Dario DeLuca: Savage Bloodline

27. Dario

TWENTY-SEVEN

The alleyway reeksof stale piss and rotten garbage, but I don”t give a fuck. My hands clench into fists around the fabric of Mia’s shirt, the need to keep her close consuming me. After last night, it’s like something shifted for us. I’ve had her body numerous times, but last night was different. Last night, the ball was in her court, and she took the winning shot.

I’d staked my claim on her long ago, but I can’t help but feel that was her way of doing the same. It was her way of letting me know that despite everything we’ve been through in the short time we’ve known each other, she wants this. Despite the lifestyle and the murder, she’s choosing me, whether she knows it or not.

“You should stay here. When I’m done at the warehouse, we can go to the hospital together,” I insist.

“I’ll be fine. Renzo will get me there in one piece, and I’ll call you as soon as we arrive. Besides, you have the campaign to worry about and need to take care of the damage from the fire. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

She’s right, but it’s about more than just wanting to protect her. We’ve only been back from Italy for a few hours, and Mia is dying to visit her father. I can’t say I blame her, especially since we never gave her an option. After the shooting, the only thing on any of our minds was getting her as far away from it all as possible. And unfortunately, that meant not getting to see her father.

And since I need to meet with my men so we can finally put this fucked up puzzle together, I’ve tasked Renzo with escorting Mia. Aside from Rafael, if there was ever another person I could trust with something as precious as her, it’s him. I know that he’ll die before he lets anyone hurt her, but I must make sure he knows there’s no other option.

With one hand on her hip, I point to Renzo with the other. “If anything happens to her, I’ll break every bone in your fucking body.”

Mia cups my chin, forcing me to look at her. “You trust him, right? He wouldn”t work for you if you didn”t.”

I stare into her eyes, pulling her flush against me, and nod.

Rubbing my shoulder, she says, “Then I”m safe.”

Without words, I reach behind my back for my Glock and quickly check the clip, then palm the back of her hand before putting the butt of the gun in hers. “Take it.”

She flinches, brow furrowing as she stares at the gun and then up at me. ”Dario, I?—”

”You remember how to use it?” I growl out.

She gives a tiny nod, chewing that full bottom lip. Fuck, I want to bite down on it myself.

Instead, I grunt, ”Keep it close and shoot first.”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t argue. Mia nods again. Smart girl, she knows not to mouth off right now, though I won’t lie and say that I don’t miss her fieriness. She still hasn’t returned to normal, but today, the light in her eyes seems a little bit brighter.

I lean in, one hand fisted in her hair to yank her head back. I crush my mouth against hers in a brutal, possessive kiss that tastes like fear and desperation. She whimpers into it, and I deepen the kiss, remapping every soft inch of her with my tongue.

When I finally release her, she”s panting, cheeks flushed. ”Why do you look like you’re afraid?”

Blinking hard, I push aside the red haze of fury and terror at the thought of losing her. ”I am.” The admission leaves an acrid taste in my mouth.

I don’t feel fear, never have. Only the weak and the dead know that paralytic emotion. But from the moment I decided she would be my wife, things changed inside me. I cared where I normally wouldn’t and felt pain when I was usually the one inflicting it. She came into my life, fighting me at every turn, showing me she’s someone to fight for. She’s mine and doesn’t even know the type of control she has here.

I may be calling the shots, but she’s somehow become my enforcer.

“Of what?” she asks, breaking my train of thought.

“That I’m going to have to burn this whole fucking city to the ground if something happens to you.”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn”t look away. Mia holds my stare, and I guide her into the back seat of the bulletproof SUV. She keeps her eyes locked on me as I gently push her legs into place and let the door slam shut.

She rolls the window down.

”Stay close to Renzo. He knows the second something looks off, he”s to haul ass back here with you.”

She manages another shaky nod, bottom lip trembling like she”s fighting back tears. ”Please don”t do anything stupid.”

