Dario DeLuca: Savage Bloodline

23. Dario

TWENTY-THREE

I pauseoutside Mia”s bedroom, steeling myself before rapping my knuckles on the thick oak door. Ever since we arrived at my family”s home in Sicily, she has shut herself away, a ghost haunting these halls. I don’t blame her—her entire world has been flipped upside down. We’ve been here a few days, and she’s set like that the whole time, only coming out of her room to eat. And even then, I’ve had to force her.

The attack at the community center rattled us all, but I know the dread that’s taken over her is all because of her father. My guilt gnaws at me for failing to protect the mayor. The image of his blood-soaked body crumpled on the floor replays in my mind.

He was lucky.

The bullet went straight through him, missing all his major arteries. Whoever tried to take him out failed. And by now, they are well aware of that fact and possibly on to their next target.

So I brought Mia to this place that has forever meant refuge to shield her from whoever struck out against us. My sister Carmela”s wedding was the perfect pretense, but keeping Mia safe is my sole purpose until I can get to the bottom of this shit.

Searching my father’s files was useless when you consider that we have no idea which one of his past enemies may be out of the shadows now. And finding the connection between them, my father and the mayor, is like finding a needle in a haystack. Marcus was the lead attorney on several cases that involved my father.

It could be anyone looking to settle a score with the Gordons and, clearly, the DeLucas. The only question that makes sense is who would be stupid or bold enough to attack while we were present.

My family has reigned over Chicago for years. The name comes with the same level of respect as the city has for its beloved mayor. Fucking with a DeLuca was a death sentence. So whoever it is doesn’t give a damn about dying—someone who has shit else to lose and is prepared to take everyone down with them.

”Come in,” her soft voice drifts through the door.

I enter the guest room and find her curled up on the built-in bench, staring out the window, wrapped in blankets. Even unkempt, with dark circles marring the delicate skin beneath her eyes, she is ethereal—an angel fallen to the pits of Hell.

”Bella,” I murmur, the endearment slipping unbidden from my lips.

Mia turns her head to look at me, her eyes hooded and red. She’s been crying, and I hate seeing her like this. When I offer her my hand, I expect her to fight me, but she doesn’t or hurls the expected barbs laced with fire. This passivity unsettles me more than her typical defiance. My strong-willed, passionate warrior has been dimmed, and the sight carves a hollow ache in my chest.

She takes my hand, her fingers slight yet holding firm as I lead her from the room and through the opulent halls of my home. Tapestries and austere portraits line the walls, witnesses to generations of Carmine DeLuca”s legacy, both triumphant and damned. I hurry past them, eager to escape the weight of my family”s heritage, if only for a moment.

The house is bustling with workers as we prepare for Carmela’s big day. I immediately understood why Mia hauled herself into her room the moment the quiet of the halls was replaced by noise—voices, sounds, and music all rotating at a deafening volume. Or maybe it’s the tight squeeze of her hand as people shuffle past us that tells me she’d rather return to her solitude.

At last, the sprawling grounds greet us, the sweet perfume of lemon blossoms and cypress trees carrying the warm breeze. I halt our steps, tugging Mia to face me.

”Where are we going?” she asks, sweeping loose tendrils from her face with surprising calm.

”To let out your frustrations, tesoro.”

For once, she voices no protest as I guide us across the courtyard. The only sounds are our footfalls crunching over the gravel path and the distant trill of songbirds. Her silence disquiets me; this is not my Mia, the passionate force that both enthralls and infuriates me.

This is someone else entirely—a shell of the woman I’ve grown to care for.

We reach the secluded hillside where the gun range is nestled among towering pines and fragrant shrubbery. Their earthy incense floods my senses, momentarily grounding me as I steal a glance at my bride.

Even in her saddened and distraught state, she is achingly beautiful. I want nothing more than to hold her and shield her from everything.

For a fleeting moment, she catches me staring. Heat rushes through me, and I have to look away to keep my mind from getting the best of me. Now isn”t the time to be thinking about how sexy she is. Mia’s emotions are still raw from the attack.

I brought her here to shelter her, not torment her further with my selfish cravings. Still, I cannot ignore how my body thrums with the consciousness of being near her.

We approach the building that houses the gun range, its solid concrete walls exuding an air of solemn purpose. The door creaks when I push it open, and from the lack of gunpowder in the air, I know it’s been a while since anyone has been out here. Decades, maybe, considering that I moved to the States with my father twenty-five years ago.

