Page 2 of Claimed At First Sight

“I did,” he says, some of the exhaustion leaving his face. “Mari is amazing.”

God, he’s a fool in love.

“Mateo De Marco, playboy extraordinaire, a married man. Unbelievable,” I tease.

Now that he’s Don, this will strengthen his position in la famiglia. Marriage has its uses.

I’ll need a wife, and soon. Just without the sentiment attached.

Love ruins everything.

I keep that to myself, though. He wouldn’t hear it anyway. He and Tiero always believed in love. Still, it’s good to see that something puts a smile on his face.

“Come on, I want you to meet her.”

We move out onto the terrace, and bright laughter greets us. It seems out of place given the heaviness of the occasion.

I look toward the garden before Mateo even speaks.

Three women are playing badminton on the lawn. They move barefoot across the grass, their dresses catching the breeze as they turn and reach.

“The beauty serving right now is my wife, Mariella,” Mateo says, sounding besotted.

I follow his gaze and take her in properly. She’s beautiful, no surprise there, but there’s also a gentleness in the way she carries herself.

I whistle low. “Damn, Teo. You did well.”

His gaze stays fixed on his wife, and for a moment he looks more husband than Don. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s… unsettling.

My focus shifts to a young woman crossing the lawn in a burst of speed. She reaches the shuttle just in time to send it snapping back across the net.

Every step is precise, as if she already knows where she needs to be before she gets there.

She’s even more striking than Teo’s wife. Tall and long-legged, with dark hair falling loose over one shoulder as she turns. Her skin is flushed with exertion, giving her a rosy glow.

The shuttle comes back fast, and this time she misses it by a fraction. It only seems to make her more determined.

“Enjoy that tiny win while you can,” she throws back, taunting the others.

My gaze lingers on the raven-haired beauty.

“And the other girls?” I ask Mateo.

“The one playing with Mari is Isabella, the oldest Accardi daughter,” he replies. “The other is Mialina, one of her younger sisters.”

Mialina.

I rub my chin. I’ve heard the name before, back in Chicago. It’s unusual enough to have stuck in my mind.

There were whispers a while ago that Antonio Accardi had been pursuing marriage negotiations for his daughters beyond Sicily, reaching even into my territory. I dismissed the rumors as absurd and didn’t pay much attention to them.

Until now.

I look at Mialina again as she pushes her hair back, her eyes focused on the shuttle in her sister’s hand.

Antonio’s side of the family isn’t what interests me. The maternal line is what matters.

The Leonardis are old blood, one of the original families still serving under the De Marcos. That makes them practically Mafia royalty.