Page 31 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

Could it be true, and if it is, I wonder whatelse we’re in the dark about? Who knew and didn’t say anything? Maybe our crew?They have their ears to the ground, but when Mario was murdered, telling us itwouldn’t have been easy. I pull my arm from the counter, letting it hang by myside, schooling my body to remain unbothered by his words.

He lifts his hands, a picture of mockinnocence. “There were rumors, Antonio. Rumors that Aemelia wasn’t Carlo’schild, you know, because Carmella wasn’t faithful.” He smiles a shark smile,and a wave of sickness rises up inside me like a tidal wave, obliterating mygrip on control. I reach out to hold onto the glass cabinet, staring at rowafter row of bloody meat cuts. The scent that invades my nostrils only makesthe nausea worse because he’s trying to tell me there were rumors that Aemeliawas Mario’s daughter without saying the words.

He’s wrong.

It can’t be true.

There’s no way. But even as I tell myself thatEnzo is lying, I feel sick.

I think about Aemelia’s dark brown eyes,exactly like Carlo’s. As much as I despise it, I see him in her; the set of herjaw, something in her smile, and the shape of her hands.

He’s lying about it all, twisting the knife inhis hands without ever piercing my flesh.

Enzo watches me closely, measuring my reactionlike a butcher deciding where to slice a fresh carcass. “So what now, Venturi?”He leans in slightly, his voice quieter, more dangerous. “You keeping herlocked up, playing your little games? Doesn’t look so good, does it? Buying hervirginity at auction. Whether the rumors are true or not, you can’t keep her.”

I took Mario’s death personally and carriedthe grief and rage for years, believing it was a power play from our enemies.But this—this would mean something far worse. It would mean a betrayal deeperthan business. Deeper than money or power. It would mean Mario’s transgressionswere to blame for his assassination.

She can’t be family. I know she can’t be. Buteven so, my stomach roils.

I should never have touched her. She’sinnocent and sweet. She deserves so much more than me.

I meet his gaze, reading between the lines.He’s not in a position to threaten me directly, not here, not yet, but hismeaning is clear. If we hold onto Aemelia, this thing spirals out of ourcontrol. There will be talk. There will be questions. Whispers will turn tocertainty. Who will believe us?

I push off the counter, my stomach tight withdisgust, uncertainty, guilt. I think of Aemelia, of the way she looked at mewith those dark eyes, trusting and defiant all at once. We’ve crossed a line wecan’t uncross.

Enzo tilts his head, his smirk widening. “Youlook rattled, Venturi. That’s rare.”

I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say. Hedoesn’t know how far we’ve gone.

I turn on my heel and head for the door, mymind racing, flanked by Gabe and Matteo who heard everything. I need to getback to the house. I need to talk to my brothers and then approach the oneperson who might be able to clear this up.

Aemelia’s mother.

Because if what Enzo is saying is true, thatAemelia isn’t Carlo’s daughter, then our plan to bring him out of hiding isuseless.

Regardless, the shame I feel at taking fromher what I never should have wanted has left me shaking.

She can’t be Mario’s.

Can she?

14

LUCA

THE SICKNESS OF REVENGE

“What is it?” I hiss as Antonio storms intothe penthouse, his steps uneven, his breathing ragged. He bends over the sinkand spits, his body convulsing as though he’s about to throw up. “Are you sick?Did you eat something bad?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand,his chest rising and falling in erratic bursts. When he looks up at me, hisgray eyes are wild, unfocused, and glazed.

“Tell me,” I order, losing patience.

“I spoke to Enzo,” he rasps, his voicestripped raw. “He says Carlo isn’t coming.”

My spine stiffens. “How does he know?”

Antonio swallows hard, his throat working, buthe doesn’t look at me. “He says Aemelia isn’t Carlo’s child. That he doesn’tgive a fuck about her. Never did.”

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