59. Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Mialina
Islam my bedroom door shut, making the pictures on the wall rattle.
I pace from the bed to the window, then turn and march straight back again.
Maximo knew.
We spent an entire day and night together. How many times during that time did I talk about returning home to Sicily?
His decision to take me to Little Italy makes much more sense now, especially the visit to the shop filled with Sicilian treats.
What had he said?
“If you feel homesick, you can come here and soak up a little of home.”
Argh!
I’d dismissed it as his usual arrogant confidence, but he’d said those words knowing exactly what had happened between Aldo and Mamma.
It was all so calculated.
I kick the side of the cream armchair in the corner.
Ouch, that hurt.
Dropping into it, I let my head fall back and stare at the ceiling.
Is this going to become my permanent room now?
I take in the cream walls, the elegant furniture, and the carefully chosen pictures hanging above the dresser.
It doesn’t feel like mine. I don’t think it ever could.
This isn’t our home. It’s Aldo’s.
I know I’m being dramatic. Mamma and Aldo haven’t said yet what will happen next, and I’m already imagining myself trapped in this room until I’m old and gray. Still, the walls seem as though they’ve crept a little closer.
My gaze drops to my boots before traveling up over the leggings and knitted dress Maximo bought for me.
Even my clothes have his fingerprints all over them.
I yank off one boot and hurl it across the room, then send the other flying after it. They hit the carpet with two unsatisfying thuds.
Pushing myself out of the chair, I stomp into the walk-in closet and grab the hem of the dress. The soft wool catches around my shoulders as I wrench it over my head, making me angrier with every second I spend tangled inside it. Once I’m free, I toss it into the hamper.
Next, I pull off the leggings, nearly losing my balance stepping out of them. Wearing only my underwear, I shove hangers aside one after another.
Here I thought I was getting to know him, that perhaps he was finally allowing me to glimpse the man beneath all that control. But how much of that was real?
I pull a sweater from a shelf, then change my mind and stuff it back.
The day in the city, the Sicilian treats, the way he held me through the storm… had any of it been about me? Or was it all an act to make Chicago and a future with him more appealing?
Only a few hours ago, I believed I was safe with him. How laughable is that?
And I kissed him.
He was probably congratulating himself on finally wearing down my resistance to marrying him. Worse, I came up with that idiotic plan to make out with him until I got him out of my system.
Well, perhaps it worked because I’m completely over him now.
Though it wasn’t his kisses that did it. All it took was finally seeing his true colors.
I pull out a navy wool skirt, an ivory blouse, and one of the cardigans I brought from Sicily. They might not suit the dramatic reinvention I’m attempting, but at least they belong to me.
Once I’m dressed, I rake my fingers through my hair and twist it into a loose knot, determined to erase every trace of the hours I spent with Maximo.
If only removing him from my mind were that easy.
Voices from below my window catch my attention, and I march over to peek through the curtains, careful to remain hidden in case it’s Maximo.
I have to lean closer to the glass than I’d like to see properly, and of course, that’s the exact moment the tyrant Chicago Don looks up.
I jerk backward and fold my arms tightly across my chest.
“You donkey… idiot… manipulative bastard.”
Why can’t I come up with better insults?
I blame him. Actually, I blame him for everything wrong in the world.
World hunger? Maximo’s fault. With all his wealth, he could provide seeds, farming machinery, or enough food to fill thousands of food banks.
Climate change? Also his fault. I’ve seen the size of his private jet, and I doubt he flies economy when he travels without it.
The fact that chocolate makes women gain weight? Definitely Maximo’s fault. He could hire scientists to remove the calories without ruining the taste.
God, I could go on and on. And I could really do with some chocolate right about now.
I hear car doors closing and engines starting up. Good, Maximo and his little convoy are leaving. Good riddance.
With an aggravated sigh, I cross the room and throw myself onto the bed.
In the space of a few minutes, my entire future has shifted.
I rub both hands over my face just as a knock sounds at my door.
“Mia?” Mamma calls from the hallway.
I close my eyes, drawing in a slow breath before I answer.
“Come in.”
The door opens and Mamma slips in, but instead of speaking, she stands there studying me, worry clouding her eyes.
“I’m very happy for you,” I say before she even has the chance to open her mouth.
Her brows lift. “You are?”
“I mean it.” I manage a small smile as she crosses the room. “Aldo makes you happy. Anyone can see that.”
Her expression softens as she sits beside me on the bed. “He does.”
“And you deserve it.” My gaze drops to my hands. “I’m sorry I ran off. It wasn’t the engagement that upset me.”
She reaches for my hand and folds it between both of hers.
“This is about Maximo, isn’t it?”
Frustration surges through me all over again.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Fair enough.” Mamma falls silent, but the tension around her eyes doesn’t ease. “Just tell me one thing. When you stayed at his penthouse last night, was he…” She hesitates, searching for a way to ask whatever is troubling her. “…respectful toward you?”
What does she think happened between us?
Oh no. Can she tell we kissed? Are my lips still swollen?
I resist the urge to cover my mouth. That would definitely give it away.
“Well, he didn’t try to push me into anything physical, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Quite the opposite. I was the one who wanted him to touch me, but I won’t tell Mamma that.
“He did, however, more or less ask me to marry him. For the record, I rejected the proposal.” I lift one shoulder. “But if you’re asking whether he respected me enough to be honest with me, then no.”
Before Mamma can respond, my anger spills over, and all the accusations I’ve been holding back come tumbling out.
“He probably knew that Aldo planned to propose before you two even left Chicago. And then Aldo must have told him when you said yes. It all played perfectly into Maximo’s hands.”
