Page 87 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

And when we return, Aemelia will know thatwhatever life she had before, whatever fears she carried—none of them matter.

She’s one of us now.

We’ll keep her safe.

38

LUCA

TYING LOOSE ENDS

The deserted lot is silent except for thedistant hum of the city, the kind of place where deals are struck, and bodiesare buried. The headlights cast long shadows across the cracked asphalt,illuminating the other convoy as they pull in—a sleek, black car followed bytwo more, their windows tinted, their engines humming low.

From the second the doors open, the men onboth sides move with precision. My soldiers step forward first, meetingAlphonso’s halfway, weapons visible but not raised, a show of strength withoutthe promise of immediate bloodshed. It’s protocol, a delicate dance of powerand caution. I step out of the car and the gravel crunches beneath my polishedleather shoes as I walk to meet Alfonso Mesina in the center of the lot.

Mesina rolls his shoulders, his expressionimpassive but his dark eyes sharp as they fix on me. He’s older, near sixty,with silver at his temples and lines carved deep into his face, each one earnedthrough blood and betrayal. He’s ruled his empire with an iron fist fordecades, and he didn’t get here by letting slights go unanswered. My father hada lot of respect for the man but warned me about his temper and hisblack-and-white thinking.

“Luca.” His voice is calm and measured. “Iassume you have an explanation for why my man has disappeared into the hands ofyour family.”

I hold his gaze, my own mask of indifferencefirmly in place. “Enzo broke the rules.”

His brow lifts slightly. “And what rules arethose?”

“He ordered a hit on my family withoutconsulting you. Without sanction.”

Mesina exhales slowly, shaking his head like adisappointed father. “Enzo was amademan,and thehit was on a member ofhisfamily.”

“Enzo doesn’t care about family. He killed hisown brother.”

“Carlo?”

“This trouble, it’sLambretti,not Mesina.”

The older man studies me for a long moment,his face unreadable. “Who killed him?”

I tilt my head slightly, my lips pressing intoa thin line. Silence is my answer.

Mesina nods once as if he expected no less. “Andwhat of his crew?”

“Some are dead. The rest are making theirpeace with God.”

He exhales through his nose, considering hisoptions. He knows I’ve done what had to be done, but there’s still a matter ofrespect—an insult that needs to be balanced. Blood demands blood, but money?Money can smooth superficial wounds.

I reach into my coat pocket, pulling out asmall, folded document. “The Venturi Construction project on the East Side.Five percent of the development profits, untaxed.”

Mesina takes the paper, unfolds it, and scansit with the careful eye of a man who knows every number has meaning. Fivepercent is generous enough to make him think. It’s enough to keep him away fromAemelia. His silence stretches, heavy in the cold night air.

Then, he folds the document and tucks it intohis jacket. “Enzo,” he says after a beat, “will be remembered as a man whobrokeomertà.”

I nod slightly, understanding. A neat lie. Apublic reason for his execution that will keep Mesina’s name clean and preventunnecessary bloodshed between our families. It’s a move that benefits us both.

Mesina clasps his hands behind his back, hiseyes flicking to mine once more. “And the girl?”

The temperature drops between us. My bodytenses before I can stop it, but he catches the shift, his lips curving in thebarest hint of amusement.

“She’s not up for discussion,” I say, my voicecool and final.

Mesina watches me for a beat longer, thenchuckles softly, shaking his head. “Careful, Luca. A man like you… caring aboutsomething too much can make you weak.”

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