Page 46 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

My head isn’t on straight like it usually is.I gulp back a full glass of wine and pour more. The scar on my ribs, longhealed, aches. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury like Mario’s, but it’s apermanent reminder of the night that changed all our lives. The night thatbrought us here.

Emotions are a weakness. I gave up on feelinganything a long time ago. Those who were already in my circle of love and trusthave remained there. Anyone new is kept out in the cold. The world could burnaround me, and I’d usually keep my composure. Alexis calls me the eye of thestorm. But tonight, I don’t feel that way.

I take the glasses upstairs, clutched in mybroad hands. The snake around my left wrist seems ready to pounce, ever thereminder that evil lives in the shadows, ready to strike at any time. Somepeople get tattoos to remember good things. I got mine so that I’d never forgethow easy it was to trust a man who could have ended us all.

Back in the bedroom, Alexis is slumped on amattress, his back pressed against the terrible pink wallpaper left by thefamily who used to live in this house. The room is dim, casting shadows thatstretch across the walls. Antonio is sitting behind Aemelia, who’s still curledinto a ball.

“Luca,” Alexis says as soon as he sees me.“You brought out the good stuff.”

It is good. Wine from our own vineyard,carrying the warmth and the sweetness of the Sicilian summer in its depths. Hereaches up to take a glass from my hand. I place my feet carefully between themattresses, allowing Antonio to take two glasses. “Aemelia.”

Like his voice is the only one that can rouseher, she sits suddenly at his call, and he passes her the glass. Her dark eyesfind mine as she brings the glass to her lips.

“To good wine,” I say softly, tipping myglass.

Silence stretches between us as I settle ontomy mattress, the one nearest the door.

I rest my head against the cool plaster andclose my eyes as I swallow the wine, allowing the rich flavor to warm me downto my stomach.

“Do you like it?” Alexis asks Aemelia.

“It’s good,” she says, licking the remnantsfrom her top lip.

“Have you been to Sicily?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t even have apassport. It must be beautiful.”

“It is,” I say. “Very beautiful. The seaglitters like a never-ending spill of sapphires, and the sun shines like it’sfound its favorite place and never wants to leave.”

“And, if you hadn’t already noticed, Lucamissed his vocation as a poet.”

I ignore Alexis teasing. There isn’t muchbeauty in this life, so I will never regret seeing it or finding the best wordsto describe it. Then Aemelia speaks, stealing my breath. “Do you ever wonderwhat your lives would have been like if you weren’t born into this?”

I glance at Antonio, finding his expressionflat, then Alexis, who’s considering an answer but doesn’t share his thoughts.Finally, I sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe easier. Maybe not. The world’s cruel, nomatter what side you're on.”

“Can you imagine Luca with an ordinary job asa car salesman or a server in a restaurant?” Alexis says.

Aemelia shakes her head.

“What about me? Can you imagine me working inan office with a wife and three snotty brats at home?”

“Definitely not,” she says.

“And Antonio? He’d make a great priest, don’tyou think? He has a fierce intensity about him, and he’s a great listener.”

Aemelia finishes her wine and rests her glasson the floor. “Antonio could have made a great priest.”

Alexis grins in the dark, and I study Antonio,trying to imagine him wearing the black robes of a catholic priest. He mighthave had some of the traits required, but he couldn’t have remained celibate,that's for sure.

“I’d be in prison by now,” Alexis adds.

“Or dead.”

Aemelia focuses on Antonio, maybe realizingfrom his tone that he’s talking not just about himself but about all of us.

“And me?”

“You should have stayed in Maryland,” Isay.“You would have been safe.”

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