Chapter 10

Delilah's mind was spinning, her thoughts a chaotic blur of fear and anger. The cold metal of Vincent’s gun pressed against her skin, and the horror of the situation sank in fully. 

She had fought so hard to stop this wedding, yet nothing had prepared her for this kind of obstacle—a twisted takeover of her life. 

A strange, dangerous man had claimed her as his bride, and now she was staring down a fate she could never have imagined.

Marco’s entire body screamed with frustration, his muscles tense as he watched helplessly. 

His blood boiled at the sight of Delilah in Vincent’s grip.

"She’s mine," his mind roared. "Not his. I won’t let him take her." But his hands were still bound, and there was nothing he could do.

Vincent, still smirking with that cruel satisfaction, turned to one of his men. "Bring me the documents," he ordered, his voice dripping with confidence.

One of the rugged men stepped forward, fumbling in his jacket before pulling out a set of papers—marriage documents. 

The man handed them to Vincent, who momentarily loosened his grip on Delilah to grab the papers.

That split-second lapse was all Delilah needed.

Her body moved on instinct. Without hesitation, she lunged at the gun in the man’s hand beside her. 

The cold metal felt heavy in her grip, but adrenaline fueled her as she spun around, pointing the weapon straight at Vincent. Her breath came in sharp bursts, but her eyes were sharp and focused, locking onto Vincent’s.

Vincent froze, momentarily caught off guard by her action. His eyes narrowed as rage flashed across his face. 

His cocky grin vanished, replaced by a low, dangerous growl. "You’ll pay for that," he hissed, his voice dark and menacing.

Delilah didn’t flinch. Her hands trembled slightly, but she held her ground, the gun steady. 

Her voice, when it came, was stronger than she expected. "I’m not your bride," she spat. "I’ll die before I ever let you claim me."

Vincent’s jaw clenched in fury, but before he could respond, his men stirred, ready to intervene. 

They moved toward Delilah, but she whipped the gun around, eyes blazing with fierce determination. "Don’t even think about it," she warned, her voice deadly calm. "I’ll shoot every one of you before you touch me."

For a moment, the room was tense, the air thick with anticipation. 

Vincent’s eyes flicked between Delilah and his men, his lips curling into a sneer. 

"Take her," he ordered coldly, stepping back as if daring her to make a move.

Two of his men lunged at her, but Delilah was faster. 

The gun fired, the deafening crack of the bullet echoing through the church. 

One man dropped to the floor, clutching his leg, while the other backed away in fear.

Just then, Gino, who had been struggling against his restraints, managed to break free. 

With a swift motion, he kicked the legs of the guard nearest to him, sending the man crashing to the ground. Gino didn’t waste a second—he hurried over to Marco, helping him wrestle free of his cuffs.

Marco’s hands were free. He didn’t hesitate. 

He leaped into action, charging at another one of Vincent’s men. 

His fists flew, connecting hard with the man’s jaw, sending him crashing to the floor, unconscious.

Delilah, still holding the gun, stood her ground as the remaining men hesitated, unsure whether to obey Vincent’s orders or retreat. 

Marco stepped beside her, his eyes filled with cold fury. Together, they stood against Vincent, with their backs straight.

Vincent’s gaze darkened as he realized his men were either down or too afraid to move. His fists tightened, and his jaw clenched in frustration.

Delilah glared at him, her chest rising and falling with the rush of adrenaline. "It’s over, Vincent or whatever your name is. You’ve lost," she said, her voice steady, but the fire in her eyes burned hotter than ever.

Vincent’s rage simmered beneath the surface, but even he knew when the tide had turned. He glanced at his downed men, then back at Marco and Delilah, his lip curling in disgust. But he wasn’t ready to give up yet.

"Maybe," Vincent sneered, his voice filled with venom, "but this isn’t the end."

Without warning, Vincent pulled out a knife, his eyes gleaming with violent intent. He twirled the blade in his hand, ready for a fight. 

Marco’s jaw tightened as he stepped protectively in front of Delilah, his mind racing. He knew Vincent was dangerous, especially now that he was cornered, but Marco had planned for this.

Earlier, while they had been fighting Vincent’s men, Marco had given Gino a discreet order: call for backup. And Gino, ever loyal, had done exactly that.

As Vincent made a move toward Marco, a loud bang echoed through the church doors. 

Heavy footsteps marched in, and a group of men—Marco’s men—stormed into the building. 

They moved quickly, guns raised, efficiently surrounding Vincent before he could even make another move.

Vincent’s knife glinted in the low light, but the moment he saw Marco’s men, his bravado faltered. 

One of Marco’s men stepped forward, grabbing Vincent’s wrist and forcing him to drop the knife. 

