26. DAHLIA HARPER

"Don't worry, I'll be there." I squeezed Marco's hand reassuringly, watching him fidget nervously beside me. The usually composed man beside me was now a ball of anxiety, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern.

We were on our flight back to New York, and the weight of the task ahead pressed heavily on both of us. Tonight, I had to tell my father about us—about him. I'd already spoken with my mom and filled her in on everything, but this was different. This was my father, the man who had always been my protector, my rock. And now I was about to drop a bombshell.

"I've decided I'll introduce you as my boyfriend first," I said, my voice steady, though I felt the slightest tremor in my chest. "And then, after a few days, I'll tell him about the engagement. That way, maybe he'll be a little less shocked. At least, that's my plan."

Marco's gaze was distant as he stared out of the window, lost in his thoughts. "There aren't many people on this planet who make me uneasy. But your father? He's at the top of that list."

I chuckled softly, though my nerves tightened at the thought of what was to come. "Dad adores you, Marco. You've played golf with him for years."

"Yes, he's been kind to me. But he's not like this with the rest of the world. And he certainly won't be like this when I tell him about us." Marco sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsettled.

I bit my lip, glancing at him. He was right. Dad had always been my rock, a teddy bear to me and mom. But to the rest of the world? He was a lion. Fierce. Uncompromising. Anyone who dared come near me or mom was met with his protective wrath. The thought of dad's reaction made my stomach churn.

Trying to lighten the mood, I asked, "So, who else makes you uneasy?" I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious about Marco's answer.

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Seriously? Alright. Alex Volkov and Rhys Larsen are second and third." His tone was mock-serious, but I could hear the tension beneath it.

I frowned, confused. "Uncle Rhys isn't scary," I protested, unable to picture him as anything but loving and supportive. He had always been like a second father to me.

Marco raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Maybe to you. But the second I get anywhere near Camilla, he gives me this look like he's ready to throw me into the river."

I giggled at that, finding it both amusing and reassuring. "That's just Uncle Rhys. He's a little... protective when it comes to his girls."

"Yeah, 'protective' isn't the word I'd use when he looks at me like I'm a threat." Marco shook his head, still uneasy at the thought.

I squeezed his hand, trying to offer him some comfort, my smile softening. "It's going to be fine. It's like peeling off a band-aid. You just do it quickly and get it over with."

Marco's gaze softened, but his lips curled into a slight frown. "Until that band-aid kills you," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his own fears.

I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder, my voice light and teasing. "I won't let you get killed, Marco. Don't scowl. I don't want to wake up to a grumpy grinch for the rest of my life."

"A handsome grinch," he replied, the corner of his lips lifting as he kissed my knuckles, his usual cocky charm peeking through.

"An ugly grinch," I chuckled, nudging him playfully.

"Whatever grinch I am, sweetheart, you're stuck with me forever." His words were a quiet promise, full of affection.

"Still plenty of time before I become Mrs. Russo. I might run away," I teased, closing my eyes for a moment, imagining the possibilities.

Marco's arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer as his lips brushed my forehead. "I'll catch you very soon. And when I do, you'll be in for one hell of a punishment." His voice held a playful note, but there was something darker beneath it—something that made my heart race.

"It's worth trying," I teased back, unable to keep the grin from my lips.

He gave a low, throaty hum, clearly amused. "Hmm."

The conversation lulled into silence after that. The rhythmic hum of the plane, the flicker of the overhead lights, and the weight of what we were about to face hung in the air. Despite the tension, the quiet comfort of simply being together, of just existing in each other's space, soothed the storm brewing inside me.

Before I knew it, my eyes fluttered closed, the steady rise and fall of Marco's chest beneath my cheek offering me a sense of calm. I drifted into sleep, enveloped in warmth, knowing that whatever happened when we got home, we would face it together.

Some of the best moments, I realized, were those spent in silence—where no words were needed. Just the feeling of being there for each other, of knowing we didn't have to face the world alone.

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"How should I greet him?" Marco asked nervously, his voice betraying the anxiety he felt. He fumbled with several gestures, each one more exaggerated than the last, trying to pick the best one.

I couldn't help but chuckle, trying to mask the fluttering nerves in my chest. "You won't need any of that. Trust me, he's not going to greet you the way you think. The moment he sees you with me, it's straight to the threats."

Marco raised an eyebrow, a playful but apprehensive smile forming. "Okay then."

