Dario DeLuca: Savage Bloodline

12. Mia

TWELVE

I sitin front of the mirror, brush in hand, the bristles gently caressing my cheek as I apply the finishing touches to my makeup. Full glam with batwing eyeliner, ombre lipstick in nude tones, complementing shadows, glitter liner, and mink lashes.

I made sure to add all of my beauty products to my list, so I have them ready to use when needed. My hair is styled in a blowout with soft body waves, creating an elegant look.

With the final spritz of my setting spray, I stare at my reflection. She looks back with the same worry and concern I show. It’s hard to believe I’m the prize in this dark fairytale.

When I thought about my wedding as a kid, I never thought it would be anything like this. I never thought I would be a bargaining tool my father could use on a whim.

Climbing quickly out of the mental rabbit hole I find myself in, I fasten the rhinestone straps of my Louboutin heels as the need to feel every bit of the part I must play tonight surges through me.

There is a soft knock at the door, and a voice calls out hesitantly, ”Miss Mia, Mr. DeLuca insists we hurry.”

Dario”s impatience is transmitted through the lips of an innocent staff member.

I catch a glimpse of my annoyance in the mirror but quell it swiftly.

”Just a moment,” I reply, my voice betraying none of my vexation.

With the practiced grace I’m accustomed to, I slip into the off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved black gown that waits for me like a shadow at dusk. A dress of his choosing, just as everything that’s transpired has been to cater to his desire—his demands. Sliding into it feels like slipping into another skin, a more dangerous one. It clings to me, every ruched detail a dark promise.

Satisfied with my final once-over, I grab the matching rhinestone clutch, its facets catching the light, winking like stars plucked from the night sky.

The descent down the staircase is a slow bloom, petals unfurling with each step. My gaze lands on him, Dario, the epitome of tailored power.

He”s dressed in a black-on-black Armani tuxedo that fits as if it were made for him, entangled with whispers of wealth and secrets adorned with a black oyster Rolex.

His hair is low-cut with precision, not a strand daring to defy him. Seeing him sparks a rage within me—an anger at my traitorous heart for acknowledging his allure.

When I reach the final step, he extends a hand. His cologne is a woodland spell, momentarily disarming me.

I compose myself, and with a tone laced with contempt, I say, ” All right, let”s go get this farce of an engagement over.”

His hand envelops mine, warm and steady, guiding me down the last few steps.

“Before we go, there’s one more thing.” Dario takes a ring from his inside jacket pocket and slides it onto my left finger.

It’s a perfect fit for a perfect lie. The diamond sparkles like a captured star, and I can”t help but marvel at its splendor. Fake engagements usually have the bare minimum in most romance stories, but then again, this isn’t a romance.

”Appearances,” he notes, his voice a low hum that resonates with our shared understanding of this pretense. “It’s important that we keep them up. You know, sell the illusion of a happy couple.”

“Yes, even though we are anything but.” I pull my hand away from his grasp and walk toward the foyer.

Rafael holds the door open, and we step out of the doorway and slide into the awaiting car.

Silence accompaniesus during the ride. Dario makes a few business calls, speaking in Italian to whoever’s on the opposite end. As we coast towards the ballroom, my thoughts drift to what the evening will hold. Who will be in attendance? When was this planned? Maybe I should be more attentive and not hauled up in my room. Who am I kidding? My father already had me married off without my input, so why should I be surprised at this?

“We’re here,” Rafael announces when he pulls into the hotel”s drive. Then puts the car in park and steps out to open the door for me.

“Mia, put on a smile for the cameras and the news. You don’t want to give them the impression there’s trouble in our relationship,” Dario says.

“Dario, I know how to charm the public. I’ve been doing it since I was in middle school.” I take Rafael’s hand as he helps me out of the vehicle. When we arrive, the camera flashes jolt through me like electric charges, a storm of lights and expectations.

Evelyn greets us with her camera-ready smile. “Mia, don”t you look lovely. Dario, we have a few outlets who want a good picture of you two.” She guides us through the crowd of photogs and onlookers.

I can feel my heart racing. My breath catches, anxiety clawing up my throat as I notice the media’s prying eyes. My fingers twist around the glistening diamond on my finger, betraying my inner turmoil and drawing more attention than I’d like. What I said to Dario was true. I’m well-versed in public appearances, but this one feels different. All of the faces—male faces with brown eyes and dirty blonde hair like that guy—are making me nervous.

”What”s wrong?” Dario whispers, close enough that his breath tickles my ear.

