Page 8 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

This is the daughter of the man who cost us more than abrother. Mario was the heart of our family—the head. We are but lesserimitations of the man he was, and nothing has been the same since he waskilled. The rage that coils in my gut is instant, searing. Not because I wantto save her. Not because I give a damn about the tremor in her hands or thesilent plea in her gaze. No, my fury is for the men in this room who think theycan take what should belong to us.

Nero wants his money, but we crave more. Blood. Pain.Revenge. Satisfaction.

AemeliaLambrettiis ours,whether she likes it or not.

We could take her from this place with violence, butit’s not worth starting a war. Nero will pay for the money he takes from usthrough this auction. Luca will make sure of it.

The bidding begins, and the first number thrown out ispathetic. Insulting. Somestronzoin thefront row leans forward, his watery eyes gleaming as he ups the bid. Anotherman, younger and cocky, offers more. The numbers climb, but it’s a game theydon’t know they’ve already lost.

I chuckle darkly. “Thesesfigatiactually think they have a chance.”

Luca doesn’t respond. His jaw is locked so tight itmight shatter. Me? I’m burning alive.

I raise my hand lazily, throwing out a number that makesthe crowd murmur. We don’t have a strategy, but it doesn’t matter. Money isnothing.

The host’s lips part in shock before he covers it with aslimy smile. “Ah, a generous offer from Mr. Venturi.”

The old man counters.

“Doppio,” Isay firmly. Double

The young bastard grits his teeth and hesitates beforethrowing in another number.

“Triplo.”My voice carries, and the host nearly chokes.

“That’s quite the bid—” He clears his throat. “Anymore?” He scans the crowd, his beady eyes searching for hunger. Joey Costaturns in his seat, his hair slick, his expression oily, eyeing me and mybrothers. He’s not friends with Nero but always looks to grease his palms.“Double again,” he says. I don’t even think he wants the girl. He wants toinflate the price for Nero so he can call in a favor later.

“Five times the current bid,” Luca states, his voice solow and sharp it’s like ice cracking over a frozen lake.

The room echoes with a shared gasp. Luca bid himself,and enough to make it clear he’s not backing down. The air vibrates as Aemeliashifts, her chest rising and falling more quickly. The dark shadow of hernipples and the hair on her cunt shows through the lace, and my dick notices.

Nobody moves.

The host stares at us, the gavel hovering. The idiotthinks he’s Judge Judy, for fuck’s sake. “Once. Twice…”

Silence. The other bidders shrink back, knowing betterthan to challenge Don Venturi. It could be their butchered body parts beingsold at the dog food auction next.

“Sold.”

Aemelia flinches at the final word, and her head drops,her hair covering her expression. She doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t understand.

We didn’t just buy her.

Weclaimedher.

And we never let go of what’s ours.

4

AEMELIA

LITTLE KITTEN

The car ride is silent except for the engine’s hum and the lowmusic playing. My wrists ache where the zip ties dug into my skin, phantom painlingering long after they cut them off. The men flanking me arestrangers—dangerous shadows with unreadable expressions. The one driving, Vito,is built like a brick wall, his thick fingers gripping the steering wheel likehe could snap it in half if he wanted to. He has a sharp jawline, peppered withdark stubble, and an old scar that bisects his neck. His partner, Andre, isleaner with a narrow face like a rat but is just as intimidating, his eyes asharp, calculating green beneath a mop of tousled dark hair. They haven’tspoken much, but their presence alone tells me everything I need to know. I’mnot safe.

I haven’t been safe since I was bundled into a car afterRosita Venturi’s wedding by two terrifying men and held in a warehouse basementwith seventeen other wretches. Blindfolded and gagged, I soiled my clothes,fear stealing my dignity. Before the auction, I was forced to shower in coldwater and pull on a cheap white night dress like some hooker bride. No bra, nopanties.

My chest hitches as fear grips me. I keep my handstwisted together so they won’t tremble. If these men see I’m frightened, itwill make it worse. Men like this are parasites who live off the fear-spikedadrenaline of those weaker than them. Even though I haven’t eaten for overtwenty-four hours, my stomach roils, and I swallow convulsively.

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