My jaw clenches hard enough to creak. What she”s asking isn’t possible. ”I don”t make promises I can”t keep, Bella.”

With that, Renzo rolls up her window, securing her behind the one-inch thick reinforced glass. Only then do I breathe as they peel out of the alley, tires slinging puddles of grime in their wake. Using an app on my phone, I punch in a code to the discreet underground garage I had built when I purchased the building. The brick-covered door releases from its track, moving in slightly before sliding open.

As I step inside, my phone rings and I answer it immediately. ”Yeah,” I say while approaching the wall that houses an array of guns.

”We got a lead on who popped off at the community center. Some smoke about an abandoned safe house on the south side. I’m about to drop you an address. Meet me there in fifteen.”

Rafael doesn’t wait for a response before ending the call. A second later, the address dances across my screen. Hastily, I reach for the Sig Sauer, the Beretta, and extra clips. I grab the holster from the hook, slip it on, and stuff my guns into the slots. To conceal the weapons, I open the back seat of my truck for the black blazer I left in there and throw it on, then place the clips in the inside pockets.

Determined to put an end to this bullshit, I climb behind the wheel, toss the phone onto the passenger seat. The engine roars to life with the press of a button, and I guide the G-Wagon out of the garage.

The door glides close, the ten-foot-thick brick blending with the wall. One would never know it’s there, with how perfectly crafted it is—designed to keep motherfuckers out.

The entire building was redone in reinforced concrete, blast-proof in case of a threat. It’s a figurative gilded cage. So, when I promised the residents of this building that this is the safest building in Chicago, I meant it. It’s a seven-story bunker fit for Armageddon itself.

I peel out of the alley and onto the main road. The drive to the location Rafael sent me is brief and silent, my mind constantly rotating with thoughts: Mia and the realization of just how much she means to me, the pain in her eyes when she thought she was going to lose her father, the fear that has yet to leave her beautiful body.

And the closer I get to my destination, to finally getting some fucking answers, those thoughts are replaced with pure unadulterated rage. This bitch-ass motherfucker has killed one of my men, burned down my warehouse, stalked, taunted, and shot at my woman.

Today, he dies.

Fuck the election. Fuck everything. I’m ending this shit tonight, and I’ll celebrate between Mia’s sexy-ass thighs.

I arrive and park in front of a brownstone. Not wasting time, I exit my truck and walk to the gate. Metal kisses my palm as I push open the gate. Its creak is a mournful song amidst distant sirens and murmured conversations.

Eyes track my every step, some blatant, most skittish—like deer aware they tread on a predator”s territory. No one dares approach; even the brazen understand I’m not to be fucked with.

I ascend the steps, boots solid against stone, each thud a harbinger of the storm brewing in my chest. It springs open before I can wrap my knuckles against the paint-chipped door. Inside, the air is stagnant, thick with anticipation. Rafael leans against the wall, his face an unreadable mask. Beside him, Andre and Paolo stand rigid, their loyalty as unwavering as the steel in their spines.

”Boss,” they murmur, nodding curtly, respect woven into the very timbre of their voices.

Two strangers emerge from the shadows, their hands extended. Their palms meet mine, and then their fingers snap in rhythm—a ritualistic dance of camaraderie.

“What’s up, Dario? I’m Ty,” the shorter of the two introduces himself.

I nod.

“Marquel,” the other adds.

”I think I got something you”ll wanna hear,” Ty begins, his voice a low rumble, a growl cloaked in civility.

“Go on,” I say with my arms folded.

”The shooting at the center wasn”t just chaos. I saw someone slink away, real shady-like.” The man sits and rests his elbows on his knees with his fingers interlocked. ”While everyone was scrambling and running for their lives, this dude was just waiting in the cut. It wasn’t until they wheeled the mayor out on a stretcher that he snuck off.”

He pauses to pick up the beer can from the old coffee table.