Worried whispers escape my lips, ”What if someone makes another attempt on my life?”

His touch is gentle, a soft caress against my cheek, grounding me to the moment. ”Mia, you have nothing to worry about. Rafael did some research on the guy’s identity, and he found nothing. We dealt with the lone threat. You”re safe.”

His touch lingers longer, and for one second, I feel at ease. Then I realize that’s only one part of the puzzle. He’s the other. Flashes of light continue to emit from the cameras as we stroll inside the building.

“The media couldn’t stop salivating when the city got wind of this engagement. They’ve been calling the office non-stop for a chance to sit down with you. The numbers have improved in the polls and the community is behind you even more now.” Evelyn continues her monologue while we step into the ballroom.

An engagement party sign with a black background and gold script is at the entrance.

Welcome to Mia and Dario’s engagement party is splayed on the board in an elegant font.

We’re met with thunderous applause along with cheers and congratulations.

I look around and wonder how anyone can pull this off in such a short time. The decorations are exquisite. No expense has been spared.

The venue is illuminated by a sophisticated arrangement of geometric pendant lights, casting a warm, golden glow over sleek tables dressed in black linens with a matte finish. At the center of each table, modern sculptural pieces replace traditional floral arrangements, and minimalist structures in gold hold black candles.

This is pretty close to something I would have planned for myself under normal circumstances. At this point, I don’t know what normal is any more.

“Oh look, there’s Senator Boyd. You should go over and thank him for coming.” Evelyn suggests.

I look over to the opposite side of the room and spot my bestie and her father.

“Excuse me. I’m going to go say hi to Gabrielle.”

“Don’t be too long, Mia. Others want to meet the next city councilman’s soon-to-be wife.”

I give Evelyn a faint yet polite smile and saunter over to join my bestie, snagging a glass of gold-flaked champagne in black-rimmed champagne flutes along the way. Walking back to a familiarity I haven’t had in nearly a week relaxes me with each step.

Both of our lives have changed within a short frame of time. One where she is locked out of mine, and I know nothing about hers. Our embrace is almost immediate. Like at the end of The Color Purple when Nettie and Celie meet again after so many years.

“You were supposed to be on your way to my house and the next thing I know, I get an invitation to your engagement party. What’s really going on, Mia?”

I take a long swallow from my glass, thinking of what I can and cannot say, and grab another glass as the wait staff comes around.

“It’s not real,” I emphasize, taking a small taste from my glass and still reminding myself that I am here to play the part of a politician’s fiancée.

”Looks pretty real to me,” she retorts, eyeing the ring with a skeptic”s precision while holding my hand for examination. “I mean, if a man gives you a 5-carat cushion-cut diamond ring for fake, then it must be fake. This jewel is not.”

Her mom taught her how to spot a fake years ago while we were in college, seeing how she’s a jeweler herself.

”To be honest, it”s all a political stunt,” I return softly, careful not to let more than that slip from my lips. “I have to play the doting fiancé and keep up appearances of a happy union even though this is total bull shit.”

”The campaign,” she deduces.

I nod, caution reflected in my eyes. We can”t speak of it here.

“Well, when it’s all over, you have to tell me everything.”

“I promise I will. But let me say you look amazing in that dress.”

“Me? Girl, that dress is giving me so much life right now. You know your faithful followers love to see you all glammed up.”

“Yeah, well, part of my duties is not to blog. Please don’t ask because it’s not something I can talk about. None of this is open for dialogue right now.”

Gabrielle starts to speak but decides against it, knowing it would likely be met with resistance. She glances over at Dario.

”He does look good in that tux,” she admits, a smile on her lips.

I turn toward Dario’s direction and feel his gaze before I meet it, a silent communication that sets my nerves ablaze. I can”t help but react, my body responding with a heat I despise.

“If that’s what you’re into,” I reply, throwing off the apparent entrapment I feel from his magnetic pull.

As if this moment couldn’t be more awkward, my parents have finally arrived. My mother looks as elegant and poised as ever, knowing deep inside that this whole thing is a sham. And my father, the king of secrets within the city walls, keeps up a fa?ade the citizens have come to know and love.

“Mia baby, you look impeccable,” my mother’s words are a balm to the ache in my heart. Not being near her or even able to see her for the past week has left me feeling like a motherless child. She is my rock. They both are if I’m honest, but my father has broken the trust I have in him with this agreement made behind closed doors.

