Page 88 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

I step closer, my voice dropping to a sinisterwhisper. “Or it can make me more dangerous.”

The amusement fades from his face, replaced bycalculation. Then, with a slight nod, he steps back. “Your father was apassionate man.”

“We all have our passions,” I say. “Some keeptheir passions to one woman. Some like to keep agoomar.” I meet his gaze. “It’s better for all if we keep women outof this business.”

He focuses on the middle distance, showing noreaction to my words, then nods. Aemelia’s little secret has come in veryuseful, a way to put him on the backfoot. “Pleasure, as always, Venturi.”

We turn at the same time, walking back to ourcars as our men fall into formation behind us. No more words are exchanged, nopleasantries. The deal is done. The balance is restored.

As I slide into the back seat, the door isclosed behind me, and Alexis starts the engine. I stare out the window as thecity lights blur past, my fingers tightening into a fist.

Mesina thinks Aemelia is a weakness. He has no idea she’s the reasonI’ve never felt stronger.

39

AEMELIA

WHERE IS HOME?

My mother sits across from me in thepenthouse, her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes darting between my brother,my aunt, and me. Antonio leans against the wall, arms crossed, his expressioncool and a little menacing, but to me, his presence is a steady force, ananchor in the storm that’s my past and present colliding.

My aunt looks worse than before, thin andfrail, her skin nearly translucent under the harsh light of the kitchen. Thesickness clings to her; an inevitability no one wants to acknowledge. My mothersits beside her, wringing her hands, looking just as exhausted as she didbefore I was taken captive. But it’s my brother who shatters me.

He’s strung out. Again.

His pupils are blown, his skin slick withsweat, fingers twitching in his lap. His clothes hang off him, stained andwrinkled. Shame burns through me, swiftly followed by rage.

“Are you high?” My voice slices through thesilence, jagged with disbelief.

CJ flinches, barely meeting my gaze beforelooking away, but his erratic blinking is enough to confirm.

“Aemelia—” My mama starts, but I’m already onmy feet, my pulse roaring in my ears.

“You promised me,” I hiss, voice shaking. “Youswore you’d get clean. I fought for you. I worked my fingers to the bone so youwouldn’t have to—”

“You don’t get it!” he snaps, his handsclenching into fists. “We thought you were going to die!”

His words hit like a slap, but I don’t letthem sink in. I refuse to let him use my suffering as an excuse for hisself-destruction. It’s been going on for years.

“You can’t help yourself,” I say, my voice rawand broken.

My mother rises, placing a hand on mybrother’s shoulder, her eyes pleading. “This is why we need to go back,Aemelia. We need to leave all of this behind. You, me, your brother, we need togo home. Back to Baltimore, away from this life. Before it’s too late.”

Go back? The thought tightens around my throatlike a noose, suffocating. Go back to scraping by exhausted, to watching mymother defend my brother while he slowly destroys himself, to return to a lifewhere I exist only to endure, to survive—not to live?

No. I can’t.

But it’s more than that. The thought ofleavingthemis unbearable, an achethat burrows deep into my chest. Ice spreads through my veins at the idea ofnever again falling into Antonio’s fathomless gaze, never tasting the food hecooks with quiet devotion, never feeling the steady strength of his arms aroundme, his touch both a promise and a shield. To walk away from Alexis, from hiswicked grins and teasing words, his fierce protectiveness hidden beneath charm,his ability to make me feel weightless when the world bears down on me—it’sunthinkable.

And Luca… to leave Luca would be to rip out myown heart. To never hear his rough, reverent voice telling me I’m hisgood girl, never feel the searing firebehind his cool control, never watch his composure crack when he looks at mewith something dangerously close to love. I cannot break him, not when I knowwhat it’s like to be broken.

I belong here. With them.

No. I won’t go.

I glance at Antonio. He’s watching me, hisstorm-gray eyes unreadable. My heart stutters in my chest. If he wants me tostay, he has to say it. He has to claim me. If he doesn’t, then maybe my motheris right. Maybe I don’t belong here.

I swallow hard, willing him to speak, to giveme a reason to stay. “Antonio—”

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