“Of course, we thought that shit was suspicious, so I followed him,” his companion adds. “He’s holed up in one of the crack houses off twenty-third.”

“Did you recognize him?” Rafael asks.

“Naw. But half of the dude’s face was burnt to shit,” Marquel continues.

As soon as the words leave his lips, I make eye contact with Rafael. Little do they know, they’ve just given us confirmation. All the clues, the crest, the newspaper clipping, burning my warehouse, and Santino, it”s definitely someone associated with the Pescis. But who? We dug up the death records and everything we could find on the fire and confirmed the entire family had died that night.

“Why are you coming to us with this?” I ask when he’s done, skepticism threaded through my question. In our world, people don”t do shit for free or because it is the right thing to do. Everyone has a price.

”Respect,” Ty says, and Marquel nods, solemn as an oath. ”He went after the mayor and did that bullshit in a crowded room.”

“Mayor Gordon is one of us, always looking out for the people, making sure the south side doesn”t go forgotten. And the community needed that center, the kids needed it, and some punk ass bitch fucked with that. Besides, he’s about to be your father-in-law, and we know how the DeLuca’s roll,” Marquel adds. “Figured you’d want to handle that.”

“Which house?”

“Blue door,” Ty answers.

I nod gratefully. The lead is a lifeline, a chance to unravel the truth threatening to suffocate us all. I turn, purpose fueling my stride, the need to act building in my chest. Once outside, Rafael stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

”Go to the hospital,” Rafael urges.

“What.” I frown.

“We don”t know what we”re about to walk into, and you don”t need to be there.”

”Move.”

“You”re not just a Mafioso anymore, D. A war might break out tonight, and you need to be far away from it. Enzo gave us an order, remember? Let me handle it.”

”That motherfucker hurt Mia. I”m going.” Stepping around my cousin, I walk towards the driver”s side of my SUV.

A second later, Ty, Marquel, and three other Black men exit the house and approach us.

“We’re ridin’ out with you.”

Rafael meets my gaze, silent questions flying between us.

As if he can read our minds, Ty says, “Like I said. Dude shot the mayor and possibly ruined something the community desperately needed.”

That”s all I need to hear. With a tip of my head, I give them my approval. I know exactly where they’re coming from. If you stand for nothing, you’ll fall for anything.

We separate and jump into our respective vehicles. Engines roar to life, a chorus of defiance as we pull away.

I ride in silence, my mind set on ending this shit tonight. We turn down the abandoned block, met with the crumbling canvas of forgotten streets. This place, once vibrant, now lies in ruin—a mausoleum of memories decayed by neglect. Glancing around, I see the detritus of lives scattered like confetti after a parade has passed, leaving only the desperate and the damned.

We near the house with the blue door. The paint has chipped away, and the once-white brick is now caked with dirt and nearly overtaken by vines. We stop several feet away and kill our engines. The men are out of their cars, dispersing with the fluidity.

I step out. The air is heavy with the stench of rot and resignation. My gaze travels over the cracks of the pavement and broken windows that stare like vacant eyes.

As we edge closer to the property line, the silence is alive and thick with anticipation. I scan the decrepit structures, each telling its own tale of desolation. Here, an abandoned pram—its wheels turned skyward—and there, a needle glinting beneath the moon’s cold scrutiny.

We approach the derelict house with guns drawn. Overgrown weeds crunch under our feet, the only sound cutting through the tense quiet.

I jerk my head, signaling everyone to get in place. Whoever’s in there will be surrounded. My grip tightens on the Beretta as a bead of sweat trickles down my temple. The stench of piss and rotting garbage is overpowering, and I wrinkle in disgust.

Movement in my periphery snaps me back into focus. A curtain twitches on the second floor. The hairs on my neck prickle as adrenaline spikes through my veins. I”m locked and loaded, bracing for whatever”s about to go down.

