Chapter 16

Delilah’s lips curled into a seductive smile, her voice dropping to that low, teasing tone she knew Marco couldn't usually resist. 

"I've been eyeing this golden wristwatch. It's exquisite," she purred, her fingers trailing lightly across his chest, "and quite expensive."

Marco’s eyes flickered, but there was no smile, no shift in his stance. 

Delilah expected his usual smirk, the one that always preceded him giving in to her whims. But instead, his expression hardened.

"Do you think you can try the same stunt you pulled at the boutique?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. 

Delilah froze, her fingers stilling on his shirt. 

For a moment, she wondered if she’d gone too far. 

He resisted? 

This wasn’t like him. 

Marco always played the game, always indulged her when she pushed. 

But now, his expression had darkened, and the usual playfulness in his eyes was replaced by something harder, something... dangerous.

Delilah felt a flicker of uncertainty. 

The flirtatious control she thought she had over him seemed to evaporate in that instant.

And then, before she could fully process it, Marco moved—fast.

In one swift motion, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder, as if she weighed nothing.

"What the hell—!" Delilah gasped, pounding her fists against his back, her surprise quickly turning to fury.

"You’re coming with me," Marco growled, his grip ironclad as he marched away. "One way or another."

Delilah squirmed, her face pressed against his back, but he didn’t falter. 

The cold realization that he was truly in control hit her hard. For all her bravado, Marco was still the one calling the shots.

"Put me down!" she demanded, though her voice wavered. "You can’t just—"

Marco ignored her, striding toward the waiting car with determined strides.

Delilah kicked her legs, aiming for his stomach. 

She managed to connect, her shoe hitting him solidly.

Marco’s expression darkened, but he didn’t stumble or release her. 

Instead, he turned, a flash of anger in his eyes. "Really?"

With a swift, unexpected motion, Marco delivered a sharp spank to her backside. 

Delilah gasped, a rush of anger flooding her. 

"How dare he?!" 

She twisted in his grip, her heart racing with a mix of outrage and disbelief. 

"You jerk!" she shouted, the defiance bubbling over.

He tightened his hold, his grip like a vise. 

"You’re only making this harder on yourself," he warned, a trace of amusement in his voice, as if he enjoyed the game they were playing.

"Let me go!" Delilah shouted, struggling more fiercely now. But his hold was firm. 

He moved swiftly, and before she could protest again, he plopped her into the back seat of the car, the door slamming shut behind her. 

Delilah huffed, crossing her arms in annoyance, glaring at Marco as he slid in beside her.

"You can’t just kidnap me, Marco!"

"Kidnapping implies I’m doing this against your will," he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. "And you know you’re coming with me willingly."

"Willingly? I’d rather eat nails!" she snapped back, turning to face him.

Marco met her gaze, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Sure you would."

Fueled by anger, Delilah lunged at Marco, her hand swinging toward his face in a heated slap. 

Her fingers were inches from his cheek when Marco, quick and composed, caught her wrist with ease. 

His grip was firm, pinning her hand down onto the seat between them.

"You think you can just—" she began, her voice sharp with frustration, but Marco cut her off, his tone low and measured.

"I’m doing this for my position," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. 

The words hung in the air between them, and Delilah’s mind raced.

Her suspicion was right. He needed her, not just for whatever personal feelings he had but for the Capo position. 

This wasn’t about love or desire—it was about power.

Realizing the truth calmed her, and she let out a slow breath. She stopped struggling against his grip, her shoulders loosening. 

Sensing her shift, Marco released her wrist, his hand lingering for a brief moment before he leaned back in his seat.

They sat in silence, the space between them tense but quieter now. 

Marco spoke to the driver, who Delilah hadn’t even noticed until now. "Drive us to the mansion," Marco ordered.

The driver, who had undoubtedly seen the entire exchange, simply nodded and pulled away from the curb. 

Delilah felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. 

The thought of someone witnessing her outburst made her skin prickle with discomfort.

As the car moved smoothly through the streets, Delilah shifted in her seat, stealing a glance at Marco. 

He was pulling something out of his jacket. 

Her curiosity piqued, and she leaned slightly toward him, just enough to catch a peek.

Photographs.

She blinked, realizing they were all of her. Marco had been stalking her. 

She recognized the images: one from outside her café, another from her pole-dancing days, one of her at a club, dressed to kill. 

Marco flipped through them slowly, almost deliberately, as if waiting for her to react.

"Café owner," he began, his voice as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Pole dancer. Lap dancer. Clubber." 

He paused and looked at her, his gaze intense. "What else am I missing?"

Delilah’s breath caught in her throat. 

Her mind clicked into place. He didn’t know. He had no idea about her involvement with Mr. Bayou’s murder. 

Relief washed over her like a tidal wave, and she exhaled softly. 

He was digging into her past, sure, but the worst of it—what she’d done to Bayou—remained hidden.

Delilah leaned back, a quiet confidence settling over her. 

She slipped her phone from her pocket as it buzzed against her hip. 

Glancing down, she saw a message from Gaga. Her lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.

It's done. The message was simple, but Delilah knew what it meant. 

She had contacted Gaga after handling the situation with Mr. Bayou. There was no need for explicit details—Gaga understood perfectly.

Gaga’s reply was just as cryptic: Good. I’ll make sure to recommend you to others.

Delilah smirked and quickly typed back a short, Thank you.

As she put her phone down, she caught Marco’s eyes on her. His gaze lingered on her face, then shifted to the phone in her hand. 

She could sense his curiosity, but she wasn’t about to explain anything. 

Instead, she met his stare and, for the first time, smiled at him—an easy, genuine smile.

"Today’s a good day, isn’t it?" she said, her tone almost playful, light.

Marco blinked, momentarily thrown off by her sudden shift. His chest tightened unexpectedly. 

That smile—soft, unlike her usual sharp edges—did something to him. His heart quickened, a feeling he didn’t recognize spreading through him. 

He looked away, jaw tightening as he fought to steady himself.

"Drive faster," Marco muttered to the driver, his voice strained, low.

Delilah leaned back, still smiling, her confidence growing. She’d seen the flicker of surprise in his eyes, felt the subtle shift. 

For the first time, she had him off-balance, and it was a feeling she intended to savor.