Page 166 of Claimed At First Sight

Excellent work, Mia.

First, I practically announce that I’ve been obsessing over his stupid kiss enough that I wanted to replace it with someone else’s.

I hated that he called me out on the fact that it hadn’t worked. And then I prove him right by kissing him again.

If there were Olympic medals for undermining your own arguments, I’d be standing on the podium right now.

I shake my head, exasperated with myself.

Where is Maximo? I want to leave already. Why is this taking so long?

I open my eyes and stare out at the falling snow.

What if no other kiss is capable of replacing Maximo’s? Because honestly, this last one was spectacular, even better than the first.

Surely that can’t be true. There are billions of men on this planet.

Statistically, one of them has to be capable of kissing better than one infuriatingly handsome Mafia Don with cheekbones that deserve their own architectural award.

There has to be. Right?

Before I can think any further about how to find that man, I spot Maximo walking toward the cars. His men still surround him, their attention constantly shifting as they scan the pier.

Snow has settled across the shoulders of their dark coats, but none of them seem to care.

Maximo’s expression gives nothing away about what transpired.

Back in Sicily, when Father was still alive, he always kept the ugly parts of our world away from us. I knew rival families existed, of course, but they never seemed real because they never reached us.

Having one of Chicago’s most feared crime families watching me is a stark reminder that this has always been the world my family lived in. I simply never had to see it.

From what I remember Maximo telling me, the Romeros and the Irish are aligned.

Was that the reason Valentino was here? To report back to them?

For a moment, I curse the Leonardi blood running through my veins. It seems to dictate every major decision in my life before I ever get a say in it.

It’s the reason Maximo chose me. The reason the Irish wanted me. And now, apparently, enough to make the Romeros take an interest in me too.

How can family heritage possibly matter this much?

It’s the cause of every one of my problems, yet it’s the one thing about myself I can never change.

So how am I to navigate a world where everyone else seems to think my bloodline matters more than the person I am?

The rear passenger door opens, and I sit up immediately.

Maximo brushes the snow from the shoulders of his coat before sliding into the seat beside me and closing the door. Leon climbs into the front passenger seat, Philip starts the engine, and the SUV pulls away from the curb.

I study Maximo’s face, searching for some hint of what went down with Romero, but there isn’t one. His expression is as composed as ever.

“What happened?” I ask.

He adjusts the cuff of one leather glove before finally looking at me.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

I huff. “That man was watching me. So it does concern me.”