Page 19 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

He shrugs. “Some men like piss. Some men likeworse. Me, I just like power.”

“Men are weak,” I say, and he grins.

“Yes, we are. For all the pleasures in life.”

“Can you take me back to the bedroom?”

His hand on my elbow is warm. “You’re notenjoying our conversation.”

“If you keep me tied up, I’ll enjoy nothing.”

“Oh,gattina. I beg to differ.”

But even with ominous words hanging betweenus, he waits while I settle onto my side on the bed, and leaves, locking thedoor behind him.

***

It’s Antonio who removes the zip tie from mywrists when it’s time to eat. I don't get to join them in the dining room.Instead, he brings me a bowl of pasta and some grapes and sits in a chair towatch me eat. The pasta is really good. Spaghetti coated in a deliciousgarlicky tangy tomato sauce infused with basil and a little lemon., topped withpungently strong parmesan, just the way I like it. I wolf it down with littlefinesse, even though my shoulders are screaming, and my hands barely work.

“Slowly,” Antionio says. “I know it’s good,but I don't want you to choke.”

“Who made it?” I lick my lips like a wolf.“Maybe I should ask for the recipe.”

“I did,” he says.

I stare at the brute of a man who makes thenormal sized chair he’s sitting in look like something from a kid’s playhouse.His hands are scarred, his expression always dark like he’s loaded up with aweight of sin too heavy for any one man to carry. He’s the Venturi enforcer.The one who handles the problems with only one option left. My mother told methe stories of these brothers. How Mario was the lover, Luca the ruler, Alexisthe joker and Antonio the assassin.

Except he doesn’t seem like an assassin. He’stoo big to be stealthy, too stoic to be cunning. It’s stupid to believe that aman who can create such delicious food shouldn’t be able to destroy life likeit's nothing, but I was never top of my class. Too distracted by my life toconcentrate.

“Do you share your recipes?” I ask.

“No one has ever asked me to.”

“Well, maybe, when you let me go, you canwrite it down for me. Every time I make it, I’ll think of you.”

His face remains impassive but his cold steeleyes flicker, and I look away, my heart making a painful thud in my chest.Maybe they won’t ever let me go. If my father fails to respond to my beggingplea, they won’t just release me. Everything is riding on my father, a man whodidn’t have a reliable bone in his body and who hated a defenseless child. Ilower my fork and drop it in the bowl, my appetite lost.

I push away the tray and curl on my side inthe bed, burying my face in the pillow. Tears scorch a trail of fire in mythroat, but I don’t let them win. I swallow them down and wait.

“Aemelia,” Antonio says in a voice that’ssoft, coaxing.

“I thought I wasn’t Aemelia anymore. I thoughtI was nameless. A kitten. Stupidgattina. Nothing else.”

“I’ll give you my mother’s recipe,” he says ashe lifts the tray from the bed. When he leaves the room, I let the tears floodout of me until I’m wrung out and I slip into a fitful sleep.

***

I wake with a gasp, heart hammering, thenightmare still clinging to me like cobwebs. Fire, the sound of screaming, ofgunfire, of my mother crying out my name—

I bolt upright, breath coming fast and ragged,fingers clutching the comforter like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.My throat is tight, and my skin is damp with sweat.

And then I realize I’m not alone.

Antonio is sitting at the edge of the bed,watching me.

For a second, I can’t move. He’s too close,the shadows cloaking him in unreadable darkness. His hands rest on his knees,broad and strong, fingers curled loosely. He doesn’t look surprised that I wokeup.

“What—” My voice cracks. I swallow hard. “Whatare you doing here?”

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