Page 39 of Claimed At First Sight

“Then he should’ve arrived seven minutes ago.”

I ignore the comment and step farther into the room. “You look well.”

“I taught you to lie better than that.”

A faint smile touches my mouth.

“Your grandfather chose me carefully,” Father says after a moment.

The room quiets instinctively.

“He had no sons. Only Celia.” His attention shifts to my mother’s portrait. “He understood that blood and legacy matter. So he chose a Sicilian capable of carrying his empire forward.”

I’ve heard the story before, but this afternoon the words land differently. Because now they belong to me too.

“An empire survives because the men in power think beyond themselves,” Father continues. “Beyond desire and convenience. A bloodline dies quickly when a man stops planning beyond his own lifetime.” His gaze bores into mine. “A Don without heirs endangers everything that came before him.”

The expectations that shaped him are settling fully onto my shoulders now.

“You’ll need a wife, Maximo.”

My answer comes easily. “I’m handling it. There’ll be a wedding here soon.”

All three of my brothers look at me. Rafa’s brows lift. Curiosity sharpens behind Gabe’s eyes as several pieces apparently shift into place at once. Even Remo glances up from his tablet.

Father studies me for a long moment.

“I hope you don’t mean the Bellandi girl. I’m not convinced she has what it takes.”

“It’s not her.”

His gaze sharpens.

“We’ll have Sicilian blood in the family again. Leonardi blood.”

Something in his expression eases. “Good.”

He doesn’t ask for a name. He doesn’t need to. The Leonardi line is old enough that he knows exactly what it means.

Mia’s face flashes through my mind. Her warm brown eyes, quick tongue, and sun-kissed skin.

Without warning, Father places both hands against the armrests of his chair. Rafa straightens, ready to step closer.

“I’ve got it,” Father says.

He rises slowly and deliberately. The effort costs him. I see it in the tightening around his mouth and the pause as he steadies himself beside the desk. But even diminished, there’s something deeply imposing about him.

His attention returns to me. “Sit.”

For the first time in my life, the command isn’t directed at one of the chairs opposite the desk. He means his seat.

The room stills completely.

The chair behind the desk belonged to my grandfather before Father occupied it. Nearly a century of power has sat there, shaping this empire, ordering deaths, and forging alliances.

I cross the room. Father takes up his cane and steps aside.

The leather creaks softly as I lower myself into the chair.