Page 7 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

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ALEXIS

THE PRICE OF REVENGE

The city penthouse apartment is dimly lit, the amber glow fromthe liquor cabinet casting long shadows across the sleek leather furniture.Luca stands by the window with his hands clasped behind his back as he staresover the city. The balcony door is open, and the faint tang of smoke, carexhaust, and the distant blooms from rooftop gardens scents the air. Theskyline sprawls before him, stars blinking in the darkness like diamondsspilled over black velvet. He’s lost in thought, and I understand why.

Antonio sits in the corner of the couch, a glass ofwhiskey dangling between his fingers, his expression thoughtful. “She just fellinto our laps,” he mutters, breaking the silence. “Like a lamb to theslaughter.”

Luca finally turns, determination making his jaw tight. “Thisisn’t luck. It’s fate.”

I pace the length of the room, fire already burning inmy chest at the thought of Carlo’s daughter. Hertraditorefather’s betrayal burns my soul. “So we use her. We drag herfather out of hiding and make him answer for what he did to Mario.” My voice isrough-edged with anger that never fades.

Antonio swirls his drink, watching the liquid catch thelight. “Mario’s in the ground, and that bastard has been walking free for toolong.”

“We searched under every stone, every rotten piece ofwood for that cock sucker,” I remind him. “He became air. His family, too.”

Luca exhales slowly, controlled. “Not anymore.”

The weight of Mario’s death sits heavy between us. Noblood has been spilled to avenge him. But now? Now we have our bait.

A sharp knock on the door breaks the moment.

Vito, one of Antonio’s soldiers, steps inside, his facegrim, eyes flicking to Luca before settling on Antonio. “Boss, I’m sorry tointerrupt.”

Luca straightens, and Antonio sets his drink aside. “Spitit out.”

“One of my informants on the southside called somethingin. Something I thought you’d want to know.” He waits for Antonio’s nod tocontinue. “There’s an auction tonight. Girls. The usual, except tonight, theyhave something special on the menu.”

My blood cools. Antonio sits forward, his expressionblank. Luca doesn’t move, but the air shifts, heavy with menace.

“Who?” Luca demands, voice lethal.

The soldier swallows hard. “AemeliaLambretti.From what I heard, Carmine Nero’s out of pocket to her father. He’s looking toclose the debt, and she’ll fetch a good price. She’s abonafidevirgin, confirmed by some doctor in Carmine’s pocket.” He lets the informationhang for dramatic effect. Vito always loves a little theatre. “Plenty of menwho’d like to work out their frustrations against Carlo on his prettydaughter’s unsullied body.”

Silence. A heartbeat, then another. In my veins, myblood is lava, my fury explosive, but I hold myself tight because that’s what’sexpected.

Antonio stands slowly, his body stiff, but his movementsare controlled. He lifts one arm to sweep Vito out the door. In the hallway,they discuss further in hushed tones before he returns. My eyes are on Luca,not because I think he will explode. He rarely shows any kind of reaction, sosearching for tiny flickers in his expression is the only way I can gauge whathe’s thinking.

Antonio lingers by the door. “I know when and where.”

Tension vibrates through the open plan space. Theceilings in this place are too high, and the furniture too low. It always makesme feel uncomfortable as if there’s not enough gravity. I flex my fingers,rolling my neck. “Looks like this might cost us more than we thought.”

“It’ll be worth it.” Luca nods and turns back to thesky.

***

The scent of cheap cologne and sweat fills the warehouse packedwith men, predators circling for fresh meat. This isn’t our business. Ourfather forbade the Venturi name to be linked to prostitution. Three generationsback, an ancestor fell on hard times. Her pain and redemption continue to shapeour business. In all honesty, I’m grateful for it. I don’t have the stomach forthe sad faces and the broken dreams.

I can barely hear myself think over the dull roar ofconversation and the occasional burst of laughter, which overlays thewhimpering and weeping of the girls on stage.

Luca stands to my left, rigid as a steel blade, his coolgaze sweeping over the scene. To my right, Antonio wears his cold, deadlyexpression like a mask, but I know him well enough to see beyond. His fingersflex at his sides, betraying the storm brewing beneath.

Then, the bastard hosting this auction calls the nextlot, and the air changes. If the previous lots were fast food, AemeliaLambretti, the untouched mafia princess fallen to thegutter, is wagyu beef. And these men are famished.

The moment her name is spoken, a hush falls over theroom. My pulse slams into my ribs as a spotlight slices through the gloom,illuminating the stage. And there she is, nothing like the girl we reunitedwith at Rosita’s wedding. This Aemelia is a fragile, trembling thing, shackledat the wrists and barely clothed in a white lace nightgown. Her porcelain skinglows under the harsh light, and her hair, dark as spilled ink, cascades inwaves down her back. Her eyes dart around, wide and fearful, blinking againstthe bright lights, and still, she forces her chin high.

Antonio is motionless beside me, and Luca clenches hisfists so tight that the leather of his gloves groans.

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