Page 82 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

“Stay,” I whisper, barely more than a breath.

Antonio’s eyes flicker, raw and vulnerable,before he lowers his head, pressing his forehead to mine. His exhale is heavy,shuddering, and his hand slides around the back of my neck, holding me like aman on the brink of losing himself.

“Aemelia,” he rasps, but his voice betrayshim. Low and wrecked, heavy with longing he can’t suppress. His lips hover nearmine, so close I can feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t close the distance.

“Please,” I breathe.

His throat works around a sound that’s almosta groan, but then he gives in. Of course, he gives in. He always will.

His mouth claims mine, slow at first, a brushof lips, delicately testing, but the softness doesn’t last. His grip tightensat the base of my neck, anchoring me to him as the kiss deepens. It’s not thesame punishing hunger Luca had given me, not the teasing desire Alexis alwayswields. Antonio kisses me like he’s breaking. Like he’s giving me a piece ofhimself he’ll never get back.

His hands slide down my body, reverent andpossessive, and I arch beneath him, desperate for more. But he pulls backsuddenly, hovering over me, his breath ragged.

“No more tonight,” he rasps, his voice thick.“You need to rest.”

I blink up at him, confusion knitting my brow.“But I want—” What do I want? More sex? My body is sore and weak, and my mind aswirling mass of confusion and need.

“No.” His voice is hoarse but firm. His lipspart on a ragged exhale, and he rests his forehead against mine once more,desperately grounding himself and rolls to his side. “We won’t touch you likethat again, Aemelia.”

But does he just mean now? Or… is this it?

A cold, hollow fear flares in my chest,twisting through my ribs like a cruel hand squeezing the life from my heart.They’ve taken what they wanted with ruthless hands and hungry mouths. Is thistheir revenge now? To cast me aside? To send me home, back to the wreckage of alife I was desperate to escape? Or worse—to finish what they started and end mealtogether?

No.

I won’t believe it.

They’re brutal men, ruthless, calculating, anddangerous, but they have hearts. Scarred and bruised, yes, tarnished by bloodand vengeance, definitely. But still capable of tenderness, deserving ofdevotion in their own jagged, broken ways.

I glance at Luca, my eyes searching hishandsome, scarred face desperately. He’s still seated, watching from hisvantage point, but his hands are curled into fists on his thighs, his knuckleswhite. His expression is hard, almost impassive, but his eyes betray him. Midnightblue, dark with unspoken emotion, they’re locked on me like he’s barely holdinghimself back, like if he moves, he might destroy everything.

My gaze flicks to Alexis, who stands slightlyapart, his fingers clamped around the back of his neck, gripping so tightly hisbicep flexes. His chest rises and falls heavily, the cords in his throatstraining with the effort to contain whatever dark, restless emotion simmersbeneath his skin. But his eyes are on Antonio, watching him fight for restraintwith an unreadable expression, half resentment, half reverence.

And then I look at Antonio, the man whorefused me when I would’ve given him everything. His broad shoulders are tightwith tension, his fists flexing at his sides. His head is bowed slightly, asthough he’s fighting his own demons, or maybe just battling the urge to comeback to me.

I can’t take it.

“I don’t want to go home, Luca,” I whisper, myvoice trembling but loud enough for all of them to hear. My eyes find himacross the aching space between us, and I reach for him, stretching out atrembling hand that suddenly feels too small, too weak, but desperate to touchhim.

“I can’t go back there,” I plead, my voicebarely above a breath. “I want to stay here. With you.”

Luca’s eyes darken with something primal, somethingso fiercely protective that it robs the breath from my lungs. His chair scrapesback sharply, and before I can blink, he’s on me, closing the distance betweenus in two powerful strides.

“Ssh, kitten,” he murmurs, gathering me intohis arms and pulling me against his chest as if I belong there. His voice is alow, soothing growl laced with possessiveness.

“Youdon’t have to go anywhere,” he promises as his brothers gather closer. “You’resafe now. You’re ours.”

36

ANTONIO

A WOMAN SCORNED

The basement reeks of blood and sweat, theacrid scent mixing with the faint traces of damp stone and bleach. Enzo sitsbefore us, wrists bound behind the chair, ankles zip-tied to the legs. He’sbruised, bleeding from a split lip, his temple dark with dried blood, but hiseyes burn with undiluted rage. Spitting at the ground, he glares up at us likea rabid dog caught in a steel trap.

“You can’t do this,” he snarls, his voicehoarse from hours of yelling. “I’m amademan. You think you can take me like this and notanswer for it? Alfonso will retaliate and kill every last Venturi rat.”

Luca steps forward, his hands in his pockets,looking down his nose at Enzo with that deadly calm of his, the kind thatpromises slow, deliberate retribution. “You ordered a hit on Aemelia, Enzo. Onyour own blood. While she is under our protection. That alone is enough reasonto put a bullet in your skull.”

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