Page 66 of Claimed At First Sight

His gaze flicks past me toward someone behind my shoulder. I turn to find Aldo watching the interaction with poorly concealed amusement. He gives the butler a small nod.

“Of course, Miss.” The man takes the bag from me, and I watch him disappear into a side door.

Well, that was easier than I thought. I’ll take this as my first victory of the evening.

We step into the ballroom, and I stop for a second to take it all in.

Tall windows line the far wall, chandeliers glow overhead, and the room is already crowded with guests. Women in evening gowns move between groups of men in tuxedos, while music drifts down from the gallery above.

Large floral arrangements are spaced throughout the room, all winter greenery, white roses, and deep red blooms. My attention goes straight to them. They’re gorgeous.

Without meaning to, I start scanning the crowd. Not because I care whether Maximo is here already. I’d just rather know where he is than keep wondering.

But every face I find is unfamiliar. Which is good.

This gives me time to acclimate before dealing with Chicago’s most persistent mafia don.

A waiter appears beside me, carrying a silver tray of drinks.

Perfect. Some liquid courage is exactly what I need. I reach for a glass, but the waiter shifts the tray just out of reach.

I blink at him. Excuse me?

“I’m sorry, Miss,” he says politely, “but the legal drinking age in America is twenty-one.”

I stare at him. Is he serious?

“We’re at a private function hosted by a mafia don,” I point out, my tone sharpening. “Who is going to storm in here checking IDs for underage drinking?”

The waiter remains unflustered.

“Again, my apologies, Miss, but I’ve been instructed to offer you a selection of sodas and juices instead.”

My eyes narrow. “Instructed by whom?”

“That would have been my brother,” a deep male voice says from behind me.

I turn toward it and immediately see the resemblance to Maximo. The same dark hair and height, though this man’s expression is far more approachable.

“Gabriel Marco,” he says, offering his hand. “Though everybody calls me Gabe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mialina.”

I shake his hand cautiously.

“You know who I am?”

He smiles. “Of course.”

Which means Maximo has already told his entire family about his deeply concerning plans to marry me and fill Chicago with tiny Marco heirs.

It’s more than a little disturbing.

“Surely, you can override your brother’s orders? Maximo doesn’t strike me as someone committed to following rules.” He just wants to get under my skin before I’ve even seen him.

“Only the ones he makes. I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

Not happy with that answer, I push a little more. “Why not?”

“You know how it works,” he says with a laugh. “Maximo is the Don. His word is law. Even for me.”