“Thanks, Mom. Dario made sure that I, well, had the best for tonight’s event. I see you went the way of Valentino tonight.”

“Well, hopefully, your daughter only gets engaged once in her life.” She gives my father an eyeful of disgust and an eye roll to match before putting on a smile for the public.

“Mr. Mayor, can we grab a picture of you and your family?” one of the media photographers asks.

“Of course. Mia darling, let me get between you and your mother,”

“What? Is the wedge you put between us not big enough?” The venom on my lips expels before I have a chance to stop it.

“Mia darling, it’s your special night. Let’s not hash old things.”

“Tuh,” Mom says before putting that gorgeous smile back on her face. It’s safe to assume that things are not happy at home.

“Can’t leave me out of the family photos now, can we?” Dario slips in beside me, his hand a warm presence on my back.

The electric current flowing down my spine to my core is enough to make me shimmy a little. Thankfully, it’s subtle, and no one notices.

“Wow, you two make a sexy couple,” one of the media reps says as the flashbulbs go off.

The elite of Chicago flock to us, offering their congratulations. As Dario and my father discuss the upcoming community center, I take a moment to talk with my mother.

“So, is this what it’s like? Being a politician’s wife?”

“Darling, it’s nothing like this. It’s only become this stressful since your father made this deal. It is just as you remember before last week.” She looks at me, and her hands gently cup my face only as a mother’s can. “How are you doing? He’s not being mean or anything like that, is he?”

“Uh, no. Honestly, I’ve been a bit difficult to deal with. I’m still not on board with this whole arranged…”

My mother presses her finger to my lips. “Rule number one, someone is always listening.”

I glance around and notice a lot of focus surrounding me and Dario. “I see. What are the other rules?”

“Always smile, air your grievances with each other out of the public”s ears or eyes, and spa days and shopping sprees are the norm for I’m sorry.”

I think back to the shopping trip we went on the other day. Although he didn’t have a reason to apologize, he was attentive to my needs and wants.

“Mia, baby girl,” my father calls us over for more photo ops with the governor and his wife.

My mother and I rejoin them with smiles plastered on our faces as people approach, offering congratulations.

“Mia, I know we’re here to celebrate your union with Dario, but I’m dying to know to ask you a question. The community center is opening soon, and I know you have been not only vocal but also alongside your father to turn this passion project into reality. How are you feeling about it coming to fruition?”

“Well, this is something my family and I have wanted for a while. So many disadvantaged youths could be more if they had the right resources available to them. With our center, they will have access to tutors and counselors to help with emotional concerns or just a place to go and be themselves, fostering their unique talents.”

“How’s that going to look when your fiancé, or shall I say husband, becomes an elected official?”

“He’s not my husband yet, but if he thinks I’m going to stop my advocacy work, he’s got another thing coming.”

“You’re a strong pillar in this community in your own right with your work with not only the disadvantaged and youths but also vlogging to get young people more active.”

“And she does it so well, and that’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with her,” Dario interjects.

There he goes, touching me again, placing his hand on the exposed area of my back. My skin melts under his touch, my body reacts to his presence, and my mind wants to erase it all. But I can’t. I’m intrigued. Part of me wants to know what my body is obviously picking up.

”Mia, you look stunning,” Mrs. Alba, one of the city’s most wealthy socialites, comments when she makes her way over. She gives me an air kiss on both cheeks and takes my hands.

”I was just telling my fiancé the same thing,” Dario responds smoothly.

“Mr. DeLuca. You are running a fine campaign. The revitalization you’re planning for your district would bring value up for the homes and businesses, making for some very happy constituents. You’re doing this without forcing anyone out, but instead, you’re helping them keep what they’ve worked hard for. That is a campaign I can certainly get behind. I see why you two make a beautiful couple.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Alba. That means a lot to me…to us. But this is our engagement party, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to dance with my fiancé. Excuse us,” he murmurs, leading me to the dance floor. His touch is a script I follow, each movement a line rehearsed.

I can feel each person’s gaze fall on us as we take center stage. The space between us closes as he draws me into the dance, the world narrowing to the span of our embrace. The warmth of his palm seeps through the silk of my gown, branding my skin with a heat that whispers of a desire we both pretend doesn”t exist.

Our bodies move together naturally in a way words can”t fully describe. I touch his shoulder, following the edge of his tuxedo up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His intense eyes meet mine, and I am completely drawn in, content to be lost in that moment.

”You do look magnificent,” he breathes into my ear.

