Page 9 of Dario DeLuca

"Darling, you must understand your father is trying to protect us," she begins, but I can't help the scoff that interrupts her.

"By marrying me off to a man who's as much a stranger as he is rumored to be mob?" I spit out.

"Your assumptions about Dario are misguided." He shifts, the brush of his suit jacket against his shirt whispering secrets.

"But am I wrong?" The question hangs suspended. "To what end? What could possibly be gained from binding me to him?"

My father stands again, his presence towering over us, and in that moment, he embodies the very institutions he represents—overbearing and impenetrable. "Mia, you have to trust me on this. I've made decisions based on scenarios you are not privy to."

"‘Privy to’?" A bitter laugh escapes me, tinged with incredulity. "That's just it. I'm never privy to anything until it's done to me, decided for me."

I lock eyes with him, searching for a flicker of remorse, a sign of hesitation. But there is none.

"All right, Mia," my mother chimes in, her hands clasping mine. The cool touch is a feeble attempt to calm my emotions. Our world has rules, ones we can't always bend to our will. Sometimes, we must endure, adapt, and survive."

"Endure?" I pull away from her grasp, the furnishings of our home now mocking me with their gilded edges. "No. What I hear is surrender. And I didn't raise my voice all these years to bow down when it matters most."

He walks over to where I stand, with words longing to fall from his lips. "Would I put you in harm's way?" he asks, a note of pleading beneath the resolve.

"Would you even know if you were?" I challenge.

His silence is damning, and the distance between us grows. I turn away, leaving the chill of the foyer for the comfort of my bed—the one staple in this house I can claim as my safe space. At least it is for now.

My heels click against the hardwood in a staccato rhythm that echoes the pounding in my chest. Entering my room, I grab my Spinnanight bag from my closet and toss things inside it.

One thing is for sure: I cannot stay here with my father. If I go to my studio, they’ll find me, and I know they’ll track me down at Gabrielle’s, too. At this point, I don’t care. I need to escape from here.

The exhaustion of the fight with my parents is weighing on me. I collapse on my bed, pick up my lifeline, and dial Gabrielle with fingers that betray a tremble.

"So she is alive," Gabby teases without greeting me. "I’ve only called you about twenty-five times about the center's opening."

"Can I come over?" I ask, but it’s more of a plea that hangs in the balance as I fight to keep from breaking.

“Of course you can. I have no plans, and you have a key. You never have to ask, you know that,” she responds without hesitation, her loyalty never-ending.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath and let the words spill out. “My dad made a deal with the devil.”

“Mia, I’m gonna need a little more detail. He’s a politician, and they make deals all the time.”

"My dad wants me married off," I say, the words tasting like poison on my tongue.

"Marry you off? To whom?"

"Dario DeLuca of all people. It's all been arranged."

"Fuck, Mia." Compassion softens her tone. "But why?”

I think carefully about what my father said and decide not to freak out my best friend regarding any potential threat until I find out the truth. “Who fucking knows. It has to be a political stunt since he’s running for city council.”

“You don’t even know this guy.”

“I know. One minute, I meet him at the launch of his campaign, and the next, I’m supposed to be his bride. Like seriously, are we back in the forties?”

“Did he pay a dowry?” She giggles.

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