Claiming What's Mine Page 3

  I have three brothers and a sister. There are dozens of cousins, aunts, and uncles in Chicago, New York, and Italy. Second and third cousins are considered family just as much as immediate ones. The Valentinis are a big, noisy, close-knit Italian family.

  And I love it.

  I can’t imagine my life any other way. Everyone is always in each other’s business. That’s just the way it is. I can understand how it could be overwhelming if you aren’t used to that kind of chaos. But Grace has thrown herself into the mix. It’s amazing how well she fits in.

  Since it’s been a few years since Francesca got married and I’m as far from taking a walk down the aisle as you can get, Mama was overjoyed at the prospect of planning another wedding. Grace seems equally thrilled that my mother has commandeered the event.

  “Did I mention that Teresa and I met with the wedding planner last week, just two days after Matteo proposed?” With shining eyes, she continues, “Can you believe he was able to squeeze us in on such short notice? Kenneth McKenzie is one of the most sought-after wedding planners in Chicago.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.” I laugh at her naiveté. My mother was on the phone with Kenneth making tentative arrangements right after Matteo picked out Grace’s ring. Mama is lucky that Grace is so easy going. Otherwise, they would end up butting heads.

  “I’m so grateful that she’s helping me with all this,” she says softly. “I’d be completely lost and wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Her words tug at my heartstrings. Mama has been a strong force in my life. Wanting to offer comfort, I slip an arm around Grace. “I’m sorry. It must be difficult not having your mother here to help plan the wedding.”

  Grace smiles, but it doesn’t reach her blue eyes. “It’s been more than two years, and the loss of them still feels tender. I miss them the most at times like these.” Lost in her own thoughts, she falls silent for a moment. “Your parents have been so kind and welcoming. I’m thankful for that.” Putting on a brave face, Grace forces another smile. “It’s impossible to be sad when I have so many wonderful new people filling my life.”

  Her gaze sweeps across the backyard, where a huge white tent has been erected for today’s festivities. Space heaters are discreetly placed throughout the area in case the weather doesn’t cooperate.

  Thankfully, it has.

  It might be late April, but you never know what you’re going to get in the Midwest. The weather is unpredictable and often changes in the blink of an eye. It could be sunny and warm one day and snowy the next.

  “And just look at this party!” Grace exclaims in an awed tone. “How did your mother pull all this together so quickly?”

  “It’s one of her many talents,” I joke.

  Sparkling crystal chandeliers hang from the tent’s ceiling. Fifteen round tables filled with vasefuls of pink and white roses are arranged beneath them. Rectangular white-clothed tables line one of the sides, laden with meats, cheeses, breads, and pasta dishes that are kept warm in silver chafing dishes. Another table boasts a display of delicate desserts. I’ve been eyeing the tiramisu for at least an hour. Waiters in black tuxedos circulate throughout the space, armed with polished serving trays full of champagne. A string quartet tucked into a corner adds ambiance to the celebration.

  I have to hand it to my mother. Once again, she’s pulled off a perfect event. She’s a mastermind at these kinds of affairs. She probably doesn’t need Kenneth’s help, but she adores him. My gaze lands on Mama, who’s surrounded by a dozen or so guests. She has an infectious personality that attracts people to her like bees to honey. Even though this gathering isn’t in her honor, she’s in her element as mother of the groom.

  Family from New York flew in for this occasion. Franco and his family also stopped by to extend their congratulations. I catch sight of my friend and wave. He smiles in return. I hope we can carve out a few hours to catch up before he leaves. With both of us working full-time and living in separate cities, we aren’t able to spend as much time together.

  As I continue studying the thick crowd, I’m jolted into awareness by dark, brooding eyes that are focused on me. The moment our gazes collide, a jolt of electricity shoots through my body, rendering me powerless to turn away.

  No matter how many times I’ve tried desensitizing myself to Roman Santori’s presence, my reaction is always swift and powerful. It’s like the rest of the world falls away, leaving just the two of us.

