Page 14 of Claimed At First Sight

She laughs softly. “You don’t sound impressed.”

“I’m Sicilian. If I fainted every time a tall man with a dark past walked into a room, I’d spend half my life unconscious on the floor.”

Her lips twitch around the rim of her glass.

Across the ballroom, Maximo exchanges greetings with the older men. There’s something telling about the interaction.

It’s not deference as such. These men are too powerful to bow. They’ve spent decades earning their place at the table. But there’s a distinct carefulness in the way they seem to speak to him. It’s like they’re weighing every word before letting it leave their mouths.

Meanwhile, Maximo remains entirely at ease. One of the capos says something that makes the others laugh. It’s that practiced, hearty sound men use to fill a room.

Maximo doesn’t join in. He doesn’t offer a polite chuckle to smooth over a silence. He takes a slow sip of his drink and replies a moment later with the calm confidence of a man who knows he’s being listened to.

“And he’s unmarried,” the woman beside me adds meaningfully, not taking her eyes off him either.

I nearly choke on my champagne. She’d like to be a candidate by the sound of it.

“Tragic for the female population, I’m sure.”

Maximo’s eyes land on me again. She notices, her gaze flicking between us with far too much interest for my liking.

“Excuse me,” I say to her, stepping away before she can say anything else.

I manage to take exactly two steps when a man appears beside me.

“Mialina Accardi, right?”

He’s handsome in the polished, carefully assembled way many mafia sons are. Expensive watch. Perfect suit. Too much confidence.

“That depends,” I reply. “Who’s asking?”

He smiles like he thinks I’m flirting. I wasn’t.

“Lorenzo Ricci,” he says, introducing himself.

I give him the polite smile I’ve been trained to use since birth.

“Are you enjoying the memorial?” he asks.

“That seems like a dangerous question, Lorenzo.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Because there’s no correct way to answer it without sounding mildly concerning.”

Lorenzo grins. “Fair point.”

“I try to make at least one per day.”

He laughs and unfortunately takes it as encouragement. As he continues talking, I feel that static in the air again. That awareness of Maximo.

I glance across the ballroom. He’s still standing with the capos, but his attention is fixed on us.

There’s nothing casual about the way he watches Lorenzo, who follows my line of sight. His sentence cuts off mid-word. A second later, he clears his throat and steps back.

“I should go say hello to someone.”

Huh?