"Actually," I continued, "it might be better if you didn't say anything at all. Let me take care of it." I adjusted my makeup, hands trembling slightly as I checked myself in the rearview mirror.

"That would be great," Marco agreed, his voice softening, his nerves still palpable as the car slowly rolled to a stop outside my father's penthouse.

We stepped out of the car, and I moved to straighten his tie. It was a simple gesture, but it helped me focus on something other than the storm of thoughts racing through my mind.

"It'll go smoothly. Don't worry," I reassured him, giving his tie one last pull to make sure it was perfectly straight.

Marco gave me a brief, tight smile. "Kiss me."

Without hesitation, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his, the brief touch of his lips both calming and electrifying. His hands slid into my hair, deepening the kiss, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear.

It was easy to lose myself in him—his touch, his warmth—but I pulled away reluctantly, whispering, "We should go."

Marco nodded, placing a hand on my waist as we walked toward the private elevator.

I couldn't deny it. I was nervous too. Dad wasn't just intimidating—he was the kind of man who controlled entire industries, who made men like Marco uneasy, and for good reason. He was protective, fierce, and if I knew my father well enough, he was never one to sugarcoat anything.

When we arrived, my fingers trembled slightly as I rang the doorbell. Marco, sensing my nervousness, pressed a quick kiss to the side of my hand as the door swung open.

My mom stood there, radiant as ever in a simple green silk dress. Her natural beauty was effortless, and for a moment, I felt a sense of comfort wash over me.

"There you are, sweetie. How was the trip?" she asked, her arms wrapping around me in a hug.

"It was fine. Where's Dad?" I asked, my voice steady despite the nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface.

"He's in the drawing room," she replied, smiling warmly. She then turned to Marco, embracing him as well. It was a small, subtle gesture, but it did wonders to calm my nerves. If only Dad were as welcoming.

"Come inside, sweetie," Mom invited, her voice soft with the same warmth that always made me feel at home.

As I entered the living room, Dad's presence immediately filled the space. His tall, strong frame seemed to command attention as he stood and moved toward me, his familiar gaze softening when he saw me. Without hesitation, he pulled me into a tight hug.

"I missed you so much, little butterfly," he murmured, his voice low but full of affection.

"I was only gone for a day, Dad," I laughed, my voice light despite the tension running through me. It was almost impossible to believe that this was the same man who was notorious for his cold and commanding presence in the business world.

Dad pulled away, his gaze flickering between Marco and me, his expression unreadable. It wasn't a look I often saw on him—his face was a mixture of concern, curiosity, and something else I couldn't place. Mom stood beside him, her hand resting on his bicep in a silent gesture of support.

This was it.

"Dad, I'm here to tell you—"

"That he's your boyfriend. I know," Dad interrupted, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. He settled onto the couch, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Marco. "But you'd better keep your hand off Lia's waist, or it'll end up on the floor, Russo."

Marco stiffened, his hand immediately moving away from my waist, his jaw tightening.

"Christian," Mom said sharply, her voice holding a firm warning. "He's our guest. Let's not make this worse than it has to be."

Dad's eyes darkened, but he didn't say anything more as Mom moved to pour drinks for everyone.

"Red wine, maybe?" Mom offered, smiling sweetly, though I could see the tension in her posture.

"I think some poison for him would be nice," Dad muttered under his breath, his teeth gritted.

"Christian," Mom said again, softer this time, leaning in to whisper something in his ear that I couldn't hear, though I caught the edge of her words—"If you don't stop, I'll be sleeping on the couch for a month."

I bit back a smile, grateful for the way Mom could always keep Dad in check.

"Take some red wine," she said, her smile returning as she gestured toward Marco.

"I'm fine, Aunt Stella," Marco replied, his voice calm despite the tension that still hung thick in the air.

I turned to my father, curiosity gnawing at me. "How did you know about this?"

"Stella told me the day she found out. We don't keep secrets from each other," Dad said, his voice almost too casual.

I glanced at Mom, who offered me a small, apologetic smile. I could tell she'd told him herself, and I appreciated that. It was better that way—if Dad had time to process the information before we got here, he wouldn't react as badly.

I turned my gaze back to Marco, who gave me a subtle nod, encouraging me to go ahead. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say.

"Everyone, listen to me," I said, setting my empty glass down on the table.

"If it's about you moving in with him, my answer is still no," Dad said flatly, as though anticipating what I was about to say.

"It's not about that," I replied, trying to steady my nerves.

"So, what is it?" Mom asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

I glanced at Marco, who gave me another encouraging nod. This was it.

