Page 80 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Luca

I enter Aldo Marino’s dining room the next morning.

I slept in one of his guest bedrooms only because Caterina made me, but guilt gnawed at me.

How could I rest when Isa was in Hale’s hands?

It felt obscene, a luxury. But Caterina Accardi looked me in the eye and told me I was no use to Isa if I collapsed. And I was too tired to argue. Two days awake had hollowed me out.

I hit the pillow and dropped straight through it.

But sleep was a trap. Isa was there waiting. Behind bars. Behind glass. Her hands bruised against chains.

That dome over Hale’s hall turned into a lid, sealing her in, shutting me out. I woke twice with the taste of iron in my mouth and my fists clenched like I’d been fighting something in the dark.

Now the morning smells of coffee and sun on old timberwork. My head still feels split, but clearer, like I’ve crawled partway back into myself. I follow the scent into the breakfast room.

Mia is at the table, pushing food around her plate, restlessness radiating from her.

“Wow,” I say before I can stop myself. “You’re all grown up. ”

Of course, I’ve seen Isa’s sister on camera footage over the years, but in person she’s sharper. The same bone structure, the same dark eyes, but polished into something more dangerous, more certain of herself. Beautiful, though Isa will always eclipse her in my eyes.

Her fork clatters down onto the plate as she jumps up and rushes over, throwing her arms around me.

“Oh my God, Luca. Mamma told me this morning you were here. I can’t believe it.”

She steps back and gives me a once-over, head to toe. “Look at you. You’re so much older…”

I roll my eyes. Same brat she always was.

“…and even more handsome than before,” she adds quickly, with a grin.

“Nice save.”

The banter lands like a Band-Aid over raw skin. For a second, it lets me forget the fury, guilt, and gnawing worry.

“It’s been so long,” she says, hugging me a second time, tighter.

“Five years.”

“Don’t I know it.” Her smile falters, something more fragile breaking through. “Isa pined for you for most of them.”

Her voice tightens when she adds, “Mamma told me what happened.”

I raise an eyebrow. I expected Caterina to shield her other daughters from more drama. They’ve had their fair share over the past few months.

“She cried,” Mia explains. “I’ve never seen her like that. So she had to tell me.”

She fixes me with a stare that’s pure steel, every bit her father’s daughter, not that I would ever tell her that.

“Get Isa back,” she says. Not a plea. A command.

“I will.” It’s a promise I intend to keep, even if it’s the last thing I do.

Mia studies me, ready to call out a lie if she spots it.

Whatever she sees, it’s enough, and some of her tension drains from her shoulders.

“Are you and Isa really married?” she asks, incredulous, then leans in to whisper. “What happened to Sebastian?”

So she knew about the bastard. Not surprising. Isa and Mia are close.

My tone ices over. I don’t need reminding she nearly became his.

“He’s no longer in the picture.” Or on this earth.

“What did you do to him?” she presses, curiosity plain.

I’m spared from answering when Caterina arrives for coffee, immaculate as always, though the faint red rims of her eyes betray her. She did cry.

She kisses Mia’s temple, then mine, a touch light as breath. Her smile is brave, but thin.

Aldo appears in the doorway.

“Maximo is here,” he says without greeting. His gaze shifts to Mia. “Go greet Don Marcos and bring him to my office.”

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 about my daughter,” 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 said I will handle it.” Already he turns toward the hall, shutting down further argument.

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 motion is 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.

Eyes locked, gaze hungry. The kind of hunger that strips a person bare and makes them feel it.

A storm coils between them, unfinished, charged, dangerous.

What the hell is that about?

Mia forces out a syrupy, sarcastic goodbye, then slips out. My gaze lingers on the door even after she’s gone. Something in the way she looked at him, like she wanted to claw his face off and kiss him senseless all at once.

I’m not sure what the two of them are or what’s been going on since Caterina and her daughters came to Chicago. I saw his interest in Mia through the feeds at Don De Marco’s memorial service, and it seems to have only grown.

Whatever this is, I know dangerous chemistry when I see it.

Aldo stands. “Don Marcos.”

Maximo turns to him before his eyes land on me.

Let the games begin.