Page 225 of Claimed At First Sight

But I don’t voice the questions. Judging by the fresh tears gathering in Mamma’s eyes, she’s already asked herself every one of them.

Surely, Luca will have a plan, something to offer Maximo in exchange.

I squeeze her hand. “We’ll get Isa back.”

The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them. I don’t know how we’ll do it, or what it will take, but I can’t sit here and let Mamma believe we’ve already lost her.

She searches my face, her eyes shining with tears.

“I hope so, Mia.”

My heart twists.

I want to believe hope will be enough, but deep down I know it won’t. If Isa is going to come home, someone has to get her out.

My thoughts drift to Maximo, to the quiet authority that seems to follow him wherever he goes and the way people obey him without question.

He has to help my sister.

The man I’d spent all afternoon trying to push out of my head and my life has suddenly become the one person I need most. The irony.

But Isa’s life may depend on him.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Maximo

The bass thrums through the floor beneath my feet as I enter our club. It stretches across three levels of one of our downtown buildings, all dark marble, smoked glass, and understated luxury.

Saturday nights are always busy. Exactly as they should be.

The crowd filling the dance floor sees one of Chicago’s most exclusive nightclubs. I see a profitable business in a prime location, owned by my family like so much else in this city.

Gabe and Rafa are already waiting near the entrance.

“About time,” Rafa says, pushing away from the wall.

“You’ve been here four minutes,” Gabe replies, pocketing his phone.

“I stand by my statement.”

I ignore them both as we step inside the roped-off VIP section. Every table here is occupied. The bar staff move with practiced efficiency, glasses never sitting empty for long. Good.

A movement behind the bar catches my eye. One of the bartenders pours eighteen-year-old Scotch straight into a tumbler, never bothering with the measure sitting inches from his hand. By the look of it, he’s just given away a quarter of the bottle’s profit margin.

“He’s overpouring.”

Rafa tracks my line of sight and gives a slight nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

I have capable people running every one of our businesses, but I still make these rounds myself. While I trust them to do their jobs, I still check.

For the first time in years, though, my thoughts drift somewhere they have no business being.

I see the anger in her brown eyes as clearly as if she’s standing beside me. She looked at me as though I’d betrayed her.

But Caterina deserved to tell her daughter that she was engaged. It was never my place to take that moment from her, nor to correct every assumption Mia chose to make. I’d warned her often enough that she wasn’t returning to Sicily. She’d simply refused to believe me.

A waiter brushes past carrying a tray of champagne flutes. One glass wobbles dangerously before he steadies it at the last second. He needs more practice before working a Saturday night shift.