21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Maximo
She’s glorious.
Even more beautiful than the last time I saw her.
I keep striding toward Mialina, taking her in.
The dark turquoise gown skims her body, the rich color making her skin glow beneath the ballroom lights. I remember how soft she was beneath my palm… beneath my lips when I kissed her.
And her breasts against my chest when I pulled her closer…
Soon, I will know what she feels like without layers of clothing between us. Heat tightens low in my body at the thought.
Not now.
I continue toward her, unable to take my eyes off her. It’s not only her body that holds my attention.
It’s the way she carries herself. The effortless grace in every movement. The elegance bred into her from birth, wrapped around a sharp spine of defiance that refuses to bend for anyone.
We’ve already clashed tonight without having even spoken. She requested that a bag be taken to my study, undoubtedly containing the gifts I left for her at Aldo’s.
My little rebel.
Most women in this room are careful with powerful men, eager to please or impress them. Mia doesn’t seem to care.
Beside her, Gabe leans in to speak with her with that effortless charm of his. No doubt he wants to inspect the woman I’ve decided to marry.
Voices continue murmuring around us, music drifting through the ballroom beneath the low hum of people pretending not to watch as I approach Mia.
My focus never leaves her, not even with Vittoria striding beside me as though she belongs there.
She doesn’t. Still, she basks in the attention we’re drawing, soaking up every glance and whisper. I allow it only because it serves me for now.
When Mia notices her, heat ignites in her eyes so quickly it almost makes me smile.
After weeks of flowers, gifts, and her relentless denial of us, she hadn’t expected to find another woman at my side tonight.
Good. Jealousy suits her far too well. Though she would deny that’s what it is.
So I permit Vittoria her few seconds of imagined triumph while the room watches us approach together. I never once look at her. My attention belongs to Mia.
The closer I get, the stronger the pull between us becomes. She lifts her glass and takes a slow sip of juice, trying to appear calm and unaffected, but she can’t fool me.
I see the strained rise of her chest beneath the dark silk. It pleases me immensely. She can pretend indifference all she likes. I know better.
I come to stand in front of her. We’re close enough that I catch the faint floral scent clinging to her skin and notice the slight tremor in her fingers.
Neither of us says a word.
Mia’s mouth parts, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip before she catches it between her teeth, her nerves betraying her.
Heat slams through me. My blood rushes lower, my cock hardening.
Christ, one tiny gesture and my body reacts as if she touched me.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my suit jacket to stop myself from reaching for her and dragging her against me.
If this is how strongly I react to her fully dressed, producing heirs won’t be a problem.
There’s tension in her too. I can see it in the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, in the way her fingers tighten around her glass despite the poised expression she’s fighting to maintain.
Then Vittoria ruins the moment.
“Maximo, aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asks, sliding up beside me and touching my arm as if it’s natural for her to do. It isn’t. She’s clearly choosing to ignore what I told her at my succession ceremony.
Mia blinks once, as though suddenly remembering other people exist. Then she spots Vittoria’s hand still resting on my arm, and her eyes narrow.
Her assessing gaze travels over Vittoria before returning to me, one sculpted brow lifting as if saying, Yes, Don Maximo. Where are your manners?
The challenge in it makes me smile. So that’s the game tonight.
“Vittoria,” I say, “this is Mialina Accardi.”
Then I gesture to the woman beside me. “Mia, this is Vittoria Bellandi.”
Mia extends her hand with effortless elegance. Vittoria takes it, though the smile she offers is just a touch too polished to be genuine.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Mia says smoothly.
A lie. A graceful one, but still a lie.
Gabe shifts beside her, already entertained.
“You’ll be seeing quite a lot of Mialina,” I add, letting the implication hang in the air.
Vittoria’s attention sharpens. Mia’s smile does too.
“I doubt that,” she says, her tone sweet enough to coat poison. “Don Maximo is overly optimistic. I’m only visiting Chicago. I’ll be returning to Sicily in a few weeks.”
The statement is aimed at Vittoria. The lethal glance accompanying it is directed at me.
Cute. She truly seems to believe her stay here is temporary, and that she’ll return to Sicily. As if I would ever let her go now that she’s in my city.
“Oh?” Vittoria’s voice carries a tighter edge now. “You’re from Sicily.”
She finally remembers me mentioning that I’d chosen a wife after returning from Gualtiero’s memorial there.
Vittoria’s gaze flicks over Mia again, lingering this time on the expensive silk of Mia’s gown, the jewels at her throat, and the unmistakable confidence in her posture.
Good. Let her understand who she’s standing beside.
“Yes, I am.” Mia takes a slow sip of her juice. “Chicago seems fascinated by Sicily lately.”
I lift my whiskey to my mouth, partly to hide a smile.
