Dario DeLuca: Savage Bloodline

22. Mia

TWENTY-TWO

We speed down the highway,the sleek black SUV eating up the miles. I stare out the window, my thoughts a tangled web of longing and fear.

My father.

God, I want to be with him, but I can’t. And that pains me. This constant pressure in my chest makes it hard for me to breathe. I need to see him, to hold his hand and tell him I love him.

What if I never get the chance?

What if something happens and he–

I cut off that dark train of thought, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. I can”t think like that. He”ll be okay. He has to be.

But even as I try to reassure myself, the worry gnaws at me. The truth is, it”s not safe for me to be with him right now. Not with the threats against our family, the constant danger lurking in the shadows. It kills me, but I know deep down I must stay away for both our sakes.

My gaze flicks to Dario in the driver”s seat, his chiseled profile unreadable. I still can”t quite wrap my mind around what he did at the community center opening. When those shots rang out, pure terror had seized me—a helplessness I’d never felt before. And then suddenly, Dario was there, tackling me to the ground and shielding my body with his own.

He nearly took a bullet for me. The feared and ruthless Mafia boss threw himself in harm”s way to protect me without hesitation. In that singular moment, everything changed. Those bullet holes in the concrete were proof he would risk everything to keep me safe. A shiver races through me at the memory, my heart quickening.

I sneak another glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his jaw, the curling vines of his tattoos snaking beneath his crisp dress shirt. This man is such a mystery, layer after layer, I can”t seem to peel back. He confounds, fascinates, and frightens me with the intensity of my growing feelings despite every instinct screaming not to trust him.

As if sensing my stare, his gaze meets mine, pools of darkness that threaten to pull me under. An unspoken understanding passes between us, charged and raw. I feel stripped bare before him.

I tear my eyes away to focus on the road ahead, my pulse racing wildly. Outside, the heartbeat of the Chicago skyline is erratic as night falls and shadows lengthen. I feel a heavy weight in my chest as my heart is filled with sorrow, growing heavier each minute.

My mind races back, unbidden, to two days ago, to the opening—the sounds of gunfire still ringing clear as a church bell in my memory. My father, on the floor, blood-soaked shirt, red-tinged sputum coming out of his mouth. My mother hovering over him with tears streaking her face. Me calling for her as Dario pulled me away. The fear that held us captive, and to be honest, it still does. Despite the continuous updates, I’m no better now than I was then.

”We”re here, Bella.” Dario”s low rasp shatters my daze.

I refocus as we pull up in front of a matte black jet. It’s a monster of a plane, sleek and powerful—just like the man beside me.

“Where is Rafael?” I ask. Not because I really need to know where he is, but usually, he’s only a few inches behind.

“He’s going to join us tomorrow. He’s making sure that Gabby is safe before he does.”

All I do is nod.

Dario puts the vehicle in park and kills the engine. Two men dressed in impeccable suits approach the G-Wagon. The cargo door opens, and they remove our luggage while another impeccably dressed member of Dario’s staff waits near the flight stairs.

Dario exits the vehicle first, then rounds the front to open the door for me. As we stride across the tarmac, his hand ghosts along the small of my back, commanding and protective.

We’re escorted up the steps, and I enter first. The plane”s interior is muted luxury, every detail whispering comfort, but all I feel is the tightness of my own thoughts. I inch further inside, claiming the first seat I come across.

A slender brunette with striking grey eyes, dressed in black pants, a matching shirt, and a vest, approaches Dario with the flight schedule.

“Mr. DeLuca, the bar and food have been stocked as requested. Here is the manifest, and the bed has been turned down. If you or your guest…”

“Fiancée,” he barks back gruffly.

“My apologies. Your fiancée… need anything, let me know.” She retreats, embarrassment evident in the way she hurries away.

It”s not her fault she wasn’t aware that I was his fiancée. It’s not like I’ve met the woman before. But it does leave me to wonder if his family knows about me. We are headed to Italy for his sister’s wedding, and I’ve never even heard him talk about his mother and sister, so who’s to say that anyone outside the people of Chicago knows about this pending union?

The steward and another attendant close the door on the jet, and soon, we are taxiing down the runway, away from my home, my father, and everything else.

The private jetsoars smoothly through wispy clouds, but inside, my mind churns like a cyclone. I shift in the plush leather seat, my skin prickling with awareness of Dario”s presence mere feet away.