  Why him?

  What is it about this man that attracts me like no other?

  My fingers rise of their own accord and feather across my lips as our gazes stay locked from across the distance separating us. I’ve replayed that kiss on the staircase landing more than a thousand times in my head.

  Over a year later, I still don’t understand why he kissed me. No matter how much I secretly longed for a repeat performance, nothing has happened. If anything, Roman’s become colder and more standoffish. I didn’t think it was possible, but it is.

  I keep hoping I’ll outgrow my infatuation with Roman, but it hasn’t happened yet. I’m beginning to wonder if it ever will, which sucks. I don’t want to be hung up on a guy who can’t even be pleasant when our paths cross.

  When I meet new guys, I automatically compare them to Roman. The kiss we shared has ruined me for all other men. And it blew every other kiss I’ve experienced into oblivion.

  If Roman intended to teach me a lesson, his attempt backfired spectacularly. Instead of driving me away, it’s deepened my attraction to him.

  I want him more now than ever before.

  Grace clears her throat, and I realize that I’m still staring at Roman, who, along with my brothers, Giovanni, Matteo, and Niko, flank my father. Roman has become my father’s right-hand man over the course of the last three years by making himself indispensable to the organization.

  When I remain silent, she nudges me with her elbow. “So, Roman, huh?”

  Heat suffuses my cheeks. This is one of those times when I’m glad I have olive-toned skin. A blush isn’t nearly as noticeable as on someone with a creamy complexion. Like Grace, for instance. Matteo seems to take pride in bringing the color out in her fair cheeks.

  I look away from Roman and scoff, “Of course not,” wincing as the lie rolls off my tongue.

  She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

  I draw myself up to my full height. “I couldn’t be more certain.”

  Grace and I have spent a lot of time getting to know one another during the six months she’s been with Matteo. I’ve kept my feelings for Roman under strict lock and key even though we’ve grown close.

  There’s no point in mentioning them.

  Roman isn’t interested in me. He’s done everything in his power to prove how inconsequential my existence is to him. After years of frigid looks and abrupt dismissals, it seems pathetic that I can’t get over him and move on with my life.

  “I don’t know,” Grace muses. “He looks awfully interested to me.”

  My gaze darts in his direction before I can stop it.

  Thankfully, Matteo ends the conversation when he sneaks up behind Grace and wraps his arms around her.

  My heart melts as I watch him pull her in for a backward hug. I’m happy that he’s found a woman so perfectly suited to him.

  When he nuzzles her ear, I pretend to gag.

  Okay, maybe it’s not pretend.

  Their overly affectionate manner is enough to make anyone nauseous.

  And jealous, too.

  Chapter Five

  Roman continually snags my attention throughout the afternoon even though I try my hardest to avoid staring at him. There isn’t a moment when I’m not aware of every move he makes. My eyes track him everywhere he goes.

  After dinner, Grace and Matteo open their gifts. I glimpse Roman exiting the tent as my brother holds up a silver picture frame for everyone to see. Acting on impulse, I head toward the house after him.

  We haven’t spoken a
word to one another even though our gazes have connected several times throughout the afternoon. By unspoken agreement, we avoid interaction at all costs. Since that unexpected kiss took place, arm’s length has grown to yards.

  Roman moves fluidly through the thick crowd and slips out the back door. No one notices him except for me. I notice everything about him.

  Pulling open the French door, I glance around the Tuscan-style kitchen with its dark cherry cabinets and sand-colored granite countertops. Roman is nowhere to be found. Instead of moving toward the living room, where guests are conversing in loud, exuberant voices, I turn toward the wing that houses my father’s office as well as the security room that contains surveillance monitors for the entire property. I have a feeling that’s where Roman’s headed.

  Moving away from the revelry, noise gives way to silence. As I approach Papa’s office, I notice that the door is ajar, which is unusual because my father is paranoid about security and keeps it locked at all times.