With us gone, mother and sister had no real reason to use it. They’re both well-trained in weaponry—it’s standard in our family—everyone learns how to break down, clean, assemble, and shoot a plethora of guns the day they hit puberty. But my father ensured this was a safe place and that the women in our lives never had to worry about threats knocking down their doorsteps.

I was supposed to do that for Mia.

I’ve failed, but I swear on everything I hold dear that’ll never happen again.

Mia trails behind me as I lead her through the entrance into the hollow inner chambers. I stare at the array of weapons meticulously organized on the tables, assessing which will be the best tool for her education. Her soft footfalls echo in the stillness as she drifts closer, curiosity outweighing her reservations.

Pausing, I turn to face her. I recognize the apprehension etched into the taut lines of her body, the wariness clouding her eyes.

“What’s all this?” she asks after a beat.

I pick up a Walther PDP-F and the magazine next to it. “This is where you”ll learn to defend yourself.”

A subtle click of the metal resonates in the tense silence as I shove the clip into the gun. Her lips part on an indrawn breath, and I can practically see the protests formulating behind her intelligent gaze.

Before she can voice them, I continue in a tone that brooks no argument. ”What happened back in Chicago…it can never occur again. I failed to protect you, and that is unacceptable.”

Regret lances through me as I recall the terror of that night, of seeing her caught in the crosshairs with nowhere to run. The memory torments me still, fueling my determination to ensure her safety, no matter the cost.

“Dario—” she starts.

”I need to know you can handle yourself if the need arises.”

Mia”s shoulders stiffen, defiance sparking in her eyes even as uncertainty wars within their depths. At this moment, I see a glimpse of the fiery woman I”ve come to admire, the one who doesn”t back down even when logic demands she yield. It is that unbreakable spirit that first captured my interest and now also ignites a fierce protectiveness I”ve never known.

”Have you ever fired a gun before?” I ask, though a part of me already knows the answer.

Mia shakes her head, her teeth worrying her plump lower lip in a gesture of pure, beguiling innocence. Her eyes lock on the weapon with wariness and morbid fascination.

”I”m going to teach you how to use this today,” I tell her.

The muscles in Mia”s jaw tighten, but she gives a resolute nod. ”Whoever is after me…they won”t catch us unprepared again.” There”s a newfound hardness in her gaze that both impresses and unsettles me.

“No…they won’t.” Stepping closer, I take her soft hands in my calloused grip, savoring the stark contrast.

Carefully, I guide her fingers around the grip, adjusting her hold until it”s properly anchored. Then, I place the noise-canceling headset over her ears before sliding behind her. Our arms brush and hers is warm against mine, stoking the simmering I”ve fought to repress.

”Like this,” I murmur, my lips inadvertently brushing the delicate skin of her neck below her ear. A tremor courses through her, and I swear I can feel the frantic flutter of her pulse against my chest as I mold myself to her backside.

Forcing my focus, I continue my instructions with a low, hushed rasp. ”Tuck your elbows in.”

Mia does as told, getting it right on the first try.

“Good. Now squeeze the trigger. Don”t pull it.”

Mia”s brow furrows in concentration as she follows my lead. When the first shot cracks through the room, she starts but doesn”t flinch away. There”s a glimmer of pride in her eyes as she examines the fresh hole in the target downrange.

”Well done, Bella,” I can”t resist praising her.

As her confidence blooms, I reluctantly retreat a few paces, allowing her space while keeping a watchful presence. Round after round, Mia”s grouping tightens, each shot more precise than the last. She”s a quick study, her movements increasingly assured. When she turns to face me again, a radiant smile lighting up her features, the barrel rises…pointing at my chest.

Instinctively, I deflect the muzzle away with the back of my hand. ”Whoa there, Bella. Live rounds, remember?”

Mia”s eyes widen with dismay. ”Oh god, Dario, I”m so sorry. I didn”t even think?—”

I capture her wrist, drawing her attention back to me. ”It”s all right, no harm done. But you need to be more mindful. These tools demand the utmost respect.”

She nods fervently, chastened by the near miss. ”You”re right. I…I want to try something bigger. If I need to use one of these for protection, I need to master it fully.”

