Page 57 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

Both my brothers snort, their lips twitchingdespite themselves.

“Anyway,” I continue, waving my hand. “She’sdesperate for a grandchild. All we need to do is plant a seed inside Aemeliaand she’ll come around.”

“She’s a virgin, and you’re talking aboutknocking her up.” Antonio shakes his head, just like our papa used to when Iwas fooling around.

That’s a nice segue into the other issue westill need to discuss.

“Speaking of her cherry…”

Luca straightens, and Antonio’s jaw tightens.I don’t back down. “Come with me,” I bark.

I stride outside to a patch of scrubby weedsand bend at the waist, finding three blades of grass. I pinch off two at thesame length, leaving one slightly shorter. Holding them in my fist with onlythe tips visible, I look between my brothers. “Pick,” I say.

Our crew watches us curiously. They don’t knowwhat we’re deciding, but whatever it is, we make an odd picture. Luca movesfirst, tugging a blade free. A long one. He nods, accepting the outcome withouta word.

Antonio hesitates.

For the first time in my life, Antonio fuckingVenturi hesitates.

His fingers hover over my hand, torn. I see itin his eyes—this is bigger than the act itself. It’s about what she means tohim.

“You want it that much?” I murmur.

He doesn’t answer.

I pull the next blade for myself—the shortone.

A sharp sting settles in my chest, but I holdit out to him, my jaw tight. “Take her, Antonio. She’s yours for tonight.”

His breath shudders, his lips parting slightlyin stunned disbelief. He looks down at the blade of grass like it’s somethingsacred.

“If she wants me,” he whispers.

And I know—without a fucking doubt—that I’vedone the right thing.

25

AEMELIA

A NEW WORLD

The evening is closing around me when the dooropens, spilling an arc of yellow light into the room, interrupted by the huge,shadowed shape of Antonio. I remain curled on my mattress, arms wrapped aroundmyself, anger and humiliation warring in my chest. I hate the way he hauled meup the stairs like a misbehaving child. Hate that he locked me inside like I’msomething fragile and breakable that he has to keep safe. But most of all, Ihate the way I feel shamed and exposed.

I don’t know why I feel ashamed, but I do.There’s a strange sense of loyalty stirring inside me, like Antonio’s kissesand the orgasm he gave me so unselfishly mean more than they should. And hecaught me with my mouth around his brother’s fingers. I flush hot.

He steps into the room, the door clickingbehind him. The dim light from the hallway fades, casting him as a shadow, anominous presence filling the space. He’s carrying a bag, which he sets on thefloor with deliberate care before leaning back against the door, his broadshoulders making the room feel even smaller.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice lowerthan I’ve ever heard it. “For earlier. I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting him to say atall. “You don’t own me, Antonio,” I say, my tone guarded, my fingers tighteningaround the blanket pooling around me.

“I know.” He drags a hand through his hair,exhaling roughly. “It was a shock.”

The strain in his features, the shadowed linesbracketing his mouth, make something twist in my chest. Even with the weight ofhis turmoil, he’s devastatingly handsome. Too much so.

In Maryland, there were no men like Antonio.No men who commanded space the way he does, who exude raw power with everybreath. Maybe that’s why I was never interested in the boys back home. Maybegrowing up surrounded by men like the Venturis—dangerous, dominant,unyielding—imprinted something deep inside me. Something I can’t erase.

And maybe that’s why my first memory of desireis of Antonio himself.

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