Chapter 15

The next morning, Delilah was seated at her aunt’s kitchen table, enjoying a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. 

Her aunt, Mary, had gone for her oncology appointment, leaving Delilah alone in the apartment. 

With the place to herself, she propped her phone up on the table and watched the news stream across the screen.

It didn’t take long for the story to appear: Chairman of Bayou Group Found Dead in a Gruesome Scene. 

The reporter droned on, describing the "grisly discovery" and the police’s confusion over the brutal nature of the murder. 

Delilah’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. 

"Perfect execution," she thought, her pride swelling as she watched the details of the murder unravel on the broadcast.

She was still smiling when she heard a sudden knock at the door. 

Her brow furrowed. 

Mary shouldn’t be back for hours. 

She set her fork down, wiped her hands on a napkin, and stood to answer the door.

When she opened it, her expression quickly shifted from curiosity to guarded surprise. 

A group of men stood there, all dressed in black suits, their eyes shaded by dark sunglasses. 

Gino, the one she recognized, stood at the front, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Marco sent us," Gino said, his tone businesslike. "He ordered me to help you bring your luggage to his place."

Delilah blinked, taken aback. 

She glanced behind him, noticing the other guards waiting patiently. 

"What?" she managed to say, her voice laced with confusion. "Why?"

Before she could continue, Gino gave a signal, and the other guards pushed past her into the apartment, moving quickly and efficiently. 

They began scanning the place, clearly intending to pack up her things.

Delilah, recovering from her initial shock, crossed her arms and leveled a sharp glare at Gino. 

"Excuse me?" she said coolly. "I don’t remember agreeing to this."

Gino merely shrugged, his face impassive. "I’m just following Marco’s orders. He said it’s compulsory for you to come."

A scoff escaped Delilah’s lips. "Compulsory?" She muttered under her breath, "Like grandfather, like grandson."

Thinking quickly, she crafted an excuse. "Well, I can’t just leave. I have to take my aunt to her oncology appointment later today. And besides, I run a café, and it operates from—"

A deep, husky voice interrupted her. "Seven a.m. to six p.m., isn’t that right?"

Delilah froze, her head whipping toward the speaker. 

Stepping out from the shadows was Marco himself, casually leaning against the wall. 

His presence immediately filled the small space. 

Gino, sensing the shift, stepped aside and quietly excused himself, leaving Delilah standing face-to-face with Marco.

Delilah’s eyes narrowed as Marco moved closer, his sharp features and dark clothing coming into full view. 

He was as commanding as ever, his confidence oozing from every step. 

"How long has he been there?" she thought, her heart rate picking up a notch.

"Are you stalking me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice steady despite the uneasy feeling creeping into her thoughts.

"Stalking?" Marco repeated, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "Not exactly. Just a little background check. I like to know who I’m dealing with."

Delilah’s pulse quickened, her grip tightening around the door. 

What had he found?

She forced a smile, her voice steady, masking the anxiety bubbling beneath. "A background check? That sounds a little... invasive."

Marco’s smirk deepened, his gaze sharp, as if he enjoyed her discomfort. "I prefer thorough. And it’s always enlightening to discover that someone isn’t quite as innocent as they appear."

Innocent? The word gripped her, twisting her stomach into knots. 

He knows. 

Her thoughts raced to the situation with Mr. Bayou. How deep had he dug? 

The air between them felt thin, stifling.

Delilah’s voice came out sharper than she intended. "What are you talking about?"

Instead of answering, Marco reached into his jacket, producing a folded photograph. 

He held it up, his expression unreadable, then slowly flipped it toward her. 

Delilah’s heart skipped as she caught sight of the image. It was her—dressed in a mini dress, standing next to the luxurious club’s entrance, the lights illuminating her sharp features. 

She looked dangerous. Confident. The kind of woman who belonged in Marco’s world.

"I found this... interesting," Marco said, his voice smooth as velvet. "It’s not the picture of a quiet café owner, is it?"

Panic surged through her, but she pushed it down, letting her boldness take over. 

With a sudden burst of confidence, she snatched the picture from his hand, their fingers brushing in a moment that sent an electric jolt through her. 

"Good," she said, her voice cold but steady. "I’m glad you found out. It saves me the trouble of explaining myself."

Marco’s eyebrows lifted slightly, clearly taken aback by her brazen response. "So you’re not even going to deny it?"

"Deny what?" she shot back. "That I’m more than just some boring café owner? I’m not ashamed of who I am, Marco."

Silence hung between them, thick and charged. 

Marco studied her, his eyes dark with an intensity that made her want to squirm, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Finally, Marco’s smirk returned, but there was an edge to it. "Bold of you. But this is why I want you to come with me. To my place."

Delilah blinked, her unease returning. Why does he want me there? 

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him, trying to peel back the layers of his intentions. "Why are you so eager for me to come with you? You can send Gino to move my luggage, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go."

Marco’s expression darkened, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the cracks in his façade. 

He was struggling, fighting against something she couldn’t yet decipher. But she wasn’t done.

"You could take up the entire apartment if you want," Delilah continued, her voice dripping with confidence. "But that won’t get me to follow you."

For a moment, Marco just stared, clearly shocked by how boldly she was pushing back. 

His control, his smooth confidence—she was chipping away at it, and she relished it. 

But there was something else in his eyes, something deeper, almost primal. 

He wasn’t used to being challenged like this.

Then she remembered his earlier words: If you think you can scheme your way out of this marriage, you’re mistaken. It won’t work, Delilah. Not unless I’ve gotten what I intend to have.

It clicked.

It’s about his grandfather, she realized. 

Elder Donato may have promised Marco the capo position—if he married her. 

But clearly, things hadn’t gone as planned. 

Maybe Marco needed to bring her to his mansion to prove something, to show his grandfather that she was truly part of his life.

Delilah’s lips curled into a smirk. "If Marco thinks he can use me, he’s got another thing coming." 

She could play this game. She could play it well.

She stepped closer to him, her voice soft but laced with seduction. 

"If you want me to come with you, Marco," she said, her fingers lightly brushing the collar of his shirt, "then maybe... you could make it worth my while."

Marco’s jaw tightened slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. "Worth your while?"

She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "You know what I mean. If you really want me... you’ll have to earn it."