Well aware of the double meaning in her words, I force away the darker thoughts. Retrieving a more powerful semi-automatic pistol, I offer it up. ”This .45 has significantly more kickback than that pea-shooter.”

Mia”s delicate fingers close around the heftier grip. Holding her gaze, I demonstrate how to load and chamber a round.

”You need to own it,” I instruct. ”Don”t fear the power—respect it, and it will obey you.”

Mia stares into my eyes, and her breathing hitches. There”s an unspoken subtext between us that extends far beyond these deadly instruments. Pushing aside the heated tension, I move behind her again, my hands encircling hers to guide the aim and correct her stance. The supple curves of Mia”s body mold against me again, sparking a fresh flare of smoldering heat low in my gut.

Discipline keeps my touch professional, even as her scent surrounds me in an intoxicating cloud. But when she shifts restlessly, her plump ass brushing against my pelvis, I can”t stifle the guttural growl that rumbles up from my chest.

The sound seems to resonate as the air thickens with undeniable wanting. Mia”s breaths come shallower, her pulse fluttering rapidly beneath my fingertips when I sweep her hair behind her ear and out of her face. It would be so easy to unleash the torrent of desire, to knock all this shit over and take her right here on the table.

But I can’t, not like this, not when she”s still reeling from so much turmoil. Forcing down the cravings, I ease away from the tempting warmth of her body.

”Take your time,” I tell her gruffly. ”Get a feel for it.”

Mia seems to resettle her focus, determination overshadowing the haze of arousal. With white-knuckled intensity, she reacquires her aim down the range. At the first thunderous report, she jolts but adjusts quickly and squeezes off another round.

And another.

And another.

Bit by bit, her grip steadies as the recoil becomes an expected cadence rather than a jarring force. I watch silently, something tightening in my chest at her fierce determination.

When the final round is spent, the sudden silence seems to echo in the stillness between us. Mia lowers the gun, her chest rising and falling with deep, steadying breaths. Gently, I reach out and ease the weapon from her grip.

Our eyes meet then, the air charging with unspoken intensity. I can read the turmoil swirling in her gaze, the vulnerability she tries so hard to conceal from me. But there”s a newfound resolve there, too—a quiet strength that calls to something primal within me.

Mia swallows. Her expression is guarded, but there”s a glimmer of something raw in her eyes. An answering spark that ignites a raging wildfire inside me. With monumental effort, I break away first.

”Time to head back,” I rasp, my voice stripped bare.

The journey to the house is agonizingly bittersweet torture. With each step, the tension stretches taut between us. Mia remains silent beside me, wrapped up in her turbulent thoughts.

By the time the mansion comes into view, every nerve in my body is on fire. I can feel Mia”s warmth and smell the soft floral scent of her skin.

We reach the front steps, our strides slowing until we grind to a halt. Neither of us moves to go inside. Mia turns to face me, her expression unreadable in the dusky twilight.

This is where I should turn away and give her the space and privacy she needs to process everything. But I can”t seem to disengage just yet, not when there”s still that electrifying spark dancing in the depths of her eyes.

Realization is a gut punch—this all-consuming desire, this overwhelming need to claim her as mine, isn”t just physical. It”s bone-deep, forever etched into the darkest corners of my soul. Simply walking away isn”t an option I”m willing to accept.

So, in one swift motion, I cup her face and devour her mouth with mine. Mia nestles against my chest, her hands resting at my sides. She fists my shirt as I slip my tongue in her mouth, trying to savor the taste of her.

Mia is my endgame now. Perhaps she always has been from that very first meeting. It just took the earth-shattering beneath our feet to finally make me see the truth.

“I want you,” she mutters against my mouth.

I groan, deepening the kiss before reluctantly breaking it. I stare down into her heated gaze and reach around her to open the front door.

Mia”s lashes flutter, her lips parting on a shaky inhale. The night seems to splinter apart around us, the entire world narrowing down to this single searing point of contact.

”Soon,” I murmur.

With a supreme will, I tear myself away and stalk off, back toward the gun range, to vent my frustrations, leaving Mia to ponder the unspoken promise hanging between us.

I don”t look back, knowing that one glimpse of her beautiful face would completely shatter my resolve.

Tonight, she needs space to let everything sink in at her own pace. But soon, neither of us will be able to deny this insatiable thirst any longer. And when that dam breaks…God help anyone who dares stand in my way.