As if attuned to my every movement, he rises and approaches, suit tailored to his powerful build. He offers me a tissue. Only then do I realize tears streak my cheeks, the tight knot of emotions in my chest spilling over.

”Thank you,” I murmur, accepting it with a shaky hand. Our fingers brush, and electricity crackles between us, stealing my breath.

He lingers, studying me with those eyes. ”Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?”

His rich voice wraps around me like velvet, soothing and unsettling me equally. I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

Dario returns with a chilled bottle of water anyway, pressing it gently into my hands. He settles into the seat across from me, his gaze never wavering. I sip the cool liquid, willing it to extinguish the heat smoldering inside me.

I take another glance at him, at once predator and protector. The duality dizzies me.

“Mia,” he says softly, a command and a plea.

Inch by inch, he”s dismantling my defenses, but I ignore him. I stare out the window, the setting sun painting the sky in brilliant streaks of orange and red. The thought of our imminent arrival fills me with a thrill of exhilaration…and trepidation.

”What”s your sister like?” I ask suddenly, startling us both. I turn my head toward him and see a ghost of a smile curve his lips.

”Passionate. Stubborn. Fiercely loyal to the family.” He cocks his head. ”Not unlike someone else I know.”

I nod, intrigued by his response.

”She sounds like a force to be reckoned with,” I remark, a hint of admiration in my voice.

Dario”s lips quirk up in a knowing smile. ”Indeed, she is. She may not always agree with my methods, but she understands the importance of loyalty and honor.”

The private jet”s gentle hum calms me. I lean back, the leather cradling me, a soft, silent whisper against the roar of engines. As I drift into a restless sleep, for the first time, I find myself yearning to unlock the enigma of Dario DeLuca.

My thoughts float to him working out in the gym, holding me close as we danced at our engagement party, taking me in the most delicious way anywhere he wanted to. It”s like a movie on the inside of my eyelids, flickering, soothing, until I”m adrift.

Awakened by the shift in altitude, a gentle dip downwards, I flutter my eyes open. Outside, the landscape transitions to misty green mountains dotted with rustic villas. The plane dips again, and my stomach swoops, though I can”t tell if it”s from the turbulence…or him.

Below, Italy unfurls like a tapestry of old and new, stitched together with rows of olive trees and the golden glow of ancient cities. We”re descending, the jet slicing through clouds that look like the soft foam on top of cappuccinos. The sleep in my eyes gives way to clarity. The wheels touch down, and it”s real—Italy, the land of old-world charm and whispered tales.

We glide to a halt, and my heart beats against my ribs. Dario’s hand brushes mine. This is it—we’re here, the home of the DeLuca family. The airstrip is a long gray paved road amidst the green, and at the end, a blacked-out SUV waits. Its door swings open as we approach.

Dario’s fingers tighten around mine, a silent pulse of strength. “This is the First time back since my father’s funeral. He wanted to be buried at home.”

He loads our bags into the trunk before we climb into the vehicle and are whisked away. The road to the estate unwinds before us, a path draped in the weight of his past and the whisper of olive leaves. We pull into the semicircular drive, and I peer up at the grandeur of the property.

Nestled in the embrace of rolling hills dotted with vineyards and olive groves, the DeLuca estate sprawls across the landscape like a testament to timeless elegance. The main villa, a grand structure of warm terracotta and stone, stands proudly, its weathered fa?ade a palette of earth tones whispering tales of past generations. The red-tiled roof gleams under the caress of the setting sun, creating a dance of light and shadow across the manicured lawns.

A gravel driveway, lined with cypresses that reach for the heavens, leads to an arched doorway where ivy clings to the ancient walls. Beyond, the gardens are a celebration of nature”s artistry, with bursts of color from wildflowers, the soft murmur of a nearby brook, and the fragrance of lemon trees filling the air.

Marble statues and fountains carved from local stone stand amidst the greenery. Their elegant forms are a tribute to the rich cultural heritage that imbues every corner of the estate. Walkways of cobblestone meander through the grounds, with secret nooks and secluded benches offering respite and reflection.

In the distance, rows upon rows of meticulously tended grapevines promise the bounty of harvest and the continued legacy of DeLuca”s winemaking traditions.

The entire estate, set in the peaceful Italian countryside, is more than just land and buildings; it”s a vibrant setting that beautifully combines history, family, and nature into a picturesque scene of rural harmony. But what secrets await me in the land of his family? The mysteries of his past? I shiver in anticipation, knowing there”s no turning back now.