Page 30 of Marcello DeLuca

His embrace grounded me. He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering, and then gently tipped my chin up to look into my eyes.

That night, we made love with a tenderness that spoke of more than just physical desire. It was as if Marcello was trying to erase every shadow of fear, every trace of doubt, with each gentle touch and fervent stroke. Wrapped in the cocoon of Marcello’s love, the joy of my graduation achievement returned, and I felt cherished and whole.

Part 2

The Present

Chapter Eleven

Marcello

Love Languages

They say time flies.

Well, the past ten years have passed like a breeze. A lot has happened in that time, but most of all, Safia has grown in ways that continue to amaze me.

After high school, she chose a path that took her far from Columbus, deep into the world. She pursued her education at a university in Ghana, embracing new experiences and immersing herself in the richness of international life. While she was away, I made frequent trips to visit her, cherishing every stolen moment together. Each time I hated to return to the states without her.

She had an expansive security team trailing her in Ghana. And she still was Lanay Sanders to everyone except for her uncle, my father and I. Her safety was still of utmost importance to me, but I wanted her to make the best of her life with the alias.

Meanwhile, I evolved from a young man with dreams of power into one of the most formidable mob bosses in our family's history. I executed my plan flawlessly, transforming my luxury car dealership into a front for a vast empire. We moved more than cars and contraband, we moved influence, power, and wealth—our reach extending far beyond what I could have imagined.

Yet, amidst our success, there were also some losses.

Our family lost its beloved patriarch, Don Ermano DeLuca, in an ambush back in Italy. It had been someone in the family that assisted in Nonno’s demise. The newly installed don, Enzo DeLuca, had been the one to discover and swiftly handle the traitor.

After recovering from that loss, we lived in relative peace until we found out there was a bounty on Safia from the Grecozi crime family. A fucking bounty!

They had placed current pictures of her, her address—which was our villa, and her uncle’s information on the dark web for any nitwit to see. They wanted her alive, unharmed, and the reward was a billion dollars. A billion fucking dollars!

This was the beginning of my war against the Grecozis and anyone else stupid enough to come for her. But on a mission to flush out Safia’s enemy, we found a snake amongst us.

And now my closest friend and former right-hand man lives with the fish in the sea. I didn’t know which hurt worse: the two bullets I took that day or Romeo betraying my trust. He had learned of the bounty and attempted to cash in, making it a bloody Christmas that claimed his own life. My brother made sure of that.

Yeah, that’s right, my brother.

Like I said, a lot has happened in the past ten years. So bear with me. During that tumultuous time when I had to face the Grecozis, Ramiri dropped the heavy news that I had a brother. Vito.

And it gets worse. We share a father, but it’s not Ramiri.

My father is the infamous Alfonso DeLuca. A man who has no loyalty to his wife, children, the DeLuca name, and hell maybe not even to himself.

The death of Nonno, Romeo’s betrayal, and Alfonso’s abandonment brought the savage out of me, making me realize that it’s sometimes those closest to you that will hate you the most.

Keeping my local organization in order became of utmost importance. And I have done everything in my power to keep that order while also smothering the Grecozi and Dunner families every chance I get.

As I lie in bed, thinking of how the years have unfolded, sunlight filters through the windows of our villa, reminding me it’s time to start a new day.

Safia’s absent from our bed. It's a familiar routine—her nightmares driving her to our home gym, where she channels her frustrations into the punching bag. Since she finished her studies and moved back to the states, I have become more concerned about her continued nightmares.

Descending the staircase, I follow the rhythmic thud of her fists meeting leather. In the gym, Safia moves with fluid grace. She’s soft, both petite and thick in the right places. But don’t get it twisted; she can kick even the most formidable man’s ass by sheer technique.

She wears tight workout leggings and a fitted tank top, sweat glistening on her mahogany brown skin—a sight that never fails to stir something deep within me.

“My woman should be in bed with me,” I say, watching Safia concentrate on the punching bag, her muscles taut and ready for action.

“It was time to wake up,” she replies with a playful glint in her eyes.

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