Page 43 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

“I’m a good actress.” Her lips curve slightly,but it’s a sad smile. “I can make it real.”

I search her face for any trace of fear orhesitation. Instead, I find only quiet determination.

“What do you have in mind?” I ask.

She shifts, sitting up with her arms wrappedaround her knees. “You need to show them something brutal. Something they can’tignore.”

“Something convincing,” I murmur, running ahand through my hair.

She tilts her head, studying me. “How far areyou willing to go?”

I don’t answer right away because I don’tknow. When she looks at me, all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and go tosleep. Disappear into a world where I don’t have to face what’s coming next orremember what I’ve done in the past.

Aemelia takes a steadying breath. “You have tohit me.”

“No.” The response is instant and firm. Whatam I even saying?

She blinks, surprised. “It won’t be real,Antonio. We can fake it.”

I shake my head. “There’s a difference betweenfaking pain and showing it in your eyes. If it doesn’t look real, they won’tbelieve it.”

She considers this, chewing on the inside ofher cheek. “Then we’ll make it look real.”

I exhale sharply. “Tell me.”

She shifts closer, lowering her voice. “Chokeme. Not hard, just enough for the red marks to show. Mess up my hair, drag meto the floor like you’re punishing me. If we cut the right angles in the video,it will look worse than it is.”

I don’t realize my hands have curled intofists until she reaches out and uncurls my fingers, pressing her palm againstmine. “I trust you.”

Her words settle deep and tighten around myribs like a constrictor. I don’t deserve that trust. What have I done to earnit? Held her against her will. Threatened her family with death. Threatened herwith the same. Cradled her body and tasted her sweetness. Not exactly thefoundation for trust building, but I nod anyway.

I lift a hand to her throat, hesitating whenshe doesn’t flinch. “Tell me to stop the second you feel uncomfortable.”

She nods. “I will.”

I press my fingers against the sides of herneck, enough to leave impressions without cutting off air. Her breath hitches,but she holds my gaze.

“Struggle,” I murmur. “Make it look real.”

She does. Her fingers wrap around my wrist,tugging weakly. Her lips part as if gasping for breath. She kicks once againstthe mattress.

I let go immediately, pulling my hands backlike I’ve been burned. She blinks up at me, rubbing at the phantom sensation.

“Good?” I ask, my voice rough.

She nods. “Again. Mess up my hair.”

I exhale through my nose, dragging a handthrough her soft curls until they’re tangled and wild. She runs her hands overher own face, smearing away the traces of sleep.

“Now, the final touch,” she says. “Make mecry.”

I hesitate. “Aemelia…”

She grips my hand again. “Say something cruel.Something that would break me.”

I clench my jaw. “I don’t—”

“You have to.”

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