45. Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Five
Mialina
Merda.
What have I done?
I kissed Maximo.
Again.
Worse, I got so lost in him that I hadn’t even noticed the Ferris wheel had completed another full rotation.
An icy blast of wind and snow blows across the platform as I hurry toward the stairs, our security detail immediately falling into step around us.
I don’t have to look at Maximo to know he’s beside me.
I can’t. Not after what just happened.
The first time he’d kissed me, I’d at least been able to run away and hide. Here, not so much.
Maximo keeps pace effortlessly beside me, and before I can put even the smallest bit of distance between us, his hand settles against the small of my back, guiding me down the stairs.
The warmth of his palm seems to burn straight through my coat.
Dammit, this has to be my imagination. Surely, heat from a hand doesn’t go through layers of wool.
The temperature has dropped with the setting sun, the wind driving snowflakes across Navy Pier, yet I’m burning up. My heart refuses to slow, and I swear I must be sweating despite the freezing air.
My lips still tingle. I hate that I can still taste him.
This is a disaster.
He’ll never let me forget it.
I grip the handrail a little tighter as we descend the stairs.
How does this man so effortlessly unravel me? It’s not—
Whatever thought had been trying to form vanishes when Maximo suddenly slows beside me.
His shoulders seem to broaden, every line of his body hardening as his attention fixes on something ahead.
He steps in front of me, blocking my view.
What’s happening?
The man who’d kissed me only moments ago vanishes, leaving only the Don.
“Leon,” Maximo calls for his head of security. He appears at his shoulder almost immediately.
“Take Miss Accardi to the vehicle and wait there for me.”
My gaze bounces between Leon and Maximo. Well, his back, really.
“Why?” I ask, trying to peer around him, but he won’t let me.
“Do not argue with me, Mialina. Go.”
The words are quiet. Every trace of warmth is gone, replaced by cold authority.
Leon gently touches my elbow. “Miss Accardi, let’s go.”
I hesitate, not wanting to leave Maximo’s side.
“Go, Mialina,” Maximo repeats, steel beneath the calm. “I’ll join you shortly.”
I let Leon guide me away. That’s when I see them.
Three men stand near the entrance to the pier, perhaps thirty yards away. Expensively dressed despite the weather, their hands tucked into the pockets of dark overcoats.
They’re watching us.
No. They’re watching me.
One of them smiles. It’s not friendly. If anything, it sends a chill racing down my spine. It seems to say one thing only.
I found you.
I instinctively move a fraction closer to Leon.
Around me, six of Maximo’s men tighten their formation, their hands disappearing inside their jackets, only a heartbeat away from drawing their weapons if this goes badly.
Surely they won’t try anything here. Not in broad daylight at one of Chicago’s biggest tourist attractions.
I glance around. The heavy snowfall has driven most people indoors, leaving only a scattering of bundled-up visitors hurrying between buildings.
Maybe Maximo isn’t being nearly as overprotective as I thought.
Unable to help myself, I look back.
One of the men murmurs something to the other two. They don’t look at me again. Instead, all three of them walk toward Maximo.
“Who are they?” I ask Leon.
“Valentino Romero and his two men,” he replies, his attention fixed on the path ahead.
The Romeros… again. The name lands like a stone in my stomach.
I glance over my shoulder as I keep walking. The three Romero men have reached Maximo, who stands flanked by six of his soldiers. They stop a few feet from him.
“Shouldn’t you be with him?” I ask.
“I have my orders.” His answer is matter-of-fact. “Don Marco will be fine. They won’t try anything here. Not in public.”
He pauses for a fraction of a second before adding, “Even if it’s the Mad Dog.”
I frown. “The Mad Dog?”
“Valentino is the unpredictable Romero brother. He’s reckless. If there’s a Romero likely to ignore common sense, it’s him.”
That doesn’t help me feel any calmer.
I know Maximo can handle himself. I’ve seen enough of the respect he commands to understand why he’s Don. Yet that doesn’t stop my eyes from drifting back to him.
There are no raised voices. No drawn weapons. From where I am, it looks less like enemies meeting and more like businessmen discussing the weather.
Yet every instinct tells me the conversation is anything but polite.
The one I presume is Valentino glances in my direction. Even from this distance, I can see his slow smile.
He knows exactly who I am, doesn’t he?
My stomach drops another few inches.
“Keep moving, Miss Accardi,” Leon urges when I slow.
This time I don’t argue.
Maximo’s two SUVs are idling at the curb. Philip opens the back door of the front one, and I slide inside, warm air wrapping around me.
I sink into the leather seat and stare out the window, but from here, I can’t see Maximo anymore.
Leon and the other men take up positions around the vehicle, their backs to me.
I let my head fall back and close my eyes. I finally have a moment to collect myself. Without thinking, my fingertips drift to my lips.
As I suspected, they’re swollen, and when I brush my thumb across my bottom lip, it’s more sensitive than it should be.
The memory of Maximo’s mouth crashes over me with such startling clarity that I snatch my hand away as though I’d touched a hot stove.
I’d chosen not to tell him to stop, and then I’d leaned into him. What was I thinking?
It was like the intensity in his eyes had hypnotized me, and then the way he took over the kiss made me forget everything.
It was different from our first. Deeper, somehow. Hungrier. And then I felt him hard beneath me.
Heat rushes into my cheeks all over again.
He’d wanted me. Really wanted me.
My stomach does a little flip. I groan softly before dropping my forehead against the cool window. Here I go again, replaying everything.
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.”
His gaze holds mine for a moment.
“It’s handled.”
Wow, it’s all men’s business, I guess. Nothing for my delicate female mind to worry about.
I open my mouth to argue, but stop.
I’ve always resented how Father left us in the dark, and Maximo is doing the same thing now. But after Valentino Romero’s stare and realizing he knew exactly who I was, perhaps there really are things I don’t want to be part of.
Not because I’m incapable of handling the truth, but simply because today has already given me more than enough to process.
I turn my attention to the snow drifting past the window and, for once, let the subject drop.
Maximo glances at his watch.
“We have forty-five minutes before our dinner reservation.” He shifts his attention to Philip. “Take the long way.”
I frown. “Dinner? I thought you’d take me back to Aldo’s now. I want to see Mamma.”
“You will. Later.”
I stare at him, folding my arms across my chest.
He says it with that same infuriating certainty he seems to reserve for everything.
“As we’re already in the city,” he continues. “We may as well eat first.”
Spending another few hours with him after what happened in the gondola is the last thing I want. What I need is distance from him. Lots of it.
I bet he knows it, and that’s why he’s denying me. He likes to see me worked up.
Still, I decide not to argue with him. The man has the flexibility of reinforced concrete, so I’ll save my breath.
I turn toward the window and ignore him. He won’t like that, which makes this sweeter.
The trees lining the avenue catch my attention. Every bare branch is wrapped in thousands of tiny white lights. Against the dark evening sky, they shimmer like stars, their glow softened by the steady snowfall drifting through them.
It’s almost enchanting. Without meaning to, I find myself smiling.
Maximo is quiet for a beat before he says, “Philip, pull over.”
Without hesitation the SUV glides to the curb. Before I can ask why, Maximo is already outside. Snowflakes settle across the shoulders of his coat as he circles the vehicle and opens my door.
He offers me his gloved hand.
“Let’s go for a walk.”