Page 44 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Sal’s jaw flexes. I recognize guilt in his eyes, the same sting pricking mine. “Not here. The transactional nature of our relationship was negotiated long before we knew anything was amiss. The rest is our decision.”

I stride to the sideboard, pull out my laptop, tap into our private banking portal. “Tabitha, name the hospital.”

She rattles off the name, and I make the arrangements. It takes a few phone calls and a favor or two, but the deed is done within minutes. “She’s all set.”

Tabitha stares at the confirmation page, hands flying to her mouth. Tears spill, but they’re different—relief, disbelief.

Sal sits beside her, awkwardly at first, then draws her into a side hug. Dante folds into her other side. I remain standing—emotions like knives beneath my sternum. Sitting would break composure. The truth is, when I thought she might be sick, my first thought was finding her the best specialists.

That’s not normal. She’s basically a stranger, isn’t she? When she said it was someone else, the relief I felt was shameful. Yet the protective surge is unbearable, and I sink to my knees, cupping her face once more.

“It’s done,” I say. “Covered. Nonrefundable, even if you decide tomorrow you want out of our arrangement. This has nothing to do with that. Okay?”

She chokes on a sob. “Why?”

“Because we can,” Dante says.

Sal’s voice is softer than I’ve heard in a long time. “And because no one should worry about medical bills when their life, or their loved one’s life, is on the line.”

Tabitha draws a shaky breath, looks at each of us in turn. “I don’t know how to?—”

“Stop,” I say. I brush thumbs under her eyes, wiping tears. “We’re happy to help.”

Silence wraps us, dense, warm. Tabitha’s gaze flicks to Dante’s mouth, then mine. So many unsaid emotions crowd the space that words would drown. I kiss her, gently, reverently, tasting her tears. Sal presses a steadying hand to her back, lips glancing her temple.

I hesitate a heartbeat, I’m not sure why. But then I tilt her chin and claim a corner of her lips. The contact is soft. She turns into me, hand fisting my shirt, and the caution shatters.

We rise as one tangled unit, migrate to the large chaise longue. Her silk robe parts at Dante’s insistence, his palms smoothing over her shoulders to guide it from her while Sal’s fingers cradle the back of her skull. I trail kisses down her throat, her pulse thunderous under my lips.

I’m not sure when it happened. The way she murmurs our names like a mantra. The way our four bodies coordinate—jackets shed, cashmere lost to carpet, her satin chemise gliding off with a whisper. She’s a present we’ve unwrapped for ourselves.

There’s no script for this, no scene rules, no discussion ahead of time. Only instinct and the mutual need to replace fear with connection.

But given her fear, I want to check in.

I press my forehead to hers. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe us anything but your time.”

A sweet little smirk settles on her full lips as she brushes her fingertips up my stubble. “I know that.” She kisses me, and that’s all the convincing I need.

When we settle—Tabitha between Dante and me, Sal kneeling by her legs—the air smells of cedar fire, silk, faint rosewater. Our world narrows to skin, breath, and the low sounds she makes when reassurance becomes arousal. It’s the best sound in the world.

Dante murmurs encouragement against her ear, while I press kisses along her collarbone, each one a vow.Safe, safe, safe.

When was the last time she felt truly safe?

She’s so young to have lost her parents, and to take on the care of a little sister with cancer? Fuck. I can’t imagine that kind of hell, and she is the last person who deserves something like that. It’s awful, and if I don’t stop thinking about it, I won’t be able to do this.

The other side of that coin is how fucking strong she is. How proud. She knew we could have fixed things for her and her sister, and she didn’t ask. We had to pry it out of her. She’s been bearing the weight of this on her own for so long that it’s a wonder she’s stayed so thoughtful and kind.

I am in awe of her.

I press kisses all over her skin, each one a promise. When I move between her thighs, Dante and Sal have already declared their zones. Dante has her tits in his mouth, one after the other. She’s swallowed Sal into her throat in long, slow strokes.

I search the room for a condom to no avail. “Be right back?—”

She pulls up off of Sal. “Don’t stop.”

“Condom—”

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