Page 40 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

She shrugs; an infuriatingly slow, elegantmovement. “Any secrets I have about this life are for women’s ears only.”

“So, there are secrets?”

She tips her chin and smiles slowly. “Menthink their indiscretions are private, but women have eyes everywhere.”

Antonio leans forward, intrigued. “Who’s beingindiscreet?”

She rests her hands in her lap, her expressionalmost innocent. “Mesina has another family. Did you know that? An AfricanAmericangoomar.”

“Alfonso?” I ask.

She nods, her eyes calculated.

Luca stills, his fork poised midair. “He does?”

“They have three kids.”

Antonio barks out a laugh. “How did you hearabout that?”

“My aunt is dying. People tell her thingsthinking she’ll take them to the grave.”

“Motherfucker.” Luca wipes his mouth on anapkin and drops it onto the counter. “What else?” His voice is calm, butthere’s a tightness around his jaw that I wouldn’t trust if I was Aemelia.

Oblivious, she smiles and picks up her forkagain, taking a slow, deliberate bite. He watches her, waiting, expecting more.When she’s done chewing, she smiles slyly. “What? You wanted me to earn therecipe. A secret for a secret.”

“Quid pro quo,” I laugh, enchanted.

She points at me with finger guns. “Exactly.”

Luca exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Ithink this girl wants my hand on her ass again.”He raised his right hand, mimicking the kindof slap our mother used to give us when we misbehaved as kids.

Antonio, who usually looks somber at best andmiserable at worst, has a glint in his eye, a smirk playing on his lips. Inthis dilapidated house, we seem far from our world of power and threat. Thebullet with Aemelia’s name was left back at the penthouse, along with our restraint.Aemelia has a way of making me forget who I am, who she is, and why we’re doingthis dance. She makes me want to do another kind of dance, and my brothers areacting like they feel the same. I don’t remember the last time my brothers werethis lighthearted. It’s like something that was rusted shut inside them hasbeen forced open and greased.

Aemelia lifts her chin, a picture of defiance.“A spanking has to be earned, Luca Venturi.”

The sparks between them are electric, the aircharged, and my laugh is loud enough to wake the dead.

Going to the mattresses is supposed to be about men being men, butwith Aemelia here, something very different seems to be happening.

18

AEMELIA

PLAYING THE GAME

Secrets. They shimmer like rare gems, delicateand dangerous, meant to be hoarded and protected. I carry so many inside me,each one as fragile as a Fabergé egg, each one a risk waiting to crack.

And the Venturis? They have their own.

Something has shifted. It changed the momentAntonio’s hands were on me, his mouth, his whispered confessions. It changedwith my acceptance of my position and my choice to take a different approach.These men are used to violent resistance. They’re not used to subtlety.

I stand beside Alexis at the sink, scrubbingthe dishes as he dries, our movements easy and practiced. Across the room,Antonio and Luca converse in hushed tones in the dimly lit den, their wordsclipped and heavy sounding. Shadows stretch over them, and I listen withoutlooking, focusing instead on the warmth of the water against my skin,considering what will happen to me as the days slip by. I need to be careful.Every moment here is borrowed time, and borrowed time runs out.

My father won’t return for me of his own freewill. I know it deep in my bones. The Venturis, for all their cruelty, stilllive by an honor code. CarloLambrettihas no honor.He left us with nothing. Less than nothing. His betrayal turned our name tofilth, and his absence made us prey. We clung to the foolish hope that timewould erase his sins, but we were naive. He never cared when he left, and hewon’t risk his life for mine now.

And when he doesn’t come back, the Venturiswill have to decide. Kill me or let me go. My survival hinges on one thing:whether I can carve out enough empathy in their cold, dead hearts to make themhesitate—or make myself too valuable to lose.

“How did Rosita meet her husband?” I ask,aiming to keep the conversation light as I pass Alexis a plate.

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