LOGINThe city hums with weekend anticipation. Sin City pulses brighter than ever, the line outside thicker, the crowd inside hungrier. DeMarco surveys his kingdom from the mezzanine, one hand gripping the brass railing, the other adjusting his cufflinks—a ritual as much for comfort as for show.He scans the dance floor, searching for the familiar flash of dark hair and the unmistakable presence of Ava Park. She’s not here yet. He tells himself he’s just watching for VIPs, but his heart betrays him with every quick beat.Nate sidles up, popping a peanut into his mouth. “You gonna stand there all night or actually mingle?”DeMarco shrugs, glancing at Nate. “Someone’s got to make the rounds. Can’t let all these beautiful people down.”Nate grins. “You’re full of it. You’re waiting for her.”DeMarco tries to play it cool, but his mind’s already spinning. What if she doesn’t show? What if last night was just a fluke, a one-off? He hates the idea more than he expected.He forces himself down the
The sun’s barely up when DeMarco strides into his penthouse office, suit immaculate, espresso in hand. The city sprawls beneath him, all glass and promise. He’s already scrolling through messages, voice humming with meetings, deliveries, and the usual complaints.His phone buzzes. He answers on the first ring. “Carmen. Tell me something good.”His sister’s voice is crisp. “You missed Sunday dinner. Again.”He sighs, leaning back in his leather chair. “Ma’s lasagna can’t compete with Sin City’s Saturday nights.”“Ma says you’re getting too thin. I say you’re getting too cocky.”DeMarco smirks. “Only one of those is true.”A pause. “Pops wants to see you. Today. Boardroom. Noon.”DeMarco’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his tone light. “Tell him I’ll bring cannoli.”“Just bring yourself, DeMarco, the man is talking about sending to another state.” She hangs up.He sets the phone down, gaze shifting to his reflection in the window. The face everyone knows: smooth, unruffled, untouchable. He
Ava was standing in the foyer, her face as cold and impenetrable as the stone beneath his feet. DeMarco replied softly. “I gave you me, but that was never enough, was it?”She blinked, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. “You’re being ridiculous.”He shook his head, sadness settling over him like a shroud. “You’ve never stood up for me when your family talked disrespectfully about me, Ava. Not once. You love the idea of being adored, of having someone you can look down on. You never wanted a partner—you wanted a project.”She rolled her eyes, turning away as if the conversation bored her.“If you want this to end, I have the papers for you to sign. But don’t pretend you’re doing it for some noble reason. You’re just tired of playing second fiddle. Admit it.”He almost laughed. If only she knew. Second fiddle who? If only she knew. What he owned. Let's start with the city orchestra. Half of Chicago is his empire. The nightclub was just the tip of the iceberg—a convenient
Ava bustled in from the kitchen, cell phone pressed to her ear, laughter trailing behind her. She glanced up, surprised to see DeMarco by the door, and quickly ended her call. “You’re home early,” she said, forcing a smile. “Didn’t expect you until later.” He watched her put her phone down on the counter, her movements practiced, distant. How many times had he walked in to find her on the phone, her attention somewhere else, somewhere he couldn’t follow. “Yeah,” he said, voice flat. “I left work early.” She crossed her arms. “Is something wrong?” He set his briefcase down with a thud that made her flinch. “Everything is wrong, Ava. You changed overnight. Tell me what happened?” Her eyes flickered—anger, confusion, the faintest trace of guilt. “What’s that supposed to mean? How did I change? I'm here, aren't I?”DeMarco’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, shaking with emotion. The taste of her lips still fresh, the smell of her scent, how could he forget? Her words cut
Several weekends, this same scene plays out. Ava comes home in the late morning hours. He waits for the front door to click open. DeMarco sits hunched on the edge of the couch, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles ache.His face had lines of exhaustion and worry. He’s been awake all night, listening to the hum of silence, tortured by the unknown. When Ava steps inside, she doesn’t flinch at the sight of him. She doesn’t glance at the clock, doesn’t seem to register the time or the fact that he’s been waiting, haunted by every terrible possibility that could’ve kept her away.“Ava, you’re home. Are you okay?” He felt like he sounded like a broken record. Each time, his voice grows slightly rougher, strained, betraying both his relief and his simmering anger.She shrugs off her jacket, tossing it onto the armchair with an easy flick of her wrist. "I’m fine. I’m sorry, I was having too much fun. I lost track of time." Her smile is careless, almost dismissive, as if his agony is an
Ava's side of the bed is cold. He stretches his arm, searching, but only finds the edge of the sheet, wrinkled and empty. The clock blinks: 4:56 AM. Red numbers. He blinks back, pulse loud in his ears. He'd hoped she’d be home by two. That was hours ago.He sits up, heart rattling. The room is dark, silent except for the whirl of the ceiling fan and the distant thump of a car stereo outside, somewhere in the city—maybe on the same streets Ava is walking. Maybe not. He swings his legs over the edge, feet finding the floor, cold and real. He checks his phone. One message.He paces, stops. Paces again. The hallway is a tunnel—everything they've shared since the wedding day frozen in time. He can’t look. Not now. He moves to the living room. The sofa sags as he sinks into it. He stares at the door. Every car that passes outside, he tenses. Every set of headlights: hope, then disappointment.He checks the clock again. 5:03. There’s a tightness in his chest, a sour taste of worry. He tr
A heavy silence blanketed the living room, only broken by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. Ava sat rigid on the edge of the brocade settee, her mother’s hand at her back—gentle, but firm as a shackle. Across the room, her father’s face was a mask of disappointment and wounded pride
Ava’s voice trembled, though she tried to sound firm. Her heart hammered in her chest, a sharp, guilty ache blooming behind her ribs. She tried not to look at him, afraid her resolve would crumble beneath DeMarco’s surprised but steady gaze.I said, "DeMarco. My wedding is in a few hours. I have to
DeMarco woke with a pounding headache, his mouth dry and the sunlight stabbing through his eyelids. As he lay there, his mind raced through the fog—what had he done last night? Flashes of laughter, swirling lights, and the clink of glasses came to him in fragments. He remembered running through cit
It hadn’t started at the club.Not really.Ava Parks felt controlled by everyone—her parents, her fiancé, and even his parents, for heaven's sake. But the real fight was inside her: she wanted control of her own life, and she was going to do things her way, because the wedding had become another wa