  I push open the door and peek around the corner, scanning the inside of the wood-paneled room. An antique mahogany desk sits prominently in the center. A massive fieldstone fireplace occupies the far end. Built-in bookshelves line the opposite wall, filled with old leather-bound volumes that Papa has been collecting since he was a child.

  My father has a deep appreciation for the classics and has instilled the same in his children. I remember running my fingers over the worn spines before selecting a novel, eagerly devouring the words on each page, and then sitting down with him to discuss my thoughts. We would spend an entire evening in the matching leather chairs with a fire roaring in the grate, cups of hot cocoa and a bowl of buttery popcorn on the end table between us.

  Those are some of my most cherished childhood memories of Papa. The best thing about them is that they have nothing to do with Enzo, the mafia crime boss. They’re about a father and daughter bonding over their shared love of a well-told story.

  Leaving the door open, I step into the empty room. The air is still, as if it hasn’t been disturbed for some time. Roman may have turned down this hallway, but he didn’t stop here.

  Disappointment fills me, snapping me out of my daydream.

  Oh my God, did I really follow Roman hoping to find him?

  I blow out a long, slow breath.

  I’m irritated with myself for not thinking about the ramifications of my actions and for following my instincts instead of using better judgment. I say a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t stumble across him. The muscles in my abdomen clench uncomfortably at the thought because he wouldn’t have been happy to see me.

  More like angry and irritated. Any conversation that would have taken place between us wouldn’t have been pleasant.

  I rub my temples in frustration. When am I going to get over this stupid infatuation and get on with my life? My feelings for him aren’t healthy. I should rejoin the party and pretend this little lapse in judgment never happened.

  “What are you doing in here?” a voice thunders.

  I jump and whirl around, finding Roman looming in the doorway. His jaw looks like it’s been carved from stone. The muscles of his body are coiled tight, as if he’s on the cusp of attack.

  All the thoughts circling madly around in my head flee. I gape in surprise as he studies me with hooded eyes.

  He breaks the silence by biting out, “I asked what you’re doing in here, Sofia.”

  Sofia.

  The sound of my name sliding from his lips echoes in my head.

  “I…” I trail off and clear my throat to give myself more time to come up with a believable excuse as to why I’m in Papa’s office while he’s outside entertaining guests.

  I can’t tell Roman that I came here searching for him. He won’t like it. I don’t want to imagine his response when he’s already pissed.

  Looking impatient, Roman arches a brow.

  “My father asked me to retrieve a box of cigars from the humidor,” I blurt, my palms damp with anxiety.

  His stoic expression never wavers. I can’t tell if he believes me or not. His steady gaze could burn holes through me. My heart hammers against my ribcage, the noise filling my ears in the deafening silence.

  “Is that so?” he asks mockingly, making me wonder if he hears it, too.

  “Yes.” I swallow down the knot of apprehension in my throat and force myself to move toward the handcrafted wood and glass box in the corner. Opening the door, I select a box of Bolivar Belicosos. They’re pricey, but not in comparison to some of the hand-rolled Montecristos in Papa’s collection. “I believe these were the ones he asked for.”

  Not wanting to give Roman an opportunity to poke holes through my lie, I turn toward the door.

  Roman doesn’t move as I approach the exit. The closer I get, the harder I pray that he’ll step aside. But he doesn’t. His eyes stay locked on mine until I squirm with unease. The office is generous in size, but Roman’s presence shrinks it, making it feel oppressive. As if there’s not enough space for the pair of us to breathe.

  I clear my throat again and summon strength, hoping it will make me appear unfazed. “I should really get these cigars to him.” I internally flinch at how my voice came out as a husky whisper instead of its normal tone.

  He shifts slightly but doesn’t abandon his post. My fight or flight response kicks in as if I’m in imminent danger. I want to flee. I’m not a fighter. I never have been.

