Page 33 of Marcello DeLuca

I smile. I do everything in my power to keep our lives calm, but caution is a necessity in our world, where safety is never a given. Her safety is always on my mind, a constant concern that comes with loving someone so fiercely.

I nod thoughtfully. “You should be my wife, Safia. Everyone should know that you’re mine and not to be touched.”

She sighs, familiar ache in her heart. “It will happen when the time is right, Marcello.”

I want to protest, to ask her when will the time be right. But I hold my frustrations in and move my touch to her cheek. “Soon.” I kiss her deeply.

Safia still carries a silent burden that shadows our brightest moments. No matter how much sweetness we pour into our lives, she is haunted by painful memories.

Eleven years have passed since she shared the brutal truth about her family’s death, and the perpetrators have taunted us by still breathing. That ends now. I must bring her the justice she deserves. It’s our path forward to a future together.

“Go, before I change my mind and take you back to bed,” I say, kissing her one last time.

She reluctantly steps back, her hand sliding from mine. “Okay, okay,” she concedes, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll go, but only because I promised Uncle James.”

I watch as she moves away, a part of me already missing her presence. But I know she’ll be back, and until then, the memory of her touch, her smile, will keep me company.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” I call after her longingly. “Cause, you know I’ll be waiting.”

She turns at the door, throwing me a playful wink. “I know you will,” she says, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes, a playful glint lighting up her features. “There’s not another woman in this stratosphere that will beat you up and then put it on you like I do,” she teases, a smirk dancing on her lips.

I can’t help but chuckle, the tension easing just a fraction. “That’s a fact,” I admit, shaking my head slightly at her irrepressible spirit. It’s moments like these that remind me why I fell in love with her, why I continue to fall deeper every day.

“Do you plan to go into the office today?” she asks, the shift in her tone subtle, almost as if she’s trying to gauge my next move.

“Yes, but baby, call me if you need anything, and I mean anything.”

“I will,” she promises.

As soon as the door closes behind her, I get ready to head to the dealership. Today, I have a singular focus: to tie up a lose end. Paleto Grecozi.

The dealership is a hub of connections, and I intend to use every bit of that influence. I will call in every favor, turn over every stone, and leverage every connection we have.

Chapter Twelve

Marcello

Who to Trust?

As I step through the entrance of DeLuca Luxury Cars, the bustling sound of money being made greets me. The dealership has always been more than just a front; it’s a well-oiled machine, and its heart beats in sync with our underground operations.

“Morning, boss!” Maria, our front desk manager, calls out cheerfully as I pass by. Her smile is bright, and it’s clear she’s already in full swing, managing appointments and customer inquiries.

“Morning, Maria. How’s everything today?” I ask, pausing for a moment to catch up.

“Smooth as silk. We have a few appointments with some high-profile clients later. I’ve got everything lined up and ready,” she says with a nod, her efficiency never failing to impress me.

“Great. Keep me posted if anything unusual comes up,” I reply, giving her a nod before moving on.

As I make my way deeper into the dealership, I pass by Tony, one of our top salesmen. He’s leaning against a sleek black SUV, chatting animatedly with a couple who look ready to make a big purchase.

“Hey, Mr. DeLuca,” Tony greets me with a grin, his eyes twinkling with the thrill of the deal. “Got a live one here. This beauty’s practically sold.”

“Good to hear, Tony. Keep up the good work,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. Tony’s been with us for years, and his knack for closing deals is one of the reasons the dealership thrives.

In the service bay, I spot Gabe, our head mechanic, wiping his hands on a rag as he finishes up with a customer’s car. He looks up and gives me a nod, his expression serious as always.

“Morning, Gabe. How’s the workload today?”

---