The practiced softness disappears from Vittoria’s expression now that she suspects who Mia is to me.
“Well, it’s where most of our families originated from. And heritage matters in our world.”
“True,” Mia agrees easily, and Gabe becomes alert beside her.
Vittoria straightens, adjusting the diamond bracelet on her wrist.
“Fortunately for me,” she continues, “the Bellandis happen to be one of the oldest, most established bloodlines in Chicago.”
Mia’s lashes lower, though not before I catch the laughter in her eyes.
Vittoria doesn’t know that compared to the Leonardi blood running through Mia’s veins, every family in this room pales.
“How fortunate indeed,” she says with flawless politeness. “Especially since Don Maximo values bloodlines even more than most men.”
Vittoria’s face lights up, her attention swinging back to me. “Oh?”
Mia nods. “Didn’t you know? Don Maximo becomes remarkably focused when the subject arises. It’s all very strategic.”
I fix her with a hard look. She just lifts her glass to her lips and takes a slow sip while holding my gaze over the rim.
Little menace.
Beside her, Gabe presses his lips together to stop a laugh.
Vittoria smiles, encouraged. “Well, that seems sensible for a don.”
“Mmm,” Mia hums. “I’m sure Chicago’s women sleep better knowing they’re being evaluated so carefully.”
I finally let myself smile. Not because the comment itself is outrageous, but because she delivered it so perfectly. Refined enough to remain socially acceptable, and sharp enough that everyone standing here understands exactly what she meant.
Gabe coughs into his drink. The bastard catches my eye and gives me a look that screams, Good luck handling this girl.
I lift my glass in response.
Mia turns back to Vittoria. “You know, in Sicily, men this interested in bloodlines usually breed cattle.”
Gabe makes a strangled choking sound. I focus on Mia. She meets my gaze with total composure, though amusement dances across her face.
Any other woman behaving this way would irritate me. Mia only makes me wonder how else I could use that smart mouth.
Vittoria laughs a touch too late. “I’m sure Don Maximo’s interests are more sophisticated than livestock.”
“One would hope,” Mia agrees.
God, I’ve never wanted a woman more.
“I assure you,” I say calmly, still holding Mia’s gaze, “my interests are very refined.”
Her brows lift. “That sounds ominous.”
Gabe mutters something into his drink I don’t quite catch, while Vittoria attempts to recover control of the conversation.
Never one to give up, she says, “Well, I think it’s admirable when a man values family legacy.”
Her attention settles fully on me, as though she’s trying to show me she understands exactly what a don requires in a wife.
Beside her, Mia looks entirely unimpressed. Or pretending to be.
She wants me to believe she has no interest in the role waiting for her by my side. It’s an act. She was raised for this world just as much as I was.
“Some women are better suited to carrying a legacy forward with than others,” I say, directing the words at Mia.
She stills. Good, she heard the implication.
Vittoria’s breath hitches. I think it’s finally sinking in that she really isn’t my chosen bride.
Turning toward her, I say, “I’d like a moment alone with Mialina. Please enjoy the party.”
Vittoria’s composure slips, her gaze flicking toward Mia with unmistakable hostility before she smooths her expression.
“Of course,” she says gracefully, though the edges of her smile tighten.
Beside me, Mia says, “No, you don’t want a moment with me.”
Gabe’s brows shoot up at Mia’s directness. I turn my head toward her. She smiles far too brightly.
“I’m sure you have many important hosting duties tonight. It would be selfish of me to monopolize your attention.”
She doesn’t want to be alone with me. I suppress a grin.
Her words were clever enough to hide her refusal behind politeness. She was bred too well to openly misbehave, but every instinct in her pushes against me all the same.
I can’t wait to watch her realize how pointless that resistance is.
I take a step toward Mia, fully intending to close my hand around her elbow and guide her away from everyone watching us.
She tracks the movement, aware of what I’m about to do. Her posture stiffens, though she hides it quickly.
Too late. I saw it.
Before I can touch her, Belinda appears at my side. The woman has organized my family’s events for years and has a remarkable talent for appearing at the worst possible moment.
Leaning closer, she lowers her voice respectfully. “It’s time for your speech, sir.”
I crush the urge to swear.
These gatherings always follow the same rhythm of appearances, toasts, and speeches. The same polished rituals that make men like us look respectable.
Unfortunately, tonight I find myself far more interested in dragging Mia somewhere private than continuing to preside over this room.
The corner of Mia’s mouth twitches, as though she can sense my irritation.
I step closer anyway, near enough to catch the subtle hitch in her breathing.
“Later, little rebel,” I whisper so only she can hear. “Behave until then.”
Her eyes flash at being told what to do. Mine linger on her for a second longer than they should.
I walk away before she can argue.
God, I’ve missed this.