Page 14 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

“She’sLambrettifilth,” Alexis drawls. “Her worthless father deserted her. What does that makeher?”

“A pawn in a game she never chose to play,” Iremind him.

“Unfortunate.”

Yes. He’s right. All of this is unfortunate. “I’mgoing to bed.”

“Vito and Andre are stationed outside.”

I nod, already leaving him behind. If there’sone thing I don’t have to worry about, it’s security. This building is a shinyfortress of my design, riddled with secret passages. Anyone foolish enough tothink they can break through its defenses will find themselves drowning indisappointment.

As I pass Aemelia’s room, the soft sound ofher crying carries through the locked door. I pause, remembering her whimpersand tears from so many years ago, and the way it broke my heart to witness herchildish pain. And now? Now, her tears are salt water in the wound her fathercreated. But still they snag at my cold, dead heart.

Women. They wield power they don’t realizethey have. Power that they don’t deserve.

I walk away.

***

Morning brings with it fresh resolve.

Before I take a shower, Antonio confirms thatCarmellaLambrettiis clear on the status of herdaughter's safety. She begged and pleaded with Rafa, dropping to her knees toclasp at his ankles, wailing like a banshee.

“She says she doesn’t know where Carlo is?”

“Did Rafa believe her?”

“Yes. He says she’d have done anything to gether daughter back. She’s not hiding her husband.”

I nod. It’s what I thought, but it’s good tohave confirmation.

“So, we do what we need to do.”

Antonio nods, already crisply dressed in hisdark uniform of expensive black sweater and dress pants. On his wrist glintsthe Rolex my father gave him for his eighteenth birthday, an expensive reminderof the family we’ve lost to this life.

“I’ll be ten minutes,” I say. “Make breakfastand get Aemelia up.”

“Okay.”

“Is her delivery here?”

“Andriana dropped it off in the night.”

“Good.”

He leaves me to shower and dress, and by thetime I emerge, smelling of Parisian cologne, Aemelia is sitting at the diningtable, her hair ratty with sleep, a piece of bread poised in her elegant hand.

Antonio has fixed an easy breakfast thatreminds me of Sicily—bread, cheese, olives, fruit, cured meat, olive oil,tomatoes, cucumber, and a pot of black coffee. I sit opposite Aemelia and beginto gather my meal.

She watches me as I dip bread in olive oil andcover it with thin prosciutto.

“Eat,” I tell her.

She takes a tentative bite of the bread andchews it like it’s cardboard. In reality, it’s soft and delicious, flavoredwith sesame.

Alexis strolls from his room, dressed in darkjeans and a polo shirt like he’s ready for a day at the mall. His feet arebare, and his floppy, wavy hair is still dripping from the shower. If I had theenergy, I’d lecture him like my father used to about discipline and people’sjudgement, but not in front of Aemelia. I won’t waste my breath. He is what heis and there’s no changing him.

He sits next to her, and she braces herself,her delicate arms pressing tight to her chest. Alexis reaches out to touch herunbound hair, letting a section run through his fingers. “Breakfast and abeautiful woman. I hit the jackpot this morning.”

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