I pull my hand from hers and push myself off the bed, too agitated to remain still.
“How am I supposed to hold him at bay now? He’s relentless when he decides he wants something. With us staying in Chicago, he’ll have all the time in the world to wear me down.”
“Mia, you don’t have to—”
“And it’s not even that he kept Aldo’s confidence,” I rush on, unwilling to let her defend him before I’ve made her understand. “It’s that he knew we weren’t returning to Sicily and let me go on believing that we would, while all along he was waiting for circumstances to turn in his favor.”
The realization turns my stomach.
“He’s just like Father. He maneuvers people and situations until you’re left with nothing but the illusion of choice.”
Mamma simply watches me from the bed. She’s far too calm considering I’ve just compared Maximo to Father.
“Come, sit down, tesoro.”
Some of the fight goes out of me at the familiar endearment. I return to the bed and sit down beside her.
“Yes, Maximo probably knew, given his relationship with Aldo. But it wasn’t his news to tell.”
“You’re taking his side.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side.” She chuckles when I give her a disbelieving look. “I’m simply saying I understand why he didn’t tell you.”
“Well, I don’t,” I huff. “One sentence was all it would have taken. Mia, your mother has something important to tell you when she gets back.”
“That would have given it away. You’re an intelligent young woman. You would have worked it out.”
I puff out my cheeks before releasing the air noisily. Fine, I probably would have. But that’s hardly the point.
“So you’re happy?” I ask, not wanting to talk about Maximo anymore.
I take her hand in mine and admire the ring properly. A brilliant oval diamond rests on a slender band, surrounded by smaller stones that scatter light across her fingers whenever I move her hand.
It’s elegant and beautiful without being ostentatious. Aldo chose well. More importantly, he chose something that suits her.
“Very happy.” Her entire face softens as she looks down at her hand.
“Aldo proposed on our final evening at the cabin. We’d had dinner in front of the fire, and afterward, he asked me to step outside with him.
The mountains were covered in snow, and the sky was so clear we could see millions of stars. ”
“That sounds freezing.”
“It was,” she says with a laugh. “But Aldo had blankets waiting for us on the porch and poured me a glass of champagne. Then he told me that loving me had given him a future he’d never expected to have.
He didn’t want what we shared to end when we left the cabin.
He wanted to wake beside me every morning, come home to me every night, and spend the rest of his life making me as happy as I’d made him. ”
“Oh, Mamma.”
“He got down on one knee right there on the porch.” Her eyes glisten as the memory carries her back into the mountains. “I was already crying so hard that he had to ask me twice because I forgot to answer.”
“Poor Aldo. He probably thought you were trying to find a polite way to refuse,” I tease.
“There wasn’t anything polite about the way I was sobbing.”
I lean over to wrap my arms around her. She holds me, resting her cheek against my hair as the last of my resentment over being blindsided fades away.
“He’s nothing like your father, Mia,” she whispers after a few heartbeats.
“Aldo listens to me. He respects my opinions and talks things through with me instead of assuming he knows what’s best simply because he’s a man.
” Her arms tighten around me. “And I don’t believe Maximo is like your father either. ”
I ease out of her embrace, ignoring her comment about Maximo. I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t want to talk about him.
“Aldo is still a mafia man, Mamma. He’s spent his entire life giving orders and expecting people to follow them. There’ll be times when he wants to make the decisions for both of you. It’s how men like him are wired.”
“I know who he is. I’m not pretending he’ll suddenly change because we’re getting married.”
Her gaze drops to the ring on her finger.
“But he consults me. He explains his reasoning and listens when I disagree. Your father never did that, not even in the beginning.”
She falls quiet for a moment.
“I was raised to believe that a husband had the right to make every decision and that a good wife accepted it without question.” She looks up at me again. “I’ve learned from my mistakes. Aldo knows I won’t enter another marriage in which my voice doesn’t matter.”
There’s conviction in her voice, but I’m not convinced he’ll remember such promises once someone stands between him and what he wants.
“So he won’t order me to marry Maximo once you two are husband and wife and we’re all under his authority?”
Mamma turns toward me fully. “Aldo will be my husband, Mia. That doesn’t make him your father or give him the right to choose your husband.”
“He might not see it that way.”
“He does,” she says without hesitation. “We’ve already spoken about the place he’ll have in your lives. He knows he can advise, protect, and express an opinion, but he can’t make decisions for any of you.”
“And if he changes his mind once the ring is on your finger?”
“Then he’ll discover how badly he underestimated the woman he married.”
A small smile touches her lips, but her voice remains firm.
“I won’t stand beside him if he orders you into a marriage you don’t want.”
Some of the tension leaves me, although not enough to silence every doubt.
“Even if he believes marrying Maximo is the safest thing for me?”
“He’ll undoubtedly tell us so.” Her smile turns wry. “But there’s a considerable difference between giving advice and issuing an order. You will choose the man you marry, tesoro. No one else.”
The knot of fear in my chest finally loosens. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to hear her say that, or how frightened I was that Aldo’s ring would place my future in the hands of yet another man.
We sit in silence for a moment. Then I notice Mamma tensing beside me.
“There’s something important I need to tell you,” she says at last, her expression too serious for my liking.
“What could possibly be more important than your engagement and the news that we’re staying in freezing cold Chicago?” I tease to lighten the suddenly heavy mood.
She doesn’t respond to that, but instead rubs her temples.
“This is about Isa.”
She takes a breath, as though even now she’s struggling to believe what she’s about to say.
“Luca is alive. And Isa is with him.”