Page 107 of Claimed At First Sight

“You made yourself vulnerable today,” Aldo says. “First by dismissing your security, and then by climbing onto the back of a motorcycle driven by someone you barely know.”

Heat flashes through me.

“Rory isn’t a stranger.”

Maximo’s gaze never leaves mine. “You only met her yesterday.”

“So? She’s not a serial killer.”

“That’s your defense?”

His tone remains eerily calm, which only irritates me more.

“Nothing happened.”

“That doesn’t make your decision intelligent.”

I glare at him.

“You carry a name that makes it unsafe for you to be out and about in the city alone,” Mamma tries again. “Your sisters do too—”

“Nobody knows who I am here,” I cut in.

Aldo exhales through his nose, as if he saw that response coming.

“You’re wrong. Our enemies watch us closely. The Romeros will know by now that you are here. And that means the Irish who have a wedding contract with you, do as well.”

“Oh.” The word slips out before I can stop it. Because that part, unfortunately, makes sense.

Dammit. I hate when sensible people ruin perfectly good arguments.

Maximo takes another slow step forward.

“You will not do it again.”

The tone he’s using rubs me the wrong way.

A moment ago, I might even have agreed with their reasoning. But this?

“You don’t get to dictate what I do,” I fire back.

“While you are in Chicago and under my protection, you will do as you’re told.”

Oh, he didn’t just say that. I’m not one of his subjects.

Misogynistic, dictatorial ass… bastard… tyrant.

Thankfully, I possess enough self-preservation not to say that out loud.

Or maybe not.

“You know what?”

My laugh comes out sharp.

“Go to hell.”

Chapter Thirty