20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Mialina
The drive to Maximo’s estate lasts all of five minutes.
Five.
I stare out the car window in disbelief as we follow a road alongside the massive stone wall surrounding the property. At last, we reach a set of large iron gates and line up behind several cars waiting to enter.
“You live this close to your boss, Aldo? That’s tragic.”
He chuckles. “It’s convenient.”
Convenient for who?
I dislike the idea of Maximo existing within such short striking distance. Irritated, I clutch the bag I stuffed his unopened gifts in closer to my chest.
Beside me, Sienna presses closer to the window as the guards wave us through without stopping the car.
“Oh wow,” Ari whispers as the estate opens up in front of us, and for a moment even I fall silent.
Estate really is an understatement. This place is practically a small country. The grounds seem to go on forever, and the house at the end of the drive still looks miles away.
Guards are positioned every few feet despite the subzero temperatures, and nobody seems concerned with keeping them discreet.
We keep moving down a wide driveway. Just when I think we must be getting close, another wall appears ahead.
Apparently one set of gates wasn’t enough.
This one encloses the house and its immediate surroundings behind a second stone wall and another set of iron gates. Beyond them, the drive opens into a huge courtyard, and I finally get a proper look at Maximo’s home.
The house itself stretches far wider than it looked from the drive, its facade all warm stone beneath dark slate roofs.
Several wings extend from the main building and disappear behind snow-covered evergreens on either side.
Frozen fountains line the approach, while tall chimneys rise above the roofs, smoke curling from them into the night sky.
“It’s grand,” Sienna murmurs.
Grand isn’t the word I would’ve chosen. Imposing, maybe, though it’s less severe than I expected.
Aldo’s estate feels lived in. This place seems more deliberate. Immaculate, like Maximo.
“Well,” I murmur as the car rolls forward with the queue of arrivals, “subtlety clearly isn’t a Marco family value.”
Aldo laughs softly from the front row. Glad I can amuse him.
I stare up at the house. Somewhere inside is Maximo.
Thump, thump, thump.
A strange, restless flutter moves through my stomach. It’s irritation because I’m not nervous.
Aldo, ever the gentleman, helps each one of us out of the car before Mamma slips her arm through his and he leads her toward the entrance. The rest of us follow behind, all three of us staring openly as we step inside.
Pale stone stretches across the foyer beneath a huge crystal chandelier, while twin staircases sweep up on either side, framed in dark wood and black iron. Between them, a set of tall arched doors stands open to the ballroom beyond, while a string quartet plays softly from the gallery above.
Like the outside, everything is expensive without being flashy. Nothing is out of place.
Staff step forward to take our coats, moving so smoothly they barely seem to interrupt the flow of arriving guests.
I spot a man in an impeccable butler uniform standing off to one side and head straight for him.
“Hi,” I say, offering him my sweetest smile as I hold out the bag containing Maximo’s unwanted gifts.
The man takes it carefully, his expression remaining professionally neutral.
“Would you please place these boxes in Don Maximo’s study?” I ask. “They belong to him. I’m just returning them.”
His gaze flicks past me toward someone behind my shoulder. I turn to find Aldo watching the interaction with poorly concealed amusement. He gives the butler a small nod.
“Of course, Miss.” The man takes the bag from me, and I watch him disappear into a side door.
Well, that was easier than I thought. I’ll take this as my first victory of the evening.
We step into the ballroom, and I stop for a second to take it all in.
Tall windows line the far wall, chandeliers glow overhead, and the room is already crowded with guests. Women in evening gowns move between groups of men in tuxedos, while music drifts down from the gallery above.
Large floral arrangements are spaced throughout the room, all winter greenery, white roses, and deep red blooms. My attention goes straight to them. They’re gorgeous.
Without meaning to, I start scanning the crowd. Not because I care whether Maximo is here already. I’d just rather know where he is than keep wondering.
But every face I find is unfamiliar. Which is good.
This gives me time to acclimate before dealing with Chicago’s most persistent mafia don.
A waiter appears beside me, carrying a silver tray of drinks.
Perfect. Some liquid courage is exactly what I need. I reach for a glass, but the waiter shifts the tray just out of reach.
I blink at him. Excuse me?
“I’m sorry, Miss,” he says politely, “but the legal drinking age in America is twenty-one.”
I stare at him. Is he serious?
“We’re at a private function hosted by a mafia don,” I point out, my tone sharpening. “Who is going to storm in here checking IDs for underage drinking?”
The waiter remains unflustered.
