Page 17 of Claimed At First Sight

“Ha,” Isa huffs, the sound sharper than she probably intends. “Not a chance. I’m not going to bind myself to any of these men. All our lives, we’ve been bargaining chips for our father. Now we actually have a say in who we marry.”

There goes my idea of her moving on. But I’m also pleased. She thinks like me, which shouldn’t really come as a surprise. Living under Father’s thumb scarred all of us.

I dare a glance in Maximo’s direction over the rim of my champagne glass. He’s still there, still tracking my movements.

“Well, I’d rather die an old spinster than marry a man from our circles.” Isa leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely carries over the music. “I want out, Mia.”

I still. The word seems dangerous in a room full of people who kill to stay in.

“Out?” I repeat.

“Out of all of this. I want a normal life. Quiet, boring, mine. I want to wake up in the morning and make choices without asking permission.”

I don’t smile this time. I can’t.

My gaze sweeps over the guests, noting the guards at the doors and the men everyone else seems to orbit around.

Isabella is dreaming of a world that doesn’t exist for women in the Mafia. My voice is quiet but firm when I speak.

“What woman here wouldn’t? But don’t fool yourself. Just because Father’s gone doesn’t mean we’re free. The system’s still in place.”

Isa sighs, her gaze drifting over my shoulder. I turn slightly, watching from the corner of my eye as Maximo rises from his seat. The other men stand too, their attention fixed on him. They shake hands, and then he’s heading straight for us.

“Mateo’s cousin definitely has his sights set on you,” Isa says, observing him weave through the crowd. “He’s on the move. What do you think of him?”

I raise a brow, keeping my voice neutral. “Are you asking if I’m interested in him?”

Isa tilts her head. “I suppose.”

A soft laugh slips out. “For starters, he’s way too old.”

“He’s a year older than Mateo.”

“Exactly,” I say pointedly. “Twelve years older than me makes him ancient. I don’t care how good his jawline is. No, thank you.”

“Ah, so you noticed he has a nice jawline?”

I roll my eyes.

“He might just be your type. Brooding, intense, a little dangerous, and not to forget, devastatingly handsome,” Isa says, the smirk on her face growing.

“Maybe… if he came in civilian packaging. But even then,” I scoff, taking a sip of my drink, the bubbles popping on my tongue. “He thinks he hung the moon. It’s fun enough for a game of badminton, but you can already tell he expects the world, and especially women, to bend to his will.”

“Arrogant, chauvinistic, and controlling,” Isa finishes for me.

“Bingo. No, thank you.”

I swirl the champagne in my glass before adding, “Besides, I don’t have a type. You were the only one allowed to have one,” I point out.

“My type was decided by Father for me.” Her smile turns faint. “Lucky for me, I fell in love with him. Or maybe unlucky, considering how it all ended. Now I’m haunted by promises Luca never got the chance to keep.”

Her expression falls the way it always does when Luca comes up, and I instantly regret mentioning him. Even after five years, grief still clings to her.

Then, just as quickly, Isa straightens and pastes on one of her practiced smiles.

“Watch out,” she says lightly. “Maximo is arriving in three… two… one.”

I don’t turn. Why would I?