Page 30 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

“Enzo,” I say, shoving the phone into mypocket.

Antonio straightens, his entire postureshifting into his lethal stance. “Her uncle cares, but her father doesn’t givea shit. Is he making a move?”

I shrug, pressing my lips into a serious line.“I doubt it, but maybe we should move her.”

Alexis whistles low. “Where to?”

“A safe house. Small place on the outskirts ofthe city.”

Antonio doesn’t react right away. He lookspast me, toward Aemelia’s closed door. He knows what this means. Being aprisoner is easy here—luxury at her fingertips, space to breathe. The safehouse will be different. Basic. Cramped. Mattresses on the floor, soldiersvisible at the perimeter, no privacy. She’ll be trapped with us in isolation.

Antonio’s jaw flexes, but he nods. “It’s anoption. Let me talk to Enzo… see where his head is at.”

“Okay, but take some of your crew. I’ve got abad feeling about him.”

I rub my jaw and head over to the liquorcabinet to pour myself some whiskey. We always knew this plan was going tobring rats out of their tunnels.

Aemelia cannot be our weakness. But as I watchAntonio turn away from me for the first time, I’m not entirely sure where hisloyalties lie.

13

ANTONIO

CUTS LIKE A KNIFE

When Luca needs something done, I am his go-toperson. We need intel, and so I work my contacts, visiting places around thecity where business is done.

At Emilio’s Pork Store, the butcher’s shopfrequented by many families, the scent of raw meat mingles with the iron tangof blood. The saw hums as a man in a stained apron carves through bone withpracticed ease. The place is dimly lit, a single overhead bulb flickeringslightly, casting shadows that stretch unnaturally along the walls.

My men step inside, the bell jingling abovethe door to announce our arrival. Vito’s first, with his fearsome face,followed by Andre who scopes the place, his hand on his weapon. GabeFerranosticks close to me while they size up who’sinside—only one elderly customer who’s selecting two pork chops. Gabe’s twin,Matteo, follows me, keeping watch for an ambush. We can’t leave anything tochance. Outside, four of Alexis' men wait in cars, ready to step in if we needthem.

Carlo’s brother, Enzo, is waiting for me inthe back, standing near a counter where fresh cuts are laid out like paganofferings. He’s older than Carlo, shorter, thicker in the waist maybe—who thefuck knows after all these years—but just as sharp-eyed. As amademanof the Mesina family, he’sprotected and wealthy enough that he doesn’t need to take a hands-on role atthe store his father founded, but he does because he enjoys carving up thedead. He wipes his hands on a rag, his mouth twisting into something like asmirk. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back, a deep scar cutting throughone forearm which wasn’t earned in the butcher's shop but on the streets. Hedoesn’t look nervous, but I catch the way his fingers flex around the handle ofhis knife.

“Antonio Venturi,” he says, his voicegravelly, thick with the weight of years in this business, smoking and drinkingtoo much. “What brings you here? Buying or threatening?”

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms.The gun tucked in the back of my pants, hidden by my close-fitting blackjacket, presses into my flesh. “That depends on what you have to say.”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Ah,so you came for talk, not steak.”

“Carlo’s still hiding. The coward won’t comeout, even for his own daughter. I thought family meant something to youpeople.”

Enzo shakes his head slowly, slicing through athick cut of beef with a heavy knife. The blade glides through effortlessly,severing the muscle with a wet, slick sound. “You think Carlo doesn’t valuefamily?” His chuckle sets the hair rising on my arms. “You think you can clickyour fingers and everyone will come running?” Enzo sets the knife down, wipinghis hands again, this time more slowly, as if savoring the moment beforedropping a bomb. “Of course you do because that’s how Venturis think. It’s howyou’ve always thought.”

I frown, confused. We’re a powerful family butLuca isn’t an arrogant man. He doesn’t throw his weight around. He treats everynegotiation with respect for the other party. That doesn’t mean to say that hedoesn’t enjoy the power he has, but Enzo is misrepresenting him. I’m about todisagree when he continues.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Venturi.Carlo’s wife wasn’t faithful. She had a thing for your brother, even before shegot married, and that one…” He waves his hand dismissively. “He never respectedthe sacred matrimonial vows. He always just took what he wanted.”

“My brother?” A beat of silence stretchesbetween us, thick and suffocating.

“Mario… it wasn’t some one-night thing. It wasa goddamn affair. He didn’t even have the decency to hide it. He was arrogant,taking the one thing Carlo had achieved that was better than him. Carlo’sprize. You think Carlo betrayed Mario, but it was the other way around.”

My jaw tightens, my mind running fifty feetahead while I struggle to pull it back. All of this is new news to me, and theimplications—

“You’re telling me Mario was having an affairwith CarmellaLambretti?”

Enzo shrugs, the picture of innocence. “Whatdoes it matter now? That woman is old and ugly, and Carlo is gone. Your brotheris dead. This is history.”

“History you’re resurrecting.”

---