Then, a flicker. A red dot dances across the bricks, a harbinger of danger.

”Down!” My voice slices the quiet. Instinct drives us, bodies tensing, scattering for cover—the choreography of survival etched into our bones.

”Move. Move.”

We took shelter behind the carcasses of cars and the brittle bones of shrubbery. Bullets shred through the night, spitting metal death indiscriminately.

Ty and his men return fire blindly as we scramble for better shelter. We bolt in opposite directions, weaving to avoid the hail of lead chewing up the ground around us. Paint crumbles each time a stray round punctures the house.

I taste the acrid bite of gunpowder on my tongue and feel the heat of near misses licking my skin. Time slows, adrenaline hijacking my senses, amplifying every echo of gunfire and every splinter of wood or metal.

Silence falls abruptly. In the aftermath, a new sound emerges—frantic footsteps pounding from within the house. They’re running. We hold our breath, a collective inhale, our ears straining against the stillness.

I nod to Rafael, a silent exchange of intention, and his eyes flash back with the same fire that fuels mine. We’ve danced with death before, and today is no different.

My grip tightens on the gun, and every muscle sings with tension. My finger instinctively hugs the trigger, ready to neutralize the threat at the first sign of movement.

Then, the sound of the back door suddenly flying open shatters the stillness with a splintering crash. I have a split second to register the silhouette of a figure bolting into the night before a loud roar drowns out all other sounds.

An incendiary blast unleashes a searing shockwave that blows out every window. Shrapnel flies through the air as I”m flung backward, the concussive force driving the air from my lungs. I hit the pavement hard, my head bouncing off the unforgiving concrete with a sickening crack.

Ears ringing, I blink against the spots crowding my vision, struggling to orient myself amid the commotion. Flames lick at the collapsing structure, hungrily consuming the wreckage as plumes of smoke choke the sky.

”Rafael,” I call out, my voice raw and desperate.

”Dario,” he shouts back in the same breath, his silhouette emerging from the smoke like a phantom.

”I”m here,” I wheeze, tasting copper on my tongue.

He appears above me, face smeared with soot and terror etched into his features. Relief washes over his expression as he drops to one knee. I grip his forearm, steadying myself to take stock of the others.

Andre is already back on his feet, swiveling in a defensive circle with his weapon raised. Paulo comes from behind a charred husk of a Buick, battered but upright. A few of the other men stir, groaning and clutching various wounds, but no one seems to be seriously injured. Ty and his men emerge, one limping, the other clutching his shoulder.

“God damn it,” Ty bites out. “You good?” He looks to his boys for confirmation.

“We need to get out of here,” Marquel adds. He taps Rafael on the shoulder, but goes ignored. When we don’t budge, the men wave us off and race back to their vehicle with guns still drawn as a precaution.

Their tires screeching against the broken pavement force me to focus.

”Fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” Rafael mutters, squeezing my shoulder firmly before rising to his feet.

I leverage myself up on trembling arms, my head still swimming.

”Go,” he hisses, urgency laced with an authority that brooks no argument. ”Before this comes back to you.”

He levels me with a stern look, the fear replaced by grim determination. He”s made up his mind—I must make myself scarce before the cavalry arrives. I might be the boss of our division, but if there is anyone who could keep my head on straight it’s my cousin.

We’ve spent our entire lives at each other’s side, from the moment he lost his parents and moved in with us, we’ve been thick as thieves. When Father brought us to the States to take control over the city, he brought Rafael with us. He’s more than my cousin and partner in crime…he’s my brother.

Sirens begin to wail in the near distance as the sky glows orange from the inferno. With a curt nod, I return to the SUV on unsteady legs. The others will handle the cleanup while I lie low until the heat dies down.

I spare one final glance back at the smoldering ruins, and my jaw clenched so tightly it throbs.

Whoever was responsible just ignited a war—I”ll make damn sure they live just long enough to regret pouring gasoline onto the bonfire.