In a swift motion, Vincent was cuffed, his arms twisted behind his back.

Marco didn’t bother hiding his relief. His cold eyes met Vincent’s, and though he didn’t say a word, the message was clear: It’s over, Vincent.

Vincent struggled briefly, but it was no use. 

Marco’s men were well-trained, and Vincent was outnumbered. 

With a frustrated snarl, Vincent was dragged away, still sneering, but his defeat was undeniable.

As soon as Vincent was taken out of sight, Marco’s attention shifted back to Delilah. She had already moved toward her aunt, kneeling beside Mary’s unconscious form. Tears still streaked her face, but she was trying to keep it together, her hand gently resting on Mary’s arm.

Marco signaled to one of his men, a broad-shouldered man who immediately stepped forward. 

"Help her," Marco instructed.

The man nodded, kneeling beside Delilah. "We’ll take her to the car, ma’am," he said gently, carefully lifting Mary into his arms.

Delilah followed closely as the man carried her aunt outside, her expression a mixture of worry and exhaustion. 

Marco walked beside them, his mind racing with thoughts of Delilah and the danger they had just escaped.

When they reached one of Marco’s cars, the man laid Mary gently in the backseat. Delilah hesitated for a moment before slipping in beside her aunt. 

She glanced up at Marco, her lips parting as if to say something, but the words didn’t come. 

Instead, her eyes said everything: gratitude, fear, and the weight of everything that had just happened.

"I’ll meet you at the hospital," Marco said quietly, his voice firm but soft.

Delilah nodded, wiping her tears as the car door closed. The engine roared to life, and the man drove off, taking them to the hospital.

Marco stood there for a moment, watching the car disappear down the road. 

His fists clenched at his sides, the tension still coursing through him.

He’d almost lost Delilah today, and the thought was unbearable. But for now, he focused on what mattered—she was safe, and Vincent was finally where he belonged.

He turned toward Gino, who was already making sure the church was secured. 

Marco nodded silently at him before heading toward one of the cars parked outside. 

Gino quickly followed, sliding into the driver’s seat, while Marco sank into the back seat, his mind still buzzing from the chaos that had just unfolded.

Marco’s body hadn’t fully eased yet, and his thoughts kept circling back to Delilah.

Marco leaned forward slightly, his voice low and sharp as he spoke to Gino. "I assumed Delilah was just a dancer, as you told me."

Gino, ever respectful, bowed his head slightly. "Yes, boss," he replied. "But she also runs a café, small but successful."

Marco raised an eyebrow at that. "And her background?"

Gino hesitated, then shook his head. "Her parents are dead. That’s all I’ve been able to confirm. Strangely, boss, the rest of her information is well hidden."

Marco’s lips curled into a bitter smile as he recalled a conversation with his grandfather from just a few days ago. His grandfather had sat him down to explain, unprompted, the connection between their family and Delilah’s.

Not that Marco had asked for it. But, during the talk, his grandfather had let slip certain things. 

Like the fact that Delilah had no idea about her father being a former mafia boss. 

Her aunt had purposely kept her in the dark, ensuring Delilah was oblivious to the world of guns, drugs, and the mafia organization. 

His grandfather had even insisted that Delilah was possibly a virgin, raised under her aunt’s strict guidance, far from the criminal world. 

He’d told Marco to treat her like a precious jewel, as if she were some delicate thing that needed protection.

At the time, Marco had believed him. 

He had been more intrigued by the fact that she was a virgin. 

It was the one detail that made him excited about the marriage. 

He had anticipated the wedding night, looking forward to consummate their marriage.

But now… Marco slammed his hand against his forehead and laughed—low and mocking. 

He couldn’t believe how much of a fool he had been.

Gino glanced nervously in the rearview mirror, hearing the unexpected laugh from his usually stoic boss. "Boss, is something wrong?"

Marco shook his head, still chuckling to himself. "No," he muttered, though his mind was far from calm.

Inwardly, Marco continued to mock himself. 

How could he have ever believed his grandfather’s words? 

Delilah, a virgin? 

The thought was almost laughable now. 

A woman who had danced so expertly in the club, who had given him a lap dance that had turned him on—how could she possibly be untouched? 

She moved with the kind of skill and confidence only someone experienced would have.

And today had proven just how wrong his grandfather was. 

Delilah, the woman his grandfather claimed was innocent, unaware of the mafia world, had shot Vincent’s men without hesitation. 

She hadn’t looked like someone trembling in fear—she looked determined, fierce. 

The only time she showed vulnerability was when her aunt was hurt.

Marco leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes briefly. 

"Delilah wasn’t the delicate flower my grandfather thought she was," he thought. "She’s far more dangerous than anyone gives her credit for."