Page 56 of Claimed At First Sight

I sit up straighter and lean over to look out the window. Outside, clouds drift beneath the jet as scattered city lights begin appearing below us.

It won’t be long now before we arrive. Excitement fizzes through me, my stomach suddenly full of butterflies.

I’ve never left Sicily before.

There’s so much I want to do. I want to see the skyscrapers and finally experience snow. And shopping somewhere nobody knows my name sounds pretty damn appealing too.

I just hope Maximo won’t be at the airport. The thought sends a ridiculous flutter through my stomach, and I roll my eyes at myself.

Remember, you don’t want to see him at all.

And I won’t. Men like Maximo Marco don’t pick people up personally. They send drivers. Entire security teams probably.

Still, my pulse hiccups a little. I scowl harder at the window. That reaction is entirely unacceptable.

Though perhaps I’m simply looking forward to sparring with him again. It is kind of fun. Poking at a man powerful enough to terrify half a room and watching him refuse to lose his temper has its appeal.

And denying him what he wants? I could do that all day.

Maximo might be used to people falling into line around him, but I’m not one of his soldiers, one of his business deals, or one of the ambitious women mentally auditioning for the role of Mrs. Marco.

I’m not up for grabs. He’s not going to claim me.

The soft click of the intercom interrupts my thoughts.

“Ladies,” the pilot comes on again. “We’ll be landing shortly. It should be a smooth descent, with clear skies and very little wind. Current temperature in Chicago is negative six degrees.”

Ari groans in her sleep as if she somehow sensed it psychically.

Negative six.

That can’t possibly be a temperature civilized people voluntarily tolerate.

Hmm, I guess I’ll have to layer up to go exploring.

I stare out the window as the jet continues its descent, and Chicago appears beneath us.

The city stretches endlessly beside the dark water of the lake, all steel, glass, and glittering lights beneath the fading afternoon sky. Snow dusts the rooftops and highways, and the skyscrapers look almost unreal from up here.

This is Maximo’s city.

Just thinking his name sends another irritating rush of anticipation through me. I instantly resent it and force my attention back to the view outside instead.

Everything here seems wildly different from Sicily.

The moment we step out of the jet, freezing air slaps me in the face.

“Oh God,” Sienna groans, clutching her coat tighter around herself. “People should not live like this.”

A laugh escapes Mamma as snow crunches beneath our shoes across the tarmac.

The private airport around us glows with white lights against the late afternoon darkness, sleek black SUVs already waiting nearby. Men in dark coats stand watch beside them, their breath fogging in the icy air.

Then one of the SUV doors opens, and I hold my breath to see who will emerge.

Aldo steps out a second later, and I exhale, the air fogging around me. Good. It’s not him. I’m so glad.

Mamma’s entire face lights up. So does Aldo’s, his expression warming as he crosses toward us.