Page 155 of Claimed At First Sight

Unfortunately, I’m far too aware of the man sitting opposite me to appreciate the view.

His aftershave seems to have taken over the entire space, all clean cedar and spice, making it impossible to forget that he’s so close.

I look at him.

His attention is already on me. Knowing him, he’s been watching me all along. Heat creeps into my cheeks.

The silence stretching between us seems to amplify every sound. The low mechanical hum of the wheel and the gentle creak of the gondola continue as it slowly ascends. Wind and snow skitter against the glass while somewhere far below, muffled voices and music drift up. And beneath it all, the slow, steady rhythm of Maximo’s breathing.

My gaze catches on the broad line of his shoulders stretching the fabric of his coat and stays there for a moment longer than it should.

Everything about the man seems designed to dominate his surroundings. Even sitting still, he somehow makes this gondola feel smaller, his quiet confidence filling every inch of the space.

He’s leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands loosely clasped together. I tell myself to look out the window and admire the snow-covered city and lake, and not pay attention to Maximo.

Still, my gaze drifts to his hands.

I know how strong they are.

Strong enough that when he’d pinned me against the wall outside my bedroom, escaping hadn’t even crossed my mind. Instead, it made my blood boil. Sadly, not with rage.

Even now, the memory makes my pulse stumble. Honestly, my body is becoming a liability.

“You’ve gone quiet.” His voice is low, smooth enough that it sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

I clear my throat and continue staring out the window.

“I’m looking at the view. You should try it before the ride is over,” I tease, but my voice isn’t as steady as I’d like.

“Hmm.”

That’s all he says. The city view appears to hold no interest for him, his attention remaining fixed on me.

My stomach does a small, unwelcome flip.

From my periphery, I see the corner of his mouth shift. Whatever fleeting reaction crossed my face, he’d caught it.

Maximo seems to notice everything, and I have the increasingly uncomfortable suspicion that my expressions are becoming far easier for him to read than I’d like.

The gondola reaches its highest point, suspended between sky and earth. Chicago stretches toward the horizon, vast and imposing.

“Your city,” I murmur, glancing at Maximo.

For the first time since we stepped into the gondola, his attention shifts away from me and settles on the view.

“Yes.”

It’s only a single word, spoken quietly, yet something about the way he says it makes me study him more.

There isn’t a trace of arrogance in his voice, nor the pride I’d expect from a man who commands an empire. Just certainty, as though there has never been any question that one day all of this would become his responsibility.

I’ve known who Maximo Marco is since the day we met. People obey him, fear and respect him. Until now, though, those had always felt like facts I’d been told rather than something I truly understood.

Being here with him while he looks out over Chicago, it finally clicks.

This isn’t merely the city where he lives, nor is it territory outlined on a map that happens to fall under his control. Somewhere beneath those snow-covered rooftops are thousands of people who rely, knowingly or not, on the decisions he makes every day.

There are businesses carrying his family’s name, men who answer to him, allies who expect him to keep his word, and enemies waiting for him to fail.