“Again, my apologies, Miss, but I’ve been instructed to offer you a selection of sodas and juices instead.”
My eyes narrow. “Instructed by whom?”
“That would have been my brother,” a deep male voice says from behind me.
I turn toward it and immediately see the resemblance to Maximo. The same dark hair and height, though this man’s expression is far more approachable.
“Gabriel Marco,” he says, offering his hand. “Though everybody calls me Gabe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mialina.”
I shake his hand cautiously.
“You know who I am?”
He smiles. “Of course.”
Which means Maximo has already told his entire family about his deeply concerning plans to marry me and fill Chicago with tiny Marco heirs.
It’s more than a little disturbing.
“Surely, you can override your brother’s orders? Maximo doesn’t strike me as someone committed to following rules.” He just wants to get under my skin before I’ve even seen him.
“Only the ones he makes. I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”
Not happy with that answer, I push a little more. “Why not?”
“You know how it works,” he says with a laugh. “Maximo is the Don. His word is law. Even for me.”
With a sigh, I grab a champagne flute filled with what appears to be orange juice from the server’s tray. I’m not surrendering to this stupid power play. I’m just thirsty.
While taking a sip, my gaze drifts across the ballroom. Perhaps I’ll have better luck with another server later.
I turn back to Gabe, who’s also taken a glass of juice.
“So what is your role in all of this?”
Gabe glances briefly toward Aldo, who’s moved further into the room with Mamma and my sisters, before looking back at me.
“I work alongside Aldo. I’ll take over from him when he retires.”
“So you’re a consigliere in training?”
“You could say that.” He slips one hand into his pocket. “Though Aldo and I focus on different areas. He handles a lot of the traditional relationships and internal structure. I focus more on the next generation.”
“The next generation?”
“Yes, the sons and daughters of our allies… our enemies too, actually. The people waiting in the wings,” he explains. “Relationships are easier to build before people fully step into power.”
I tilt my head. “That makes sense. Build alliances long before you need them.”
Gabe nods. “We try to approach things a little more intelligently than previous generations.”
I’m surprised how easy it is to talk to him. I expected all the Marco men to be more like Maximo.
“Are there more of your brothers lurking around?” I ask.
Smiling, Gabe looks across the ballroom before his gaze settles somewhere behind me.
“The human brick wall over there is Rafa.”
I follow his line of sight and spot the man in question near one of the entrances.
He’s huge, broad-shouldered, and completely stone-faced as he watches the room. Nobody seems eager to give him a reason to intervene.
“Oh,” I murmur. “Charming.”
“He’s actually very nice once you get past the whole looking-like-he-could-kill-someone-with-his-bare-hands thing.”
I remain unconvinced.
“And where does he fall in the sibling hierarchy?”
“He’s the second oldest.”
I frown. “So he’s Maximo’s second?”
Gabe’s mouth twitches.
“Yes and no. Rafa and I share that position. Rafa is our main enforcer and oversees security.”
That explains literally everything about him.
“And there’s another brother, isn’t there?”
He takes a sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of the glass.
“I’m pleased to see you taking such an interest in our family,” he teases.
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
Dammit. I don’t want to come across as interested in the Marco family. I’m gathering strategic information. That’s completely different.
“I prefer knowing how many people I’m potentially arguing with,” I quip.
That earns me a genuine laugh.
“Fair enough. And yes, there’s one more brother. Remo. Though he’s not here tonight. He…” Gabe pauses. “He tends to avoid social functions whenever possible.”
“Smart.” I grin, taking a sip of my juice. “I like him already.”
Gabe snorts.
“Remo is the computer genius in the family. Getting him away from his machines…” Gabe searches for the right words.
“Requires an extraction team?”
“Exactly that.”
I lift my glass, and we clink them together. Somehow, I’m more relaxed than I was five minutes ago. Though that feeling doesn’t last.
A prickle runs over my skin, and my fingers tighten around the stem of my glass.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach.
No.
I refuse to become one of those women who can sense a man entering a room like some tragic romance heroine.
Still, I turn.
And find him.
Our eyes lock across the ballroom, and heat rushes through me so suddenly I forget how to breathe.
God, the way that man looks at me. It makes my knees weak.
Maximo starts toward me without breaking eye contact. People move aside as he passes, but he doesn’t look at any of them.
I cannot falter now. Not on our first meeting since Sicily.
I lift my chin, forcing myself to hold his stare as he draws closer. Then movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention.
There’s a beautiful woman walking beside him.
My stomach drops.
Huh?
I don’t understand.