Dario DeLuca: Savage Bloodline

28. Mia

TWENTY-EIGHT

The cold airof the hospital assaults my senses as I step through the automatic doors, a drastic difference from the world outside. The click of my Louboutins on the polished floor echoes in the cavernous foyer as I make my way to the reception desk.

Even here, Dario’s influence is palpable in this supposed sanctuary of healing. My gaze drifts to the men stationed throughout the room, their presence subtle yet unmistakable. They”re not clad in white coats or scrubs but in tailored suits that do little to conceal the coiled strength beneath. They are Dario”s men—silent sentinels who guard this place as if it were a fortress.

With each step, I feel their eyes on me—appraising, calculating, ensuring the daughter of Marcus Gordon is allowed to pass without any problems.

There’s a nod from one and a shift in stance from another, all just silent recognition so that I know this is a safe space.

Medical staff bustle about, but there”s an underlying tension. My heart beats rapidly, showing my nervousness. I”ve been in hospitals before, but this time it”s different. This time, it”s my father, the once-strong Marcus Gordon, now a frail figure in a hospital bed.

I approach the desk, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. ”I”m here to see Marcus Gordon.”

The receptionist, a woman with a kind but guarded face, nods. No ID is needed. In this place, my face is my passport.

”Of course, Ms. Gordon. He”s in the secure wing. Frankie will escort you.” She gestures to a man who detaches himself from the wall, all coiled strength and watchful eyes.

Frankie. The name is familiar, a thread in the tapestry of my father”s world. A world I”d been sheltered from, but one that now seems to envelop me with every step.

He leads me down a corridor, our footsteps a muted counterpoint to the beeping of machines and the hushed murmur of voices.

As we walk, I can almost feel the weight of history pressing on me. This cold, sterile environment has witnessed the rise and fall of men like my father, who wielded power like a sword, forged alliances, and shattered them in equal measure. It has seen just as much death as it has healing, and that scares me.

Frankie pauses outside a door, his hand on the handle.

”He”s been waiting for you,” he says, his voice a low rumble. There”s a flicker of something in his eyes—respect, perhaps even a hint of pity.

I nod, steeling myself for what lies beyond. The door swings open, and I step into a room awash with the soft beep of monitors and the hush of filtered air.

And there, amidst a tangle of tubes and wires, lies my father.

His eyes find mine, and in that moment, a lifetime of unsaid words hangs between us. Apologies. Regrets. The weight of a legacy I”d never fully understood until now.

”Dad,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

He struggles to sit up as I approach the bed, concern etching deeper furrows into his brow.

”You came.” Each word is an effort, breath escaping in short, ragged gasps. ”I didn”t think…”

”Shh.” I perch on the edge of the mattress, taking his hand in mine. Fingers that were once strong now feel frail, the skin loose over knobby knuckles and protruding veins. ”I”m here now.”

His eyes lock onto mine, and I see the reflection of myself in his gaze.

”Dad...” I trail off, the words not yet formed, a tangle of apologies and confessions.

I swallow hard, gathering the scattered pieces of my resolve.

”I”m sorry for everything,” I finally manage, the syllables heavy with regret.

His fingers twitch in my grasp, and a smile touches his lips. ”My fierce girl. Always so stubborn. Just like…”

“You,” I interject. “At least that’s what Mom always says.”

He tries to laugh, but the pain causes too much discomfort.

“Dad,” I whisper-shout his name.

After a few moments, he begins again. “You have nothing to apologize for, Mia. You are my daughter, my legacy. Everything I”ve done, every choice I”ve made, has been for you. I’m the one who is sorry. My only mission is to protect you and your mother at any cost.”

He takes a deep breath to pace himself.

“However, it is no excuse for not telling you the truth and not letting you know the potential danger we were facing. Can you forgive me? I’ll figure out a way to undo this marriage thing with Dario. I want my princess back.”

“Dad, shutting you out and not allowing you to explain yourself was valid but not right. You should know that you can always come to me, even if it is something as bad as a family threat. Together, we could’ve figured it out, or at least I could’ve been a part of the decision to marry Dario.” I take a few moments to allow my words to wash over him.

A few days ago, my whole world was turned upside down when my father was a mere inch away from certain death. A few months ago, Dario was no one to me other than the man responsible for building our community center. Now, my father is on the mend from a bullet meant to take him out, along with planned attacks against my family, the Harris’ and my fiancé. Sins of the father, I suppose, is his motif.

“You’re right,” he says. “I have nothing else to add to that other than, you’re right. It would’ve been better for us if I had only told you about the situation. Maybe you wouldn’t have to marry Dario.”

A shiver runs through me when he says that. Lately, I find myself closer to Dario than anyone I’ve ever been with. But I don’t know how to tell him that, so I change the subject.

“I do have some news about the community center.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I’ve talked to the detective, and they are just about finished wrapping up the investigation. Dario”s team will begin the repairs shortly and replace any items damaged. We are looking at a five-week turnaround before we can reopen.”

“That’s great to hear.” His gaze drops to my hand, where I am wearing the engagement ring, and then back up to meet mine. “So, how are things between you and Dario?” he asks.

I twirl the jewelry around my finger as I contemplate an answer that describes the dynamics of this relationship.

“It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated? Seems to me it’s a lot more than that.”

The creak of the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to find Dario standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on mine.

“Marcus, you look like you’re healing well,” Dario chimes as he saunters over to the side of the bed. The scent of smoke lingers in the air as he walks by

“Seeing my princess makes it all the better. How’s the campaign going?”

“I’m still in the lead, but the points are dropping since the…community center incident. Evelyn thinks attacking some of these issues head-on and showcasing me in the community and with Mia will help gain the voters’ confidence.”

“I see. It seems like a sound plan, and I know Evelyn can turn things around.”

Even before the forced marriage, my dad always thought highly of Dario despite his family obligations. He used his construction company for all the city”s projects.

“There have been some new developments in other, uh, business that I will bring you in on when you are a little stronger.”

“Well, you know where I’ll be when you’re ready.”

Dad”s gaze is heavy with concern, his eyes filled with a knowledge I”m only beginning to understand—the cost of power, the weight of legacy, the sacrifices made in the name of survival.

“I think we should get going so Dad can get some rest,” I suggest, wanting to get Dario away from here so he can tell me what’s going on.

“Your mother should be here soon. She went to get us something to eat at the soul food place. These hospital options, although healthy, are not the best.”

“I would say you are definitely feeling better.” I chuckle.

My dad always loves a good meal, and his comment gives me the reassurance I need to know that he’ll be fine.

Dario takes my hand in his, applying light pressure that sends delicious currents to my core. Our eyes meet, and I know his thoughts without him speaking a word. I see a flicker of something that makes my heart race.

”Marcus,” Dario says, his voice low and gravelly. ”It”s good to see you.”

Dad nods, “You too. And, Dario, make sure you keep my baby girl safe.”

“You don’t worry. I’ll go to war with God for her.”

As we turn to leave the room, I take one last look at my father. He”s watching us with a mixture of pride and sadness. I know he wishes things were different, but this is the bed he made for us and our family.

Strange bed partners in the world of politics, it’s a known fact. One hand washes the other to promote its agenda. Now that I know why my dad called Dario for a favor, I still don’t know Dario’s angle.

As we walk down the hallway, hand-in-hand, I can feel the stares of the hospital staff and the security guards. They know who we are, and they know what we represent. But they also know that we”re not to be fucked with.

We may be an unlikely pair, a Black woman and an Italian man, but we”re a force to be reckoned with. We”re the future of Chicago, ready to take on whatever comes our way. This is just the beginning, and I can”t wait to see where our story takes us.