  I’m ill-equipped to deal with whatever game Roman’s playing. I don’t have nearly enough weapons in my arsenal when it comes to him. I allow my instincts to take over every time. I always give in to the need pumping through my veins and end up hurt because he doesn’t want me. He never has, and the sooner I realize it, the better off I’ll be. It’s time to stop the madness.

  All I have to do is get out of here. Then I can hide the cigars in my room and replace them at a later time. The party should begin winding down soon. I can make the rounds quickly to say goodbye to everyone before taking off.

  Gathering my courage, I shoot past Roman. As I do, he plucks the box of Bolivar Belicosos from my hand. I stop, staring at him in shock. “What are you doing?”

  “I was on my way to see Enzo. I’ll bring them out to him myself,” he says with a smirk. “No need to trouble yourself, princess.” His eyes stay locked on mine, the challenge glinting in them evident.

  Ignoring the nickname that always manages to prick my temper, I swallow my panic. “No, he asked me to get them.”

  I make a swipe for the cigars, and he jerks them out of my reach. Anger stings my cheeks as I come away with nothing but air.

  Goddamn it!

  My mind spins. Clearly, Roman suspects that my father never asked for the cigars or he wouldn’t bother with them.

  Or me.

  Desperate to get the box back, I inch closer. I’m tall, but there’s no way for me to reach it unless I close the distance separating us. My body brushes against his, and he stills.

  Roman’s stance changes, his muscles bunching and tensing as if he’s gone on high alert. His fingers lock around my wrist, and he pushes me away. “No.”

  The simple word cracks like thunder in the dark room.

  I stiffen at the harshness in his voice.

  A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I don’t want you touching me.”

  Stung by the ugly words, my mouth falls open. I wrench my hand out of his grip and step away from him. He’s not the only one who needs distance. Hurt floods through every fiber of my being. I fight back the tears filling my eyes.

  My voice quivers as I hiss, “You’re a bastard.” It feels good to lash out at him. I want to inflict just as much damage on him as he’s wreaked on me throughout the years.

  Relief softens his carved features. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Whatever you do, princess, don’t forget it.”

  Surprised by his spite, I spit, “I hate you.”

  Right now, I hate Roman more than I’ve ever hated anyone.

  �
��Good.”

  With that, I run out of the room, my father’s cigars forgotten. All the joy from celebrating my brother’s engagement is gone.

  When will I learn that Roman Santori is nothing more than a cold, heartless bastard? If I have any brains whatsoever, this will be the final straw. This will be the day I move on with my life and put Roman in the past where he belongs.

  Chapter Six

  “Sofia, what’s wrong?” My mother sets down the large platter she’s holding on the kitchen island and takes a closer look at me. “Have you been crying?”

  She’s not aware of the feelings I have for Roman, nor do I want her to be. I feel like a fool after what happened in Papa’s office. The last thing I want is her pity. It will make me feel worse.

  I also know that if I tell her what happened with Roman, she’ll have him fired immediately. Or worse. Roman has become a valuable asset to the organization over the years. My father heavily depends on him. My brothers assist Papa when needed, but none of them are interested in taking over when he decides to step down because they have their own business ventures to run. Causing problems for Roman will cause problems for my father if the person he wants to pass the reins to is no longer an option.

  And I’m not interested in going there. Roman Santori isn’t worth the effort, and part of me recognizes I’m somewhat at fault for what occurred.

  “Of course not.” I give my mother a quick hug and paste on a smile. It’s forced, but it’s the best I can muster under the circumstances. I just want to limp home and lick my wounds. I need to bury my feelings for Roman so deep inside me that they can never be unearthed. I hate that he ruined Grace and Matteo’s engagement party for me. It should be a day of celebration. Instead, I’m hell-bent on escaping from my home and family as quickly as possible. “I wanted to say goodbye before I leave.”

  Her face falls. “But it’s still early.”

  Biting my lip, I nod. “I know, and I’m sorry. I have some work to finish up for school tomorrow.” Wanting to change the subject before she can pelt me with more questions, I add, “It was a lovely party, Mama. Grace and Matteo seem very happy.”