”Thank you,” I reply with a mixture of gratitude and bashfulness.

His scent, the proximity, the perfect synchronization of our movements—it”s exhilarating and intoxicating. With each step, we fight the rising tide of an attraction neither of us wants to admit.

The music envelops us, a pulsing heartbeat that echoes the erratic drumming of my own. We move as though the melody were written just for us, our bodies a testimony to the complexity of the feelings we”re not allowed to voice.

With each step, he guides me more assuredly. Our hips are in conversation, our closeness a daring flirtation with the line between propriety and the palpable tension that crackles like a live wire.

The room spins, a vortex of light and sound, but his steady gaze anchors me. In this moment, we are not the guarded players in a grand masquerade. We are just two souls, stripped of titles and pretense, dancing on the edge of something terrifying and real.

The music fades, and the crowd”s applause trickles to silence. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air. Dario glances down at me, and surprisingly, it calms me. My father taps his glass to get the crowd”s attention. ”Here”s to Mia and Dario and a future filled with happiness and prosperity.”

Crystal flutes chime a symphony of wealth and status as they clink in a toast to us—the fabricated couple of the hour.

Dario leans in, his lips hovering near mine, and the world narrows down to the space between us. It”s a staged kiss, a practiced peck meant for show, but when his mouth brushes mine, it feels anything but rehearsed.

There”s a charge in the air that pulls me into orbit around him despite the gravity of our shared disdain. His lips are soft, contrasting with the hard lines of his jaw and his iron grip on the city”s underbelly.

For a moment, I forget the man he is, the criminal empire he commands.

My heart hammers rapidly, echoing the music still playing in the background. It”s a performance, I remind myself—a display for prying eyes that dissect every move and glance. We pull away, and I catch the faintest smirk on Dario”s lips, a silent acknowledgment of the charade.

The crowd’s murmur fills the void left by the absence of his touch. They see only what we present, the illusion of unity and love blossoming between two of Chicago”s most powerful families. But beneath the surface, there”s a tumultuous sea of secrets and lies.

As the evening progresses, the toasts keep coming, each reminding me of the role I must play. Every smile and touch is part of the act, a show of devotion that”s really about convenience and survival. Once lively and dressed in delicate fabrics, the guests quietly disappear into the Chicago night, their laughter and compliments fading.

”I”m not sure what”s going on, but there”s something there,” Gabby insists when she stops by to say goodnight.

“I promise you, there isn’t.”

“That kiss said otherwise. Goodnight, Mrs. DeLuca.” She smirks and then saunters off, leaving me here alone.

Suddenly, the reality of the situation reels me back to the situation at hand. I look up and see Dario giving Rafael directions and my parents walking toward me.

“This was an amazing evening,” my father says. “You are the spitting image of your mother when I met her thirty-five years ago. Beautiful. Goodnight, princess.” He places a kiss on my cheek, but I don’t respond. I instead turn to my mother.

“Mom, have a wonderful evening. I’ll be in touch…hopefully.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

“You two looked wonderful tonight,” Evelyn beams as she approaches. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure how this would go given the short notice, but the early buzz is that you two are the new ‘it couple’ of Chicago. And I don’t have any information yet, but I’ll email you any campaign updates. I’ll start a new marketing strategy in the morning. Good night, you two.” She leaves, and now it’s down to us and the staff.

“Ready to go?” Dario asks.

“Yes, warden. I’m ready to return to cell block D,” I joke.

“Mia,” he gives me a stern look.

“Yes, I’m ready to go. It’s a long ride back to your illustrious estate.”

“You can head to the lobby. I have a call to make.”

“What? You’re not going to escort your lovely bride-to-be? It’s all about appearances, remember?”

“Ah, there’s that smart, sarcastic mouth I’ve grown fond of.”

“And there’s the next corrupt politician. See you in the car, dear.” Any affection I thought I was getting for Dario DeLuca is gone.

I step through the lobby, the sound of my heels making their presence known. The car waits, a black beast ready to devour the remnants of the night.

Dario appears just when I reach for the handle and opens the door. As we slide into its leather-clad interior, the barrier between us shifts, tangible in the silence that envelops us.

Rafael pulls away from the hotel and heads toward the mansion. The ring on my finger is a cold reminder, its weight disproportionate to its size—a shackle more than a symbol.

I lean back against the seat, the cool material a balm to the fire threatening to consume me from the inside out. As the city lights blur past, I sit there, lost in thoughts of what might be real and what is merely for show.