9. Dario
NINE
”You’re a hot commodity,”Evelyn, the blonde we hired to manage my campaign, muses with a hint of rouge on her cheeks as she leans forward, ”I haven’t seen numbers like this in like — ever. Especially not for a brand-new candidate with no prior political background. And for the seat to open up so abruptly. The big man up high must have been looking out for you.”
She stares at me, a smile teetering on her lips, and I can tell she finds herself amusing. If only she knew the lengths we’ve gone through to make this campaign happen. Losing isn’t an option. She’s just here to make it look legit. We can’t have the citizens of Chicago knowing they voted a Mafia leader onto their beloved council.
Rafael glances at me. We know why the seat is open, don’t we? It was a meticulous game. One piece strategically removed—the councilman now silent forever.
“It was a heart attack, they said,” I add.
“Yes, and he was so young, too. Sad indeed.” She reaches out, her finger tracing the route on the map, the campaign itinerary sprawling before us like a promise. ”We”ve got to hit these neighborhoods hard if you want to bring home this election. You have the younger vote, and I’m sure you can thank your work constructing the community center for that. The school donations certainly help as well. But it’s the older generations that will be the toughest to sway. Once they have their favorite politician, there is usually no changing their minds.”
I nod, watching as she traces a finger over the map, the lines crisscrossing through districts like veins. This city will pulse with my influence, or not at all.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well,” Evelyn leans closer, only a hair’s breadth away from me. Her tone dips into something softer, more intimate, as if she”s forgotten the nature of our relationship—that of employer and employee, nothing more. “Mr. DeLuca. What’s your plan for?—”
Crack!
Suddenly, the world tilts on its axis. A racket erupts from beyond the oak-paneled doors. A piercing shriek and the sound of glass shattering assaults my senses.
Instinct kicks in, and guns materialize in hands with the swiftness of magicians revealing their final trick. I push my chair back, the wheels rolling over the carpet. Removing my weapon from behind my back, I round the desk.
“Oh my goodness,” Evelyn yelps when she sees all the firearms that are no longer concealed.
Stepping around everyone, I open the door and charge into the hall, my gun cocked and ready.
My first thought is Mia and getting to her to keep her safe, but the moment my eyes land on her, I relax a little. My grip on the gun loosens, and with a deep sigh, I uncock the gun and tip the barrel to signal to Rafael and the others that everything is okay.
Her voice hits me first, a rush of angry curses disrupting the calm. There’s no danger, just Mia, furious and loud, her voice burning my ears.
“Open the damn door,” Mia orders.
She stands there, visibly upset–my reluctant bride-to-be–her body a temperamental dance of anger and mutiny. Each curse word that spills from her lips is a strike against the poised image she portrays to the world.
“Is everything all right?” I hear Evelyn’s voice, but I don’t turn to answer her.
I watch as Vivian, my housekeeper, attempts to calm the woman I’m bound to marry. Poor woman, she’s undoubtedly earning her salary having to deal with Mia’s displaced attitude.
“Ms. Gordon, please, that’s very expensive,” the housekeeper says softly while waving her hands in anticipation of catching the eighteen thousand-dollar vase as soon as it leaves Mia’s grasp.
I stare at the shards of broken glass around their feet. My bride’s tantrums are already costing me a fortune, and we haven’t even made it down the aisle yet.
“Yeah, well, it will end up like the other one if someone doesn’t let me the hell out of here. Dario, you’re about to be another vase short.”
“Continue,” I say to my team. “I’ll handle this.”
I stride toward her, my pace unfaltering, even as her presence incites a maelstrom within me. This wasn”t part of the plan. All she needed to do was play her position until we tied the knot and secured my seat on the council.
But she had to go and get herself damn near kidnapped. Now, I’ll keep her here to ensure she doesn’t get herself killed before we can see things through.
So these little fits of hers end today, or I’ll be forced to lock her in a room like a prisoner. Frustration simmers beneath my skin, a serpent coiled tight, ready to strike.
Mia stands in the foyer, her long, natural hair a dark cascade down her back. Her curvy body vibrates with rage. Suddenly, the room goes still and only the sound of my soles against the marbled floors can be heard.
She watches me, fighting to keep her composure, struggling to hide the fear creeping over her features. Last night, she witnessed me murder a man, but the first rule of survival is never to show just how afraid you are.
So she stands her ground, save for the subtle step back as I encroach on her space. But it’s the stern look with her chin tipped up that I must commend her for. It’s as if she’s daring me, testing my hand to see how far she can push me.
Her father warned me, and now I see she will be a handful. She”s chaos incarnate, a storm I”m drawn to despite the destruction she promises.
