Page 42 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

19

ANTONIO

MAKE ME CRY

The sound of the TV hums through the walls,carrying up the stairs. Luca is watching some Italian American comedian—one ofthe few with the rare ability to make him laugh. Alexis is in the shower, washingaway the filth of the day and probably jerking off. We have no privacy in thisfucking place.

Aemelia sleeps beside me, her breath slow andsteady, her hair a dark halo against the mattress. When I checked on her andfound her like this, I couldn’t leave. She has nightmares, and if she wakes upalone in this strange place, she might panic.

The sun has drained from the day, leavingbehind the heavy weight of dusk pressing down on the house. There are only tworooms on the second floor, one for my crew to sleep in shifts and one for us.Four thin mattresses almost cover the floor in a tight arrangement, forcingproximity whether we like it or not.

Carlo knows we have her. The coin rests at thebottom of the well, but he’s playing games instead of returning for her. Whatkind of piece of shit sends a bullet with his daughter's name engraved on theside? He wants to kill his own flesh and blood? It has to be a game. He’stelling us to go ahead and kill her if we dare.

“The DNA test came back,” Luca had saidearlier.

I jerked my head back. “Well.”

“Definitely not Mario’s kid.”

Even though I knew, the confirmation settledthe last butterfly of anxiety in my stomach.

“The video wasn’t enough to scare Carlo out ofhiding,” he continued. “They don’t believe we’ll kill an innocent woman.”

It’s our reputation that’s complicating thissituation. In a city ruled by powerful families, we’re the only one thatdoesn’t trade in sex. That alone makes our enemies think we’re soft when itcomes to women.

So we need to change that perception. We needCarlo and whoever is protecting him to understand that Aemelia will die if hestays in his rat hole. We have to show her suffering. If Carlo wants to playgames, he needs to understand that we’re going to win. The thought churns in mystomach like acid.

Beside me, Aemelia stirs, her lashesfluttering before her dark eyes open, still fogged with sleep. Her firstconscious breath is sharp, a small gasp as she blinks against the dim light.She stiffens when she sees me, scrambling back so quickly that she nearly fallsoff the mattress.

“Antonio?”

“I’m sorry to scare you.”

She exhales, shoulders slumping as recognitionsettles. “Is everything okay?”

“No, kitten.” I hesitate. “Nothing’s okay.”

Her face falls. “What is it?”

“Your father…”

“He isn’t coming.” There’s no question in hertone. Just cold certainty. She already knows. Of course, she does.

“The video wasn’t enough to drag him out.”

She nods once as if she expected it. “So, youneed more?”

Nausea rises in my throat at how easily shesays it, how readily she accepts the cruelty of this world. “Yes.”

“What?”

“We need to show you suffering. Enough to makehim panic. Enough that he believes—” I can’t finish the sentence. The wordstaste like poison.

“Okay.” She doesn’t hesitate. “I can playalong. It’ll be okay.”

I swallow hard. Sweet Aemelia. So sweet sinceI stripped her resistance away with a shower and my tongue. And she strippedaway some of the armor around my heart.

“It has to be real.”

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