47. Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Seven
Mialina
Ice floods my veins as I take in Shay Donnelly. Back in Sicily, Maximo told me he was thirty-five, but he looks somewhat older.
There’s something about him that makes my skin prickle. That violent edge I’d noticed earlier isn’t my imagination. Now that I know who he is, it seems impossible to separate the man from the future my father once planned for me.
I shudder.
“The other guy is his younger brother, Malachy,” Maximo explains before I can ask.
He seems less aggressive, but men raised in families like theirs rarely are harmless.
“They know who I am?”
Maximo lets out a dry laugh.
“Mialina, every major criminal organization on this continent knows who you are by now.”
I grimace. “That isn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
The bite I just swallowed settles like a stone in my stomach. I’ve completely lost my appetite.
Why are they here?
When Maximo first told me my father had signed a marriage contract with the Irish, the whole thing seemed ridiculous.
Then Mateo uncovered evidence. A note in Father’s spreadsheet beside my name stated that the contract had been signed on October eighth.
Still, it had felt surreal, like a story someone had invented. Why would the Chicago Irish Mafia want ties to Sicily?
But with the Donnellys sitting a few tables away, assessing me, it’s becoming real far too quickly.
What if they attempt to kidnap me and force me to fulfill the contract Father signed with them?
I will my pulse to steady. I’m letting my imagination run away with me, aren’t I?
Yet, I can’t seem to stop it.
“Should we leave?”
I want to be somewhere else. Somewhere my father’s plans don’t stare me in the face.
“No.”
I look back at him.
“No?” Even to my ears my voice carries an edge of apprehension. I hate it.
I’m not usually that easily intimidated. Then again, I’ve never come this close to the people who might believe they have some claim over the rest of my life.
Maximo must see my unease because he puts down his fork and reaches across the table, covering my hand with his. The simple pressure of his hand steadies me, and the knot in my stomach eases.
“They won’t do anything.”
God, I wish I had his confidence right now.
“How can you know that?”
“Because you’re with me.”
I search his face for a hint of uncertainty, but of course I don’t find it.
Some of the tension eases from my shoulders, but not enough to make the reality of the Donnellys any less daunting. My gaze drifts toward their table again.
“Ignore them,” Maximo says after a beat, a hint of command slipping into his voice. “Focus on me. I’m your dinner date, no one else.”
It has the desired effect. My eyes snap back to his. But only because his tone rubs me the wrong way.
I pull my hand from beneath his, making him chuckle.
“There you are,” he says, satisfaction warming his voice. “Good to have you back, little rebel.”
Instead of answering, I spear a piece of asparagus with perhaps a touch more enthusiasm than necessary and glare at him. There isn’t much conviction behind it.
He’s right. The less attention I give the Donnellys, the less power I hand them.
Today with Maximo has been… unexpected.
If I pretend that kiss never happened, spending time with him wasn’t actually that painful. Between wandering through Little Italy, the Ferris wheel, seeing Chicago lit up beneath the falling snow, and now dinner, I’d caught glimpses of a man I hadn’t expected to find beneath the title of Don.
That realization is almost as unsettling as the Irish sitting a few tables away.
I resist the temptation to glance back toward the Donnellys. For the first time, I understand why Maximo is so insistent about security. Here, my name means something to people who have never even met me.
Wait a minute.
I narrow my eyes. “Did you arrange this?”
One dark eyebrow rises. “Arrange what?”
“The dramatic visual aid.” I gesture toward the Irish table. “You brought me to dinner. They’re sitting over there. I discover they’re the people Father intended to marry me off to. Conveniently, it makes you look like the far better option.”
A sudden sparkle enters Maximo’s eyes, and it takes me a second to realize what I’ve just admitted. My cheeks turn crimson while a grin slowly appears on his face.
“You think I orchestrated an encounter with one of the most powerful criminal families in North America solely to improve my standing?”
“It sounds like something you’d do.”
That earns an actual laugh.
“If I’d known the conclusion you’d come to,” he says, still tickled, “I would have considered it.”
I point my fork at him. “Aha.”
His smile lingers. “But no. This is a coincidence.”
“Hmm.”
He tilts his head. “You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
His amusement only deepens, as though my complete lack of faith in him is somehow endearing.
In my periphery, I see Shay Donnelly say something to his father, and the uneasy feeling that had finally begun to loosen its grip returns.
My attention shifts to the other Donnelly son. If Father had been determined to marry me into the family, I’d have preferred that option.
Then again…
My gaze returns to Maximo, and my stomach insists on fluttering. Frankly, it seems like a design flaw. It’s as though my body has developed opinions I wasn’t consulted on.
Unfortunately, he catches me staring. The smug bastard.
I break our eye contact and glance out the window again as our plates are cleared.
The view has changed considerably since we arrived. Earlier, I could see the lights from buildings on the opposite side of the river. Now they’re little more than blurred smudges behind a curtain of snow.
Wind drives flakes sideways across the glass.
“It’s definitely snowing harder.”
Maximo’s expression suggests he’s been keeping an eye on the weather.
“Are we going to make it home?”
Leon appears beside our table. Security men don’t generally interrupt dinners unless something has happened. He leans down to murmur something into Maximo’s ear, too quietly for me to hear.
I watch Maximo closely, but there’s no alarm or visible concern, only that familiar look of quiet concentration whenever he’s assessing a problem.
When Leon straightens again, Maximo thanks him with a brief nod.
“State police have closed part of Interstate Ninety,” Maximo says when we’re alone again. “There was a multi-vehicle pileup.”
I turn to the window again. The buildings across the river have almost vanished behind the snow.
“Visibility has deteriorated faster than forecast,” he continues. “Additional road closures are expected.”
I frown, not liking where this is going. “Can we still get back to the estate?”
“We could try, but I have no interest in spending several hours stranded on a highway while Chicago attempts to freeze itself solid.”
Neither do I. Besides, being trapped in the back of a car with Maximo for hours sounds like an excellent way to forget every sensible thought I’ve ever had. God knows, I need to stay away from situations that might tempt me to let him kiss me again.
“So what’s the plan?”
Maximo takes an unhurried sip of his wine before setting the glass aside.
“We’ll stay upstairs in my penthouse. It’s where I used to live before moving into the Marco Estate when I became Don.”
I shake my head. “I forgot for a moment that you own this building.”
Perhaps being stranded in traffic wouldn’t have been such a terrible alternative after all.
Then again, a penthouse has multiple bedrooms. Doors. Plenty of space to avoid him. So the penthouse it is. Not that anyone asked for my opinion.
At the table across from us, Cormac Donnelly and his sons push back their chairs and stand, buttoning their jackets.
“They’re leaving,” I murmur, relief loosening some of the tension between my shoulders. I hadn’t realized quite how aware I was of them until now.
“It looks that way.” The lack of concern in his voice is reassuring.
I lean back in my seat and watch them as they make their way through the now mostly empty restaurant. They’re heading toward the exit, and I let out a long breath.
Shay says something to his father. Cormac slows, then turns as though he’s forgotten something.
My entire body goes rigid. The dinner in my stomach suddenly feels too heavy.
What if that something is me?
Because they’re heading straight for us.