshness of my world. And I'm deeply captivated by her quiet strength.

Our lips meet in a lingering kiss, her supple curves molding enticingly against me. I drown in the intoxicating sensations—the velvet glide of her mouth, the faint vanilla scent of her skin, the molten heat searing through me at her intimate proximity. For a fleeting moment, everything around us fades into blessed silence as I lose myself in Mia's embrace.

THIRTY

MIA

The engine purrsand vibrates through my bones as we weave through the arteries of Chicago. Renzo pulls into the parking spot of my favorite brunch spot, and I step out, rushing to get to my best friend.

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