6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Mialina
Itake a step back, my legs shaky. For a moment, I just stare at Maximo.
Father was arranging my marriage next?
Before Isabella, the oldest?
We all thought it was strange that he fixed Mari’s marriage first. Thankfully, that ended in disaster, or she’d never have found her happiness with Mateo. But doing it again?
What were his plans for Isa then? It doesn’t add up.
“How would you know that?” I ask, my voice calm by sheer force of will.
“I did a bit of digging,” he says. He sounds too damn casual, as if he’s discussing the weather or the quality of the wine. “Wanted to see if I had any competition.”
My jaw tightens.
Competition.
The word makes my skin crawl. He’s talking about me like I’m territory to be claimed.
I lift my chin, fixing him with a look that I hope conveys a strength I don’t currently feel. I need him to think I’m as untouchable as I was an hour ago.
“You’re lying.” My voice is sharper now, edged with the need to be right. “It wasn’t my turn. Father told us he was arranging Isabella’s marriage.”
“Yet, there’s no indication he talked to anyone about your oldest sister.”
How did he come by all this information?
Is he making this up to further his own agenda?
“And pray tell,” I say, aiming for a nonchalant tone and probably failing, “who exactly was my late father arranging my nuptials with?”
“Shay Donnelly.”
I blink, my mind racing through the lists of names Father used to mutter over his late-night grappa.
Donnelly. It’s not a name from our circle.
“That name sounds Irish. Why would my father have anything to do with the Irish?”
Maximo moves a fraction closer. I can feel the heat from him, a sharp contrast to the cold dread pooling in my stomach.
“For an alliance of sorts, obviously,” he replies.
He sounds almost bored by the revelation he is dropping in my lap.
“Shay Donnelly. Thirty-five, I believe. Unfortunately, I know him well. He’s operating on my turf. He’s the heir to the Blackthorn Syndicate in Chicago.”
Thirty-five. He’s almost antique.
“Chicago?” I cut in. “That doesn’t add up. It’s half a world away.”
Maximo only shrugs. It makes my skin prickle.
“Even so, the contract is signed.”
My fingers curl into fists at my sides.
Contract.
Signed.
My spine stiffens. The freedom Mateo and Mamma promised, the choice I thought I finally had… can Father take that from me even now?
“So you see, Mialina,” he continues.
He uses my full name deliberately, his voice dropping an octave, turning it into something heavy and official.
“They might very well come knocking on your door, expecting you to fulfill your end of the bargain.”
“I didn’t sign anything,” I say, trying to find the defiance that usually comes so easily. “And with Father dead, surely that contract is null and void.”
“No, that’s not how these things work.”
I’m acutely aware of Isabella edging closer to the doorway. She’s hearing this too.
“I don’t understand why Father would want an alliance with the Irish, in Chicago of all places. The De Marcos don’t deal with them. Do they?”
I need to find Mateo. If anyone can find out what’s really happening, it’s him. If he had known anything about this, surely he would have warned us.
“No, they don’t,” Maximo says. There’s a gravity in his tone now that’s terrifying. “So it’s anyone’s guess what your father was doing.”
“I don’t believe you.” The words are a shield. I hold them up between us, searching his face for a flicker of a lie, but Maximo gives me nothing.
“Your choice,” he says. His calm is maddening. “But are you willing to take the risk?”
The silence stretches. I stare at him as the implications sink in.
If he’s telling the truth, Father already promised me to a stranger in a city I’ve never seen. And if he isn’t, then Maximo is trying to scare me into agreeing to something that he wants.
I exhale sharply. “There’s another solution, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
I scoff. I already know. The answer is so obvious it’s insulting.
“Let me guess. Marrying you?”
“Yes.”
The audacity.
“I’m about to take over as Don in Chicago. I need a wife. And I’ve chosen you.”
He delivers the news like he’s offering me a promotion instead of a life sentence.
I’m sure my nostrils are flaring by now, my pulse speeding.
“Excuse me?” My eyes widen. “You’ve chosen me?”
Like I’m something to acquire.
“I have.” He’s utterly unfazed by my anger. “You were raised to be a Mafia wife. You’re young, beautiful, and you will give me the heirs I want.”
I let out a snort. It’s a harsh, unladylike sound that rips through the quiet of the terrace.
Wow, he must think I’m some sort of prize mare whose purpose in life is to provide the next generation of Marcos.
“I will, will I?”
“Yes.”
Amusement edges his voice. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling. He’s never been told no by someone he considers his inferior, has he?
But just because I’m nineteen doesn’t mean I’m a pawn he can move across his board.
