Page 48 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

“Yeah,” she whispers. I expect her to pullaway, but she doesn’t. Instead, her grip on my shirt tightens, like she’sanchoring herself to me. I duck to look at her more closely, and when our eyesmeet, a frisson of electricity runs along the length of my spine. She’s so tinyin my arms. Delicate. A beautiful rose on the brink of blooming. Awareness is ariver of lava, burning everything in its path. I want this girl with afierceness that could obliterate universes, but it’s wrong. She’s young enoughto be my daughter, if I’d married when I was supposed to. Her father is mygeneration, a friend who turned into the worst kind of enemy. And yet, she’s awoman in body and spirit. Strong and resilient with a soft vulnerability thatmakes me ache to be a better man. I want to kiss her soft lips, feel her lithebody against mine, and discover the sweetness Antiono described for myself. Iwant to chase away the green-eyed monster that squats in my stomach at the ideaof this woman with my brother and not me.

“Aemelia.” Her name drips from my lips likesweet wine, and she shivers in my arms. I draw the blanket over her, and as Ipull her closer, her mouth presses to the corner of mine.

It’s like I cease to exist in the real worldand enter a celestial plane where soft music plays and only happiness andpleasure exist. I don’t move because I don't want to destroy this preciousmoment and remind Aemelia where she is and who she’s kissing. She’s still halfasleep.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

She can’t because if she did, she’d never wantto kiss a man like me. Her warm breath tickles my cheek as she lingers. Ithread my fingers into her hair, holding her gently with just the pads againstthe warm skin of her scalp. I want to kiss her, touch her, wipe away all themisery of her life and leave only joy and ecstasy. I want to disappear intoanother life where money and power don’t rule my mind and heart.

Her lips drift across mine like a ghost of akiss and I close my eyes, waiting for more, but it never comes. Instead, shepulls away and snuggles against me.

And that’s how I end up falling asleep next toAemeliaLambretti—my captive, my prisoner, mypossession, and the woman who is slowly, without effort, peeling away thelayers of protection around my heart.

21

AEMELIA

SMART ENOUGH TO SURVIVE

I wake first, needing to pee, and find myselfsmooshed against Luca, who is sleeping on my mattress. His body rests on top ofmy blankets while I’m warm and snuggled beneath. In sleep, with his face atpeace, he loses all the sharpness. Even his scar, long and neat across hisface, doesn't take away the ethereal beauty that he possesses. I take a fewseconds to really study the man who made my whole body fizz with awareness withjust a heated look across a wedding reception. The man who paid a high price formy virginity but hasn’t taken it yet.

Time has changed him from the man who carriedme when I was a hurt and helpless child. His brow and jaw are more defined, hisstubble denser, his lips a little thinner. His dark hair is peppered with theodd fleck of white, but it only makes him more handsome. This man is old enoughto be my father, but I could never see him that way. Even when I was a kid, Ithought of him as handsome, like a fairytale prince who’d come back for me whenI was grown. He’s broad and muscular, fit in a thicker, more masculine way thanmen my age. And I kissed him.

What was I thinking?

I wasn’t. That’s the truth. I was scared froma dream that felt like reality, Cohen chasing me, hurting me, violating me, andLuca was a safe haven. I gulp at the realization that my mafia captor is theperson I clung to when my stalker violated my dreams.

These men are my captors, but it’scomplicated. They’re in the wrong for holding me against my will, but they’realso my rescuers. If any of those other men had bought me at auction, I’d bedeflowered by now. Maybe worse. Virginity can only be taken once, but men canmake a fortune out of owning and selling what’s between a woman’s legs. Ishudder at what could have happened to me if these men didn’t see me as amethod of revenge against a man I myself despise.

And if Cohen had caught up with me, he’d havedestroyed me by now.

I pull away, careful not to disturb Luca,drawing Antonio’s sweater around me and inhaling. The neck smells like hiscologne, ocean breeze and alpine forest, and the subtle scent of his skin thatinexplicably makes me feel safe. As I pad out of the room, Alexis stirs,rolling over, his hair flopping across his forehead. He’s beautiful in sleep,too, like a Roman sculpture brought to the ground by time, created to be thevery pinnacle of men’s appearance.

I find my way to the bathroom and relievemyself, then wash my hands and face, staring into the cracked mirror before Ilook away from the disheveled, wide-eyed girl who stares back.

Downstairs, I search the refrigerator andcupboards, pulling together ingredients for breakfast. There’s egg, sausage,tomatoes, and mushrooms, along with a loaf of rustic bread that will toast to aperfect golden brown. As I start to prepare the food, rich, savory scents fillthe kitchen, drifting up the stairs, and sure enough, the first to be roused isAlexis. He’s shirtless, his dark curls in disarray, and his eyes still heavywith sleep. I blush at the sight of all his smooth tanned skin, unable to preventmy gaze from sliding over his tight abs and nicely rounded pecs. The way hisfire tats lick up his arms sends heat rushing through me like wildfire.

He flops onto a stool at the counter, rubbinghis face with his hands before propping his elbows on the surface, this thickbiceps bunching. “You look a lot nicer than the usual asshole who makes mebreakfast,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep, “although I think you mighthave the same dress sense.”

I smirk, buttering the toast. “It’s not theappearance of the chef that matters; it’s what they do with the food.” I nodtoward the coffee pot. “You want coffee?”

“Definitely. Black with two sugars because I’mnot sweet enough.”

Behind him, Luca appears, looking freshdespite the uncomfortable way he slept last night. His hair is combed through,his face washed, and he moves with the kind of ease that says he’s ready toface the day.

“This smells good,” he says, sliding onto thenext stool.

Finally, Antonio takes the remaining seat,still dressed in his undershirt, the muscles of his chest and shouldersstretching the white fabric to its limits. He wraps his fingers around thesteaming mug of coffee that I hand to him and nods in gratitude.

“She’s taken your place,” Alexis teases,shooting Antonio a look over his cup.

“I’m grateful,” Antonio replies, taking a sip.“Sometimes, feeding your hungry asses gets annoying.”

“If Antonio wasn’t born into this life, he’dhave been a chef,” Luca muses, raising a brow.

“Or some poor bastard’s mama,” Alexis laughs.

“Too much facial hair,” Antonio says, runninga hand over his stubbled jaw. The movement is casual, but my stomach tightensat the sheer masculinity on display.

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