Page 24 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

“For Rosita.”

“Don’t even fucking joke about that, Alexis,you stupid fuck. I’d cut my own heart out of my chest for her. You know that.”

“Me, too,” I say. “Me, too.”

When I hang up the phone, I consider what willhappen if Carlo doesn’t come back. How will Aemelia feel to know her own fatherwouldn’t give up his life for hers? The thought of her having to face thatsadness and humiliation makes me sick to my stomach.

What do we have in this life if we let go ofour honor and our family?

9

LUCA

HIGH STAKES

Our casino is a place of indulgence, withevery detail designed to overwhelm the senses. It hums with temptation, vice,the electric charge of risk. The air is thick with the scent of expensivecigars, aged whiskey, and the faintest trace of desperation from those whodon’t know when to walk away. Neon lights flicker against polished ebonyfloors, the walls are lined with deep mahogany paneling, offset by decadentgold accents that gleam under the glow of recessed lighting. High above, aceiling painted midnight blue stretches like an endless sky, tiny fiber-opticlights twinkling like stars.

The tables are sleek, their surfaces inlaidwith mother-of-pearl, their edges gilded. The croupiers, masters of the house,move with practiced precision—women in slinky velvet dresses, men in sharplytailored suits that fit like armor. Their smiles are enigmatic, their handsquick and deft as they deal fate with the flick of a wrist.

A murmur of excitement fills the space, thelow laughter of high rollers, the quiet gasps of losers who bet too much, therhythmic clink of chips stacking up in towers or scattering like lost hopes.

This is more than a casino. It’s a battlefieldwhere fortunes are made and broken in the span of a single hand. The housealways wins, and tonight, as ever, we rake in more than we pay out.

I stand near the main bar, the scent oftop-shelf whiskey and expensive perfume thick in the air, surveying our domain,the beating heart of the Venturi empire. Marco Venturi, my cousin and thecasino’s manager, steps up beside me, nursing a lowball glass of bourbon. Hedoesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“EnzoLambretti’snot happy about the video,” he says, voice pitched low so only I can hear.

I lift my glass, swirling the amber liquidbefore taking a slow sip. “Do I look like I care?” He gulps from his glass. Iadd, “Is Enzo ever happy?”

Marco snorts, his sharp hazel eyes, the sameas our fathers’, and Alexis’, sweep the room. “He’s got reason to be pissed.”

Good. Let him be pissed. He’s not guilty ofCarlo’s crimes. They weren’t even part of the same family, but he carries thesame name. I tap my fingers against the side of my glass, calculating. If Enzois reacting like this, it means our message landed. Now, we just need to seewhat shakes loose.

“I'll send Antonio to him,” I say. “Tell himto see what Enzo knows. And make sure Enzo understands we’re not fuckingaround. If he steps out of line—”

Marco nods, but before he can respond, a shiftin the room’s energy draws both our attention.

Alfonso Mesina strides into the casino,flanked by his brother, his cousin, and three members of his crew. The Mesinasmove like they own the place with a swagger that grates my nerves.

“Trouble?” Marco murmurs.

“Maybe.” I watch as they make their way to theVIP lounge.

Alfonso settles into a corner booth, his menfanning out around him, some ordering drinks from a server who quickly attendsto them, others scanning the crowd like they’re expecting an ambush. I don’tlike it. Not one fucking bit.

Time to find out why they’re here.

I finish my drink and make my way toward them,adjusting the cuffs of my jacket as I go. When I reach their table, Alfonsoleans back, draping an arm over the back of the leather booth like he’ssettling in for a long conversation.

“Luca Venturi,” he drawls, flashing atoo-white grin. “What a pleasure.”

I offer a polite nod, keeping my expressionneutral. “Alfonso. You should’ve told me you were coming. Drinks are on thehouse tonight.”

His brother, Domenico, chuckles as he lifts aglass of whiskey. “Already making good on that offer, Venturi.”

I smirk, waving a hand to the passingwaitress. “Another round.”

Alfonso studies me, his dark eyes glitteringwith something unreadable. “I heard you’ve been busy lately. Something about acertain girl.”

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