Page 23 of Claimed At First Sight

“We need to find Mari,” I say, tugging Isa toward the stairs. “And fast. But don’t tell her about this… this… I can’t even call it a proposal. It was more like a declaration of ownership.”

Isa nods, keeping pace with me as we head back toward the noise of the memorial. “Agreed. She has enough to deal with tonight.”

I scan the faces of the people around us, determined to evade one particular person.

“I’m done talking about Maximo Marco. The man’s a walking red flag wrapped in a five-thousand-dollar suit.”

“And yet, he thinks he’s a gift,” Isa chuckles.

“Well, he can gift his smug ass right off this island,” I mutter. “Ideally into a volcano. Isn’t Mount Etna due for an eruption?”

Isa laughs, and I give her a sideways glance, my mouth twitching.

“You’d help push him in, wouldn’t you?”

“With pleasure.”

That gets a real smile out of me. “Sisters who bury bodies together…”

“Stay out of prison together,” Isa finishes.

She loops her arm through mine. “Come on, let’s find Mari before someone else tries to claim you like a prize goat at auction.”

“Or a broodmare,” I add with a shudder. “Ugh, I need a shower after that conversation.”

Chapter Seven

Mialina

Ididn’t sleep a wink last night. My mind wouldn’t shut up after everything I learned on that terrace.

I told Mari and Mamma all about the latest revelations, though I kept Maximo’s perfect solution for my dilemma to myself. It felt too much like an insult to repeat out loud.

They were just as shocked as Isa and I were. Mamma hadn’t known about any of it, but that’s hardly a surprise. Father told her nothing. He only ever presented facts to her when they were already written in stone.

Mari promised to talk with Mateo and get to the bottom of the Irish connection. That can’t happen fast enough.

I clutch my mug of coffee tighter, needing the caffeine to stay upright.

If a contract with the Irish really exists, there has to be a way out of it. I refuse to be sold off.

Not now, when I can finally see a version of the future where I’m independent. But even as the thought forms, the reality of our world follows it. There is no walking away from la famiglia. Well, not alive anyway.

What would I actually do with the rest of my life if I don’t marry someone from our circle?

Maximo was right about one thing. It is what I’ve been raised for.

Father made sure we learned everything we needed to know to become good Mafia wives and very little else. Anything that didn’t fit into that future was discouraged.

I remember the way he sneered at Mari’s sketches, calling her interest in fashion design a useless, frivolous activity that led to no good. No daughter of his would make clothes. He viewed it as something far beneath our station.

Our station. As if we were back in the eighteen hundreds.

I move into the garden of Mateo’s estate, seeking the quiet. I love it here. The grounds are vast, but it’s the rose garden that always calls to me.

I sit down on a stone bench and admire the few lingering blooms. Winters in Sicily are mild enough that buds are still opening, their deep colors vivid against the healthy green foliage.

Maybe I’ll become a florist. I’ve always loved flowers. Spending every day surrounded by them doesn’t sound like the worst way to make a living.