Chapter 18

Delilah, who had been watching their interaction from the base of the stairs, hardly paid attention to their exchange. 

Her curiosity pulled her in a different direction, something far more intriguing. 

She stepped down, her heels clicking softly against the floor, and turned her attention to Marco.

"What’s going on, Marco?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. 

There was an unusual air in the mansion—an energy she hadn't felt before.

Marco looked at her, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Today is the D-day."

Delilah opened her mouth to press for more information, but before she could, the heavy front doors creaked open. 

A group of men marched in with their own guards in tow. 

Their presence immediately filled the room with an unspoken authority. 

They moved like wolves, commanding every inch of the space with their powerful stride. 

Delilah’s breath caught as she noticed the thick, gleaming gold chains around their necks, glittering under the chandeliers. 

It clicked in her mind instantly—these weren’t just any men.

"Rispetto," Marco muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on the group. ("Respect")

Delilah’s heart raced. 

Could this be the ceremony where Marco officially becomes Capo of the Cosa Nostra? 

Her thoughts whirled with excitement and awe. She had never been this close to such high-ranking mafia members before. 

There was something both thrilling and dangerous about it.

Marco stood taller, his posture shifting. 

He moved with the kind of respect she had rarely seen from him—shoulders squared, eyes direct, yet humble. 

He extended his right hand, offering it for a handshake in the traditional Italian style, bowing his head slightly.

"Buongiorno," Marco said smoothly in Italian as the men approached. "Benvenuti nella mia casa." (Good morning. Welcome to my home.)

One of the men, wearing a heavy ring that glinted in the light, clasped Marco’s hand. "Onorevole Marco, è un grande giorno per tutti noi." (Honorable Marco, this is a great day for all of us.)

Marco turned to Delilah, a proud gleam in his eyes. 

"This is my wife, Delilah," he introduced, switching seamlessly between languages.

Delilah, who had been standing silently beside Marco, felt all eyes shift to her. 

Without missing a beat, she offered them a polite smile and responded in perfect Italian. "È un onore conoscervi." (It’s an honor to meet you.)

Marco’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. 

He hadn’t expected Delilah to speak Italian so fluently—he could barely recall hearing her use the language before. 

But as she stood there, elegant and composed, he felt a swell of pride. 

She fit into this world better than even he had expected.

The men nodded, offering her a brief yet respectful acknowledgment before shifting their attention back to Marco.

Marco, still in his role as the dutiful host, kept the exchange short. 

He leaned closer to Delilah, his voice soft yet affectionate as he whispered, "Cara, scusami, abbiamo delle cose importanti da discutere." (My dear, excuse me, we have important matters to discuss.)

Then, with an unexpected tenderness, Marco brushed his lips against her cheek. 

The small act caught Delilah off guard, and she felt a warmth rise in her chest, a blush creeping up her neck. 

He was playing the role well—too well. 

But the peck felt genuine in a way that rattled her slightly. 

She glanced down, trying to hide the smile that was pulling at her lips.

"Of course, Marco," she said sweetly, stepping aside with a graceful nod. 

Delilah knew her place here. 

This wasn’t her stage. 

She understood that Marco needed privacy for whatever was about to unfold, and as tradition dictated, women rarely stayed for the more delicate moments of these kinds of ceremonies.

She ascended the stairs slowly, her eyes flickering around the room. 

As she reached the top, a sudden wave of curiosity struck her. 

She wasn’t supposed to watch, but that didn’t stop her from sneaking a glance. 

From her vantage point upstairs, she could observe the ceremony without drawing attention to herself.

The men were forming a procession now, and her suspicions were confirmed when she spotted Elder Donato walking in. 

Marco, standing beside the elder, looked both calm and focused. 

The men who had arrived earlier were the Underboss and Consigliere—two of the highest-ranking members in the organization. 

Delilah had never seen such power gathered in one place.

As the ceremony began, Delilah leaned slightly over the railing, watching intently. 

Marco stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had been preparing for this moment his entire life. 

He swore loyalty and took the omertà, the vow of silence that bound him to the family forever.

"Giuro di essere fedele e leale a questa famiglia," Marco recited. (I swear to be faithful and loyal to this family.)

A senior member, perhaps the Underboss, stepped forward to bless him. "Che tu possa guidare con forza, onore e saggezza." (May you lead with strength, honor, and wisdom.)

Then came the token—an ornate ring that signified his new position. 

It gleamed in the light as it was slipped onto Marco’s finger, marking him officially as the new Capo. 

The men embraced him in turn, offering him hugs and kisses, the ceremonial signs of respect and acceptance.

"Congratulazioni, Capo," they said, one after another. (Congratulations, Capo.)

The room hummed with low conversation as the men shared words of wisdom and offered their support. 

Delilah, still watching from above, noticed how Marco’s demeanor shifted. 

He seemed… lighter, almost. 

He was in his element, surrounded by the men he was now expected to lead.

When the speeches concluded, glasses of champagne were passed around, and a toast was raised in Marco’s honor. 

The men clinked their glasses together, their eyes gleaming with approval and satisfaction.

"Alla nuova era, sotto la guida del nostro Capo Marco," one of the men said as they toasted. (To the new era, under the leadership of our Capo Marco.)

Delilah couldn’t help but smile as she watched. 

Despite everything—despite the dangerous world she had been thrust into—there was something captivating about seeing Marco in this moment. 

He was truly happy. 

His eyes sparkled with satisfaction, the thrill of finally claiming his place among the leaders of the Cosa Nostra.

From her hidden spot upstairs, Delilah realized that this was only the beginning. 

Marco had become Capo, and with that title came both power and responsibility. 

A part of her was proud, yet another part knew that this world, with all its rules and expectations, would demand even more from them both.