"We went to Italy yesterday..."

"What the fuck?!" Dad exploded, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up, his fists clenched in anger. "You spent the night with him?"

Before either Mom or I could react, Dad lunged at Marco, but Mom was quick to step in, holding him back with surprising strength.

"You are so dead, Russo," Dad growled, his eyes flashing with fury.

I swallowed hard, suddenly regretting the decision to tell him now.

"Lia, continue," Mom said, her tone softer, trying to steer things back on course.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the regret gnawing at me. But there was no going back now.

"We went to Italy, where Marco proposed to me," I said, holding out my hand to show them the ring. "And I said yes. So, he's my fiancé now. We're engaged."

Mom's face lit up in an instant, her joy radiating from her as she clapped her hands together. "I'm so happy! The wedding is going to happen!"

Dad, on the other hand, stared at my finger in shock, his expression frozen as if he couldn't process what I'd just said. And then, without warning, he stood up again, his fists flying toward Marco.

"Wedding, my foot," Dad snarled, landing a punch on Marco's jaw. "You're breaking up with her, right now. And I'm going to kill you with my bare hands."

"Dad!!" Both Mom and I shouted in unison, panic rising in my chest.

Dad was completely out of control. His strong hands gripped Marco's collar as he threw punch after punch. I understood that hearing the news that the person you've protected and loved for so long is now moving on is difficult, but this was too much. Marco wasn't just anyone—he was important to me, and Dad's reaction felt extreme.

Marco was a boxer; I knew he could handle himself. So why wasn't he dodging Dad's blows? Why was he taking it? Was he trying to show strength, or was he doing it out of respect for my father?

"Marco, please, move!" I thought to myself, my heart racing.

Mom, as always, stepped in. She rushed over to Dad, trying to pull him away. "Christian, stop right now!" Her voice was desperate.

Dad didn't even look at her, his eyes locked on Marco. "Butterfly, stay out of this," he growled, dismissing her concerns.

he went for Marco again, his fists flying with even more force. This time, Marco's skin was bruising fast, and I couldn't stand to see it any longer.

"Dad, stop!" I screamed. My voice cracked with emotion. "Enough!"

But Dad didn't stop. I ran forward, pushing him with all the strength I had. He staggered back, but only for a moment.

"Sweetheart, you'll get hurt," Marco warned, his voice soft but steady.

"Sweetheart?! How dare you call my daughter that?" Dad shouted, shoving me aside.

Another punch landed on Marco, and I saw blood drip from his lip. I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Dad, please, stop!" I cried, tears welling in my eyes. "He's the love of my life!"

Dad didn't even seem to hear me. His fury was uncontrollable. I stepped in front of Marco, once again putting myself between them.

Mom came rushing back in, her voice calm but firm. "Christian, stop right now!"

Dad froze for a moment, the weight of my words finally reaching him. Slowly, he sank down on the couch, his head in his hands, breathing heavily.

I went to Marco, feeling his wounds with gentle hands. His face was already showing signs of the damage—his jaw was swollen, and his skin was bruising fast. "I'm fine, Diamond," he reassured me, but I could see the pain in his eyes.

"No, you're not fine," I replied, tracing the blue spots forming on his face. "Why didn't you dodge? You didn't have to take those hits."

"It's nothing. I'm used to it," Marco said softly, though there was something in his voice that made me doubt his words.

Mom returned with an ice pack and disinfectant. She began treating Marco's wounds, but I couldn't focus on that. My mind was still on Dad, who sat silently beside me.

"You're not marrying him. End of discussion," Dad said, his voice cold.

"I am marrying him," I replied, my voice steady, unwavering.

"He's three years older than you," Dad countered.

"You're eight years older than Mom," I shot back. "Nearly a decade."

Dad's face darkened, but I wasn't backing down. "You are not marrying him," he repeated, this time more forcefully.

"I am marrying him," I said firmly, locking eyes with him.

Mom, having finished tending to Marco, turned to Dad. "Christian, what were you thinking?"

"Beating that bastard," Dad muttered, his anger still simmering.

"Well, now you're sleeping on the couch for two months," Mom said, her tone final.

"WHAT?!" Dad exclaimed in disbelief.

"Beating that bastard," Mom said again, using his words against him.

Then she turned to me, her expression softening. "I'll call Dante and Vivian. We need to have a meeting."

As she walked out of the room, Dad and I both let out long sighs.

It was going to be a long night.

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