Page 72 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Eventually, Erin is groggy but lucid in the ICU. She wiggles toes on command—a victory. She looks worryingly tiny in the high-tech bed, wires sprouting like wild vines from every direction. I stroke her hand. She mutters about ice cream. Dante promises gelato flown in from Naples the moment nutrition clears. Nico checks the IV pump like a quality-control inspector. Sal stands sentinel at the door, arms crossed, but his soft eyes linger on my face whenever I lean down to Erin.

Eventually, visiting hours lapse. Grandma Judy insists on staying overnight, and nurses arrange a cot. I kiss them both goodnight (good afternoon?), and we head back to the villa, exhaustion a communal cloud.

In the SUV, I stare out frost-etched glass, heart steady, then skittering, then steady again. I keep replaying the day,wondering where I could have done better. But when I glance around Brunhilde, those worries subside. The relief, the gratitude, the love—too much to contain.

I realize something with a clarity that feels cellular.

I’m in love with these three men. Not transactionally. Completely.

And if I don’t tell them, my chest will crack wide open.

Back at Villa Moretti, candlelight flickers up vaulted beams. The brothers coax me toward my bedroom, but my words bubble up before I can stop them. “Stay,” I command, planting feet near the hearth.

They freeze, three statues in tailored coats.

“I need to tell you something,” I say, pulse drumming inside my throat. “All of you.”

Dante’s grin morphs into something concerned. Sal tilts his head. Nico slips his hands into his pockets.

I inhale. “When I agreed to the auction, I told myself I could keep emotions separate. That I’d take care of Erin, then walk away.” My voice quavers. I steady it. “I was wrong. Somewhere between roller coasters and MRI scans, I fell in love with all three of you. I’m not expecting anything, but I needed to say it.”

Dante crosses the room first, hands sliding to my waist. “I’ve been in love with you since you teased me for my helicopter story.” His smile wobbles. “This is the scariest free fall ever.”

Nico steps forward, removing his glasses. “What makes you think you shouldn’t have expectations of us? Have we ever givenyou a reason to think we are anything less than in love with you too?”

A shocked laugh pops out along with a tear. “Really?”

Sal moves last, resting a hand at the nape of my neck. “I confessed to Alana by accident. But it wasn’t a lie.” His deep voice softens. “I love you too.”

No one speaks for a long minute—words are trivial compared to pulses thudding against pulses, breaths synchronizing. The calm before the storm.

And then it all happens at once. In turn, Dante kisses my forehead, Nico my eyelids, and Sal the soft spot behind my ear. Layers peel away—coats, cardigans, layers underneath. My body becomes a map that their mouths and hands trace. Dante’s playful nips along my collarbone. Nico’s precise, reverent palms cupping my hips. Sal’s slow, grounding strokes down my spine. I float, weightless but anchored by them.

We migrate to my bed. Dante lies back, guiding me to straddle him. Sal kneels behind, kissing the arch of my shoulder as Nico reaches out, his fingertips teasing lower until pleasure blooms hot at every nerve junction. Movements sync wordlessly—like choreography we’ve practiced all our lives instead of just a few weeks.

I take Dante into me first, and Sal follows from behind, gradually working his way up my ass. Nico supports my weight, kissing my flushed cheeks, my lips. Sal’s hand slides over my clit, rubbing in lazy circles that coil tension. The heat builds in my cells, excruciating pleasure that steals my breath. I’m so impossibly full right now, and then Nico claims my mouth with his cock. I erupt, and the climax staggers me, lightning crackling outward.Dante shudders beneath me, Nico groans, and Sal bites my shoulder, release following release like fireworks chain-igniting.

We collapse in tangled heat. Outside, wind moans around the eaves, and inside, only ragged breathing and the faint tick of the mantel clock are to be heard.

We rearrange ourselves, Sal spooning me, Nico facing me, and Dante draped across my calves like a giant puppy. Flames cast their faces in alternating gold and shadow. Three profiles I’ve memorized, each extraordinary, each carrying pieces of me.

“I thought screwups didn’t get happy endings,” Dante murmurs.

Nico chuffs a laugh. “Quarter’s not closed yet.”

Sal kisses the curve of my ear. “We’ll write the ending ourselves.”

I close my eyes, listening to the cadence of three different heart rhythms converging into one lullaby. Erin’s future just widened into a horizon. Grandma Judy’s house is as good as safe, now that the bills are covered. And my own future stretches beyond snow and surgery into spring couture shows, movement direction rehearsals, perhaps a pied-à-terre in Paris where these men will barge in with croissants and conflicting agendas. If I take the job with them, we’ll be inextricably linked, no matter what Pietro says or does.

I want that.

I want it all.

30

DANTE

If anticipation were a physical substance,I could bottle tonight and retire on the resale.

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