If he thinks I will roll over and agree because he’s powerful and considered a good catch in some circles, he’s in for a rude awakening.
I let out a laugh. It’s light and almost sweet. If you didn’t know me, you’d think I was charmed. I’m really, really not.
“Well,” I say, cocking my head to the side and narrowing my eyes as if I’m genuinely considering the merits of his oh-so-generous offer.
“Thank you, Maximo, for so valiantly offering to save me from the big, bad Irish.” I lace each word with as much sarcasm as I can. “But I’ll take my chances with the devil I don’t know.”
I don’t stop there. I want to see if I can crack this Don mask.
“And honestly?” My smile stretches, razor-sharp and cold.
“I’d sooner chain myself to an Irish warlord than sign up for a lifetime of micromanagement from you.
I imagine your ideal wife doesn’t speak unless spoken to, smiles on command, and produces heirs on a schedule. Sorry, but I don’t do obedience.”
Maximo chuckles. He sounds unbothered, as if I had just complimented the cut of his suit instead of handing him his ego on a silver platter.
“We’ll see about that.” His voice is scarily confident.
He steps a fraction closer. “I do enjoy a challenge.”
My spine straightens. God, I want to hit him, or perhaps just scream. But I won’t show him he’s rattled me.
“Oh, good. You’re in for the time of your life then.”
Maximo just smiles. It’s not cocky, but worse. It’s certain. He looks at me like the outcome is already decided.
I let out a disgusted huff, spin on my heel, and storm back into the ballroom. Isa rushes to my side, struggling to keep up with my pace.
We navigate the crowd until we reach the library. Thank God, it’s empty. The quiet helps my frayed nerves.
I sink into the sofa with a frustrated sigh. Once I sit down, everything from the last ten minutes catches up with me. Isa settles next to me, close enough that our arms touch.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
I pull a face instead of answering. The bravado drains out of me, leaving nothing but the cold realization that my father’s death didn’t actually set me free.
“You wouldn’t seriously rather marry into the Irish mob, would you?” Isa asks. She’s trying to keep it light, but I can hear the worry in her voice.
I look at my hands, which are still trembling.
“If Maximo was telling the truth, I’m counting on Mateo to put an end to that contract.” I pause, uncertainty weighing on me. “He would do that, right?”
“Of course he would.”
Isa loops her arm through mine, her familiar warmth grounding me.
“Mateo loves Mariella. He cares for all of us. He mustn’t know about this. He’d never stay quiet otherwise.”
“But how did Maximo find out?” I frown at the shelves as if the books there might hold the answer.
Isa shakes her head. “He seems to have access to things he really shouldn’t.”
“Arrogant asshole,” I mutter. “He’s the last man on earth I’d ever marry.”
I speak with conviction, but my hands stay clenched, and I find I can’t quite meet my sister’s eyes.
Isa bumps my shoulder. “Even after he so gallantly offered to save you from the Leprechauns?”
I groan and screw up my nose, the image of Maximo as a savior making my stomach turn.
“Ugh. Save me? He wants to own me.”
“Well, good luck to him.” Isa grins. I see the mischief returning to her expression. “He clearly doesn’t understand that taming you would be like trying to put a leash on a hurricane.”
I laugh genuinely this time, some of the tension finally easing.
“Good thing he’s leaving soon. Then I can forget he ever existed,” I mutter.
Though I have a feeling this isn’t over. Maximo Marco didn’t look like a man who was planning on being forgotten.
I push up from the sofa, the need to move overriding my tiredness.
“We need to find Mari,” I say, tugging Isa toward the stairs. “And fast. But don’t tell her about this… this… I can’t even call it a proposal. It was more like a declaration of ownership.”
Isa nods, keeping pace with me as we head back toward the noise of the memorial. “Agreed. She has enough to deal with tonight.”
I scan the faces of the people around us, determined to evade one particular person.
“I’m done talking about Maximo Marco. The man’s a walking red flag wrapped in a five-thousand-dollar suit.”
“And yet, he thinks he’s a gift,” Isa chuckles.
“Well, he can gift his smug ass right off this island,” I mutter. “Ideally into a volcano. Isn’t Mount Etna due for an eruption?”
Isa laughs, and I give her a sideways glance, my mouth twitching.
“You’d help push him in, wouldn’t you?”
“With pleasure.”
That gets a real smile out of me. “Sisters who bury bodies together…”
“Stay out of prison together,” Isa finishes.
She loops her arm through mine. “Come on, let’s find Mari before someone else tries to claim you like a prize goat at auction.”
“Or a broodmare,” I add with a shudder. “Ugh, I need a shower after that conversation.”