Page 33 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

“Do you need me to drive?” I ask, worried hismind is elsewhere.

“No.” He lets out a ragged-sounding breath. “Idon’t want to think.”

“Look,” I say, smoothing my hands down mythighs. “What happened with Aemelia…”

I stop as he makes a desperate sound in histhroat.

“We shouldn’t…” He stops abruptly, the rest ofthe sentence becoming a gasp that he traps in his mouth.“Just put the damned radio on.”

“If she was Mario’s, we’d know,” I say. “We’dsee it in her. We’d recognize her.”

He nods, but there’s still a fraction of doubtin his mind and that’s all it takes to drive him crazy.

We drive across town in silence. The guncradled beneath my jacket is as warm as my body, ready for anything, but fromthe tension in the car, it’ll be Antonio who leads this discussion. When wepull up outside the dilapidated apartment block, we both peer up. So this iswhere Aemelia was staying. This place is a shit hole no one should live in, butcertainly not a woman like Aemelia. She deserves so much more; designerclothes, jewelry, cosmetics, the best that can be bought.

“Second floor,” he says, throwing the dooropen without looking around. Nothing like my cautious, suspicious brother.

I follow with my hand under my jacket, readybecause if Antonio isn’t on his game, someone has to be.

We step into the building, the stench ofmildew and cheap liquor clinging to the peeling walls. The hallway is dimlylit, a single flickering bulb casting long, eerie shadows. The elevator is outof service—no surprise—so we take the stairs, footsteps echoing with everystep.

When we reach the second floor, Antonio rapshis knuckles hard against a door marked with deep scratches, the number barelyhanging onto the wood. A shuffle sounds from inside, followed by the slow,deliberate slide of a chain lock.

The door cracks open an inch, and a thin,gaunt face peers out. A woman—mid-forties, maybe older, but life has taken itstoll. CarmellaLambretti.

Her eyes widen when she sees Antonio. “Venturi,”she breathes, voice rough from years of smoking.

“Open the door, Carmella.”

She hesitates, but the dark intensity inAntonio’s expression and the roughness of his voice makes her obey. If shedidn’t, he’d have kicked it in without breaking a sweat. The door swingsinward, revealing a cramped, rundown apartment. The place reeks of stale smoke,sweat, and desperation.

A man slouches on the stained couch, his shirtwrinkled and speckled with old food. Aemelia’s brother? His glazed eyes flicktoward us, then mist over. Strung out on something. Useless.

In the corner, an older woman sits in arecliner, wrapped in a blanket that looks as threadbare as she does. Her skinis gray, and her breath is wheezy. The smell of sickness clings to her likerot. Aemelia’s aunt Christina—if she’s even still alive.

Antonio looks around, scanning the terriblesurroundings. If his heart isn’t breaking for Aemelia, he doesn’t have oneanymore.

“What do you want?” Carmella says, her handpressed to her throat. “Is Aemelia okay?”

“She’s okay,” I answer, giving Antonio achance to formulate his scattered thoughts. He’s still gray as old water, hishands fisted at his sides, not with violent intent but like he’s braced to holdhimself together.

“Then what?”

“Did you have an affair with Mario?”

The question slices through the room like agunshot. Even I jolt, my spine snapping straight.

Carmella stiffens and coughs, clasping herthin hand over her mouth. “What kind of question—”

Antonio steps forward, his presence swallowingthe tiny space, making her recoil. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her eyes dart toward Aemelia’s brother, thenback to Antonio. She must decide that CJ will be no help against Antonio. Iwant to laugh that she even considered him an option. “I—”

“Carmella.” Antonio’s tone is ice and her namegrounds out through gritted teeth. “Tell me the truth.”

She swallows hard, her hands wringingtogether. She was a beautiful woman once. I remember thinking Carlo was a luckyman. She had all of Aemelia’s beauty and a laugh that could have made angelsjealous. I study what life has done to her. Fifteen years have taken the tollof thirty. This is what will happen to Aemelia unless…

“It was a long time ago.”

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