Page 13 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

I narrow my eyes. “What are you, twelve?”

My gaze flicks to Sal, who’s been silent. “Salvatore,” I press, “you’re usually the voice of reason. Tell Dante he can’t just call dibs because he saw her in a diner or something.”

Sal exhales a low breath that stirs the hush around us. “This bickering is pointless. You both want her, so do I. It’s not the first time we’ve shared a woman. And since Dante apparently signed us up for amonth, that’s not going to change. She belongs to all three of us, temporarily.”

My chest tightens. “We’re actually going to share? You’re serious?”

Sal lifts one eyebrow. “None of us is exactly squeamish about…less conventional arrangements.”

I blow out a breath. He’s notwrong. Once upon a time, the three of us indulged in group scenes at that club, though it’s been a fewyears. Life got in the way—my CFO responsibilities, Sal’s CEO schedule, Dante’s globe-trotting. But the memory of those nights stirs something inside me. Taking a woman between the three of us…I can’t pretend the memory isn’t appealing.

Dante cocks his head, still glancing between us. “So if we share her, who gets her…you know, the first time?”

Sal’s jaw flexes. “Does it matter?”

“It might,” Dante counters. “Given that this is literally avirginityauction, I assume that’s the main attraction, right? The first time is some big deal. If we’re drawing straws, I call the short one.”

I roll my eyes, the heat in my chest spiking. “Honestly, if that’s your priority, be my guest. I’m not jonesing for the status ofthe first.”

Sal gives me a quick nod. “Agreed. Let Dante have that particular moment.” He says it in his usual no-nonsense baritone, as if he’s delegating tasks for a quarterly budget meeting. “We just need to make sure we don’t scare the girl. She’s obviously new to everything.”

I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “Then we won’t bicker in front of her. Agreed, Dante?”

A flicker of triumph crosses Dante’s face, but he doesn’t gloat. Instead, he smooths his tux jacket. “Agreed. Because I can’t wait to see if she’s half as sweet as she looks.”

My stomach knots. I don’t like hearing him talk about her that casually. But before I can voice anything, a staff attendant sweeps into the waiting area.

“Gentlemen,” she says, giving a polite bow. “This way, please. We’ll finalize the agreement in the next room.”

We follow her to a well-appointed office, all dark wood and leather chairs. A desk sits in the center, flanked by large, marble-topped side tables. Thick curtains cover one wall, blocking what I assume is a window that overlooks the gardens or the distant city lights. The glow of a desk lamp illuminates a stack of papers.

None of that really registers, though. Not when I see Pietro Dumas behind the desk.

The Dumas family is connected to half the shady business dealings in this city. They excel at hiding behind legitimate ventures like clubs, restaurants, charities, and philanthropic events. But no one denies the swirl of speculation that they’re mob-connected. They’ve been dancing around the line of legality for decades.

I shouldn’t be surprised to learn they’re behind this too, but all the same, the hair at the back of my neck stands on end.

A cool smile curves Pietro’s lips as we enter. “Ah, the Moretti brothers. I was wondering if you’d ever darken my doorstep.”

I glance at Dante, who looks equally tense. So he didn’t know we’d be dealing withthisDumas either. Sal, stoic as always, steps forward. “We came for the auction. Didn’t realize you were the one running it.”

Pietro gives a casual wave. “I handle certain aspects of The Armory. Tonight’s event is one of them. I’m pleased it caught your interest.”

“Caught it enough to drop a small fortune on a single woman,” Dante mutters.

Pietro’s grin widens, but his eyes remain cold. “Indeed. Why don’t we get straight to the business at hand?”

He gestures to three thick contract packets on the desk. Each is embossed with The Armory’s logo—a stylized letter A—and our names typed on the front. That was fast.

He runs a fingertip over the top page. “Standard procedure, though I suspect it’s a bit more extensive than you’re used to. We require absolute compliance from all parties to maintain the safety and discretion of our virgins.”

I glance at the header. Immediately, I spot a clause referencing forfeiture of assets should harm come to the “purchased party.” Another clause states The Armory’s right to press charges. My blood runs hot. “You want controlling shares of our company if we violate the contract? Isn’t that a bit…extreme?”

Pietro steeples his fingers, unruffled. “This is a dangerous world, Mr. Moretti. Some men don’t understand the concepts ofharm,no, orcare. We find that a strong deterrent encourages buyers to behave. Otherwise, our virgins could be put at risk, and we will not tolerate such a thing.”

I grit my teeth. There’s a small part of me that admires the protective measure, but I loathe the thought of giving the Dumas family leverage over Moretti Brands. Still, we’ve come this far, and something inside me rebels at the idea of backing out. “Fine,” I mutter. “We’ll read it carefully.”

“You do that,” he says, tapping a pen on the desk. “Your friend—Gabriel, from the bistro—told me you were serious about this. I’m happy to see that wasn’t an exaggeration.”

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