”Let me go!” she screams again, the words a sharp blade against the quiet of the house.
”Enough,” I mutter, low enough for only the shadows to catch. The responsibility of my position weighs heavily on me, and I maintain my composure. However, her boldness and the intense look in her dark eyes provoke a reaction within me.
As I move closer, each step emphasizes my authority. She is now in my world, where consequences are severe and maintaining control is essential for survival.
”Back the hell away from me,”she hisses, defiance etched in every line of her face. Her fear is tangible now, a living thing between us, yet there”s a thrill in the challenge she continues to give.
“Or what?” I bite. “Hmm? What are you going to do, Bella? Fight? Run?”
Mia’s only response is the death stare she’s yet to let slip from her beautiful features.
“No. You’re going to behave.” I reach for her arm, but she dips and twists to keep me at bay. “You’re going to show kindness to my staff and stop breaking my things.”
Out of spite, Mia glares at me before tossing the vase to the floor. My jaw tics as I bite back the anger. When I step toward her, Mia slips from my grasp with surprising agility, reaches around me, and snatches my gun.
It”s heavy in her petite hands, a burden too much for her hold. It’s evident in her shivering and the slight trembling of her limbs from fear, and yet there’s a resolve there that stirs something dark within me.
Our positions have shifted now, with me in the center of the foyer and her back to the hall. I can see from over her head as Rafael approaches slowly. Holding up a hand, I let him know that I’ll handle Mia myself.
“Don’t test me. I’ll blow your kneecaps off,” she threatens, the gun wavering in her hand as if it’s a stranger to her.
It’s cute that she believes that.
I stare at her, entertained by her bravado. Amusement tugs at my lips, a smirk teasing across my face. She’s a wild thing, fierce and untamed, and it’s... intriguing. She hates me. I can read the burning loathing in her gaze. If Mia wasn’t such a good girl, I bet she’d pull that trigger without a second thought.
Step by step, I close the distance between us. Each footfall is a silent drumbeat heralding the inevitable. She retreats until her back meets the wall, with nowhere to flee. Mia realizes quickly that I”m the predator here and she is the cornered prey.
The cold barrel of the gun presses against my chest, a point of contact that sparks a charge in the air. In one fluid motion, I disarm her with ease. The Glock leaves her grasp, and she stumbles, further pinned by the wall and my presence looming over her.
”Rule number one,” I say. ”Never raise your gun unless you”re ready to kill a man.”
Mia raises her hand and strikes, her palm connecting with my cheek—a sound that echoes through the silence like a gunshot. Heat floods my face, and my control snaps.
I pin her against the wall, my body a shield and a cage. There”s power in this, in the pressing of flesh, the shared heat of our breaths.
”You”re begging me to treat you like a fucking brat, aren”t you?” The question hangs heavy, laden with implication.
Defiant and beautiful Mia doesn”t offer words, only a look that sears through the layers I”ve built, reaching something deep, something primal within me.
”Do I need to put you in your place, Bella? Spank that thick ass of yours until you comply?” The suggestion is as much a provocation as it is a promise.
Her chest heaves, portraying the rapid dance of her heart—a rhythm I feel echoed in my own. I lean in, the space closing as my mouth hovers close to hers. The memory of her soft lips lingers like a phantom kiss, haunting the scant inches that separate desire from madness.
”Look at you. Speechless,” I murmur. ”You like that, don”t you? The promise of my hand on your ass?”
”Fuck you,” she seethes.
”There’ll be plenty of time for that when you”re my wife,” I reply.
”You”ll never even get to smell it.” Her voice has certainty, a conviction that might have made me laugh if I weren”t drowning in her scent.
”Ah, Bella,” I say while brushing her hair from her face with the butt of the gun. ”You”ll be begging me for a lot more than that.”
With that, I leave her standing there and return to my meeting, the echo of my footsteps filling the dead air. Her fury follows me, a siren”s call whispering of battles yet to come.
”I hate you,” she yells after me, each syllable a fiery arrow aimed to singe but missing its mark.
”It”s a thin line, Bella. A very thin line,” I throw over my shoulder.
Stepping back into my office, Evelyn hops to her feet, concern and nerves written all over her. My men stay seated, patiently waiting for us to resume.
“Is everything all right, Mr. DeLuca?”
I wave her off, settling into the leather chair at the head of the table. “Just a minor disagreement with my fiancée.”
Her eyes widened and flickers to the reddened mark marring my cheek. “I didn’t realize you were engaged.”
“Now you do.” I steeple my fingers, staring her down. “Is that going to be a problem?”
She swallows, averting her gaze. “Of course not. It’ll actually be perfect for the campaign.”