Page 34 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

A sharp exhale leaves Antonio’s lips, but hepresses on, voice even but laced with lethal intensity. “Is Aemelia Mario’schild?”

Carmella flinches. Her silence stretches, longand weighted. She’s considering her options, weighing what she can gain, whatshe can lose. If she says no, what will that mean for Aemelia? If she says yes,would we release her, or want to keep her?

What would that make her? Our niece? Ishudder, thinking of all the filthy thoughts I’ve had about her. What mybrothers have done. No wonder Antonio looks like he wants to tear out of hisown skin.

Antonio leans in, his body vibrating withmenace. “We’re getting a DNA test,” he warns, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Ifyou lie, we’ll know.”

Carmella’s gaze drops to the floor, and for amoment, she looks like she might crumble. She pulls her pink floral blousecloser to her throat and takes a step back, trying to put distance between herand my brother, but he only seems to expand into the space. But then sheinhales, straightens her spine, and meets Antonio’s glare with a deadenedexpression.

“No,” she says. “Aemelia isn’t Mario’s child.”

The breath I was holding rushes out of me, butthe nausea still lingers. Antonio stays motionless for a long moment, his jawflexing, his hands tightening into fists.

“What difference does it make?” Carmella asks,studying us both. Too many of our emotions rest plainly on our faces.

“If she’s Mario’s,” I say, the words likeshards of glass in my mouth, “then she’s family.”

Carmella’s face twists, the yellow of her skinflushing pink across her cheekbones. “She’s my family, and Carlo’s, though hewas always too stupid to realize it. He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve CJ,either. Didn’t deserve me.”

Sadness rolls off her. One bad choice led to ahard life. I stare at her son and the waste of life he’s become.

This isn’t what I want for Aemelia. Lettingher go to return to this family is not an option.

No matter how much Carlo wanted to believeotherwise, no matter how much damage his paranoia caused, Aemelia was neverMario’s. But it doesn’t change the fact that we took her. Or that CarloLambrettiisn’t going to play our game.

“Where is he?” I ask. “Where’s your deadbeathusband?”

She shakes her head. “If I knew, I would havesold that information to you after Mario—” Her breath hitches and tears well inher yellow eyes. She fumbles in the pocket of her beige slacks and pulls out apacket of cigarettes. Her hands tremble too much to take one from the packet,so I reach out to help her.

“All we want is an eye for an eye,” Antoniosays.

The woman on the recliner laughs and wheezes. “Aneye for an eye. You hoods reading the Bible these days? Don’t you know it alsosays thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not commit adultery?”

“Chrissy, don’t.” Carmella moves towards hersister, who coughs like two sentences were enough to permanently steal herbreath.

“They need to hear it, and what do I care ifthey don’t like it. What are they going to do? Kill me?” She laughs again, herwatery eyes dancing. “Your brother was happy to stick his dick where he had nobusiness, and Carlo wanted revenge for the disrespect. Now you want revenge forrevenge. Where does it end?”

“We’re talking about a cold-bloodedassassination,” Antonio says, although it sounds to me like he's trying toconvince himself more than the two terrified women and half a man that are hisaudience.

“Look to your own heart, Antonio Venturi. Lookat your own hands. Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone.”

My brother steps back like he’s been slapped.For all my mama’s religious aspirations, we haven’t been to church for years.

“Let my daughter go,” Carmella says.

“You started this.” Antonio’s voice is nothingbut a hiss. “You and Mario started this. There is only one way to end it.”

“No.” The word is barely a wheeze from themouth of a dying woman. “There are many ways to fix a problem. You just neverlearned how to choose the right one.”

“Come on,” I tell him, wary that this willdescend into a deeper argument. All I want to do is get back to the penthouseand tell Luca that he doesn’t have to be sick over what he did with Aemelia.

And then, we have to figure out what the fuckwe do next.

***

When we climb back into the SUV, Antoniostarts the engine but remains stationary, his hands throttling the steeringwheel.

“You okay?” I ask.

---