Page 212 of Mine Again
The second his attention turns to her mother, Mia rolls her eyes, then smooths her expression and slips out. The air changes with her absence, like heat pulled from the room.
“I’m coming to the meeting,” Caterina says.
Aldo shakes his head. “No. This is men’s business.”
Something cold passes between them. Caterina holds his gaze, regal as ever, then steps forward with the kind of composure that makes men remember their place.
“Do not forget who is at stake here, Aldo. This is aboutmydaughter,” she says quietly. “I have a right to be there.”
“I have not forgotten, my love,” he answers, his tone unyielding. “And I will handle it.”
Her lower lip trembles before she steels it away, glancing aside as if to collect herself. When she looks back, her breath catches, and she tries again.
“Aldo, please—”
“No, Caterina.” He cuts her off, sharper this time. “I saidIwill handle it.” Already he turns toward the hall, shutting down furtherargument.
He looks at me. “You coming?”
I follow him in silence, not liking that I’ve caused tension between Caterina and Aldo.
After her marriage to Isa’s father and years of enduring his cruelty, she deserves happiness. From the times I watched the house feeds while she spoke with Aldo, she looked freer than I’d ever seen her. And I believe he would be good for her.
Unlike her dead husband, Aldo takes vows seriously and abides by a code of honor.
We enter his office without another word.
I want to pace, but refuse to show nerves. Maximo Marcos exploits weakness.
Instead, I plant myself at the window, fists flexing at my sides, dread gnawing that I’m running out of time.
Isa is out there with that bastard, and every wasted minute is like another tick against her life.
Aldo settles into his leather chair, as calm as if this were any other business meeting. Maybe it is to him.
The quick tap of heels echoes down the hall. Voices follow, Mia’s lilt underscored by the deeper rumble of Maximo Marcos.
I’ve had no dealings with him until now, but I’ve heard the stories. His reputation for ruthless dominance precedes him. They say he walks into a room like he owns it. And perhaps he does. He’s the Don of Chicago, after all.
There’s a knock, and the door opens. Mia sweeps in first, her expression bright with mock-sweetness.
“Your lord and master, sir,” she says to Aldo, the words dripping with sarcasm.
Aldo scowls at her in warning. Clearly, he’s had a taste of her sass before.
Under normal circumstances, I’d laugh. Internally, at least. Mia’s always been a firecracker.
Then Maximo steps in. Dark suit, built on his frame. Every motionis deliberate. Not polished like Aldo, but raw. A different breed of predator, more instinctive.
I don’t acknowledge him at first. My attention catches on something else entirely.
The second Mia crossed the threshold and he followed, the air shifted. Static and heat, taut as a drawn bowstring.
She doesn’t look at him, but her fingers twitch at her side, betraying her nerves.
And him?
His focus is on her.
