Page 50 of Claimed At First Sight

“Mialina.” Her voice leaves no room for argument. “I’m not leaving any of my daughters behind right now.”

Something in the way she says it makes me pause.

“Why?”

Mamma glances toward Isa before looking back at me. “Things here are unsettled enough that I would rather have you girls with me. That’s all you need to know.”

That does absolutely nothing to make me feel better.

“But I don’t want to go to Chicago,” I try one more time. “It’s freezing there.” I say the first thing that pops into my head that isn’t Maximo Marco as a reason to stay here.

“You’re coming.” Mamma’s tone is unyielding. She doesn’t use it often, but when she does, we know better than to argue.

Merda. I’m heading straight into the lion’s den.

I sink back into my chair, trying to slow my breathing. It’s not working.

“So when you say you’ll see how things go, you mean whether you want to get serious with Aldo?” I ask, hoping she’ll tell me I misunderstood.

Mamma’s expression softens at the mention of Aldo’s name. Dammit, that’s a bad sign.

“I suppose that’s part of it.”

The tightness beneath my ribs climbs higher. I’m going to be sick.

I feel like the worst daughter ever, but right now I wish Aldo would just break things off.

He’s been nothing but good to her and has never given me a reason not to trust him. But getting serious with Aldo means more Chicago, and worse, more Maximo.

Suddenly I can’t get past that.

Mamma simply cannot choose a man whose entire life is tied to the Marco family.

“Do you really want to bind yourself to another tyrant?”

Mamma’s smile disappears.

“Aldo isn’t a tyrant. He’s been nothing but respectful and kind. I’m—”

“He’s consigliere to Maximo Marco. The same position Father wanted here so he could wield more power. He—”

“Mia, do not interrupt me when I’m speaking.” Mamma’s sharp tone stops me.

“Aldo is not your father. And I’m not binding myself to anyone. I’m exploring my options,” she says, more calmly now. “Believe me, I’ve learned from my mistakes. I can spot the red flags.”

A stab of guilt hits me. I know she’s right. Aldo has done nothing to deserve being compared to Father.

Isa shoots me a look, begging me to stop. I cross my arms and bite back everything else I want to say.

“We want you to be happy, Mamma,” Isa says, trying to smooth things over. “With or without a man.”

My mood is ruined for the rest of the day. I keep fantasizing about running away to somewhere nobody knows my name or gives a damn what family I come from.

But I’m realistic enough to know that fantasy would fall apart quickly.

I don’t have my own money or a formal education, and my work experience amounts to organizing events, arranging flowers, and smiling politely through mafia functions.

I suppose I could learn to waitress, but balancing plates while creepy men slap my ass doesn’t exactly scream freedom either.