Page 52 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

I nod. “Yeah. Carlo’s still not taking thebait.”

Luca crosses his arms. “We need to be ready.This could get messy.”

I grin, my pulse thrumming with anticipation. “Messyis my favorite kind of fun, as Aemelia was about to find out.”

Luca grinds his teeth. “We send the men out togather intel. That should be the only thing we’re interested in.”

“When Carlo is a corpse, his daughter isours,” I say.

“If she wants to be,” is my brother’spragmatic answer. It’s the first time he’s admitted that he wants her. Themetaphorical line I was talking about is real, and I’m not remaining at theback of it until this vendetta is settled. There is nothing to do in this placeexcept eat, watch TV and fuck, and only two of those options interest me.

23

AEMELIA

NOT MY FATHER

Antonio left after breakfast with a lingeringbackward glance as though he was worried about leaving me in the house withfour gnarled soldiers who barely speak, and his brothers. After showering oneby one, the soldiers disappear to man the perimeter, and Luca spends most ofhis time pacing in the backyard on the phone, leaving me alone with Alexis.

His words won’t stop echoing around in my mindlike a drug, dissolving my composure and making me restless.

Are you the begging type?

I didn’t think I was, but when he said it, mypussy tightened like a closing fist, and my knees softened like they were readyto bend for him. Heat pooled low in my belly, pulsing between my thighs. Iremembered Luca ordering me to my knees, his fingers brushing against me, andinstead of disgust, all I felt was rage and hunger.

Something happened to me during my captivity.These men, who at first seemed like monsters, have become undeniably human inmy eyes. The fear I once felt is no longer a scream in my mind. It’s just awhisper now, an occasional shiver down my spine, something that lingers butdoes not command me.

So when Alexis drops onto the couch beside meto watch the only decent thing on TV—a quiz show—and starts shouting outanswers, I should be frozen with fear. But I’m not. He sprawls out lazily, feeton the table, radiating confidence he hasn’t earned.

“Which organ produces insulin?”

“Oh, I know this!” Alexis snaps his fingers.“The testicles!”

I choke out, “WHAT? No! It’s the pancreas!”

“Listen,” he argues, completely serious. “Guysget moody when they’re hungry. That’sgottabehormonal. So logically... bam. Testicles.”

I snort with surprised laughter.“Your logic is terrifying.”

“The correct answer is the pancreas,”the host confirms.

Alexis grumbles, shifting in his seat.“Whatever. Next question. I’ll get thenext one.”

“Which Shakespearean play features the line, ‘To be, or not to be’?”

Without missing a beat, Alexis smirks. “Fast& Furious 2.”

I stare at him, horrified. “You cannot beserious.”

“No, princess. That’s John McEnroe. And VinDiesel gets real deep sometimes.”

I shove his shoulder, laughing uncontrollably.“I’m never watching a quiz show with you again.”

Alexis grins, grabbing my wrist so I can’tpush him again, his face lit up with amusement. “Admit it,piccolina, you love it.”

I do, but I don’t admit it. Instead, I turn myattention back to the TV. I don’t complain when he shifts closer until ourbodies are pressed together from shoulder to knee. His warmth seeps through mythin yoga pants, his presence consuming and intoxicating.

From the corner of my eye, I catch himwatching me, amusement playing on his lips. He’s studying me, as intrigued ashe is entertained as I answer more questions correctly than he does. Instead ofpouting, he throws his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me like I just wonthe twenty-thousand-dollar jackpot. His body is solid and firm, and his scent—amix of cedarwood, leather, and something sharp and clean like a storm on thehorizon—wraps around me.

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