Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I don’t want her to leave.
“I don’t know.”
“You like her?” he asks, his breathing harsh. Would it be so hard for him to hear, yes? Does he have actual feelings for the girl outside a desire to get inside her and break open the thing we paid for?
“She’s…” I pause to find the right word. Sexy. Gorgeous. Funny. Strong. Determined. Brave. “Intriguing.”
“And Luca?”
“Who the fuck knows what Luca wants.”
My words make his middle tighten, like I kicked him in the gut.
“We should let her go,” he says. “We’re no good for her. We’re too old. Too fucked up. Too tangled up in this shit.”
“And let her return to this? It’s like the Addams Family in there. Fuck.” I laugh, unable to hold it in, and Antonio snorts and then fixes his mouth into a grim line.
“It’s bad,” he says.
“So, we keep her?”
He shakes his head, but I can tell he wants to agree with me. He’s torn between doing the right things and doing what he wants, and it’s not a place either of us are that familiar with.
“For a while.”
For a while.
***
We don’t go back empty-handed. If we’re keeping Aemelia, even for a little while, she should have some creature comforts. We stop at a local trattoria and load up—fresh bread, meats, cheeses, olives, and a selection of pastries, including a box of cannoli and some sweets and chocolates. The scents of roasted garlic and freshly baked focaccia cling to our clothes as we step back onto the street.
We pass a small boutique, and Antonio lingers in front of the display. “Stay here,” he says.
I hang by the open door and watch as he picks up a thick, plush robe, running his fingers over the fabric like he’s trying to convince himself she needs it. He doesn’t say a word; he just pays in cash and walks out with the bag. I don’t press him. His actions speak loud enough.
By the time we get back to the penthouse, the sun has dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the tall building. Luca is waiting for us on the balcony, his arms crossed, face unreadable. The cool night air is thick with the scent of the city, mixing with the faint aroma of espresso from inside the house.
“Well?” he asks the moment we step through the doors.
Antonio grips the bag in one hand, tension radiating from him where there should be relief. “She’s not Mario’s.”
Luca exhales, long and slow. He nods once, absorbing the words. “The doctor will confirm for certain, but I knew Enzo was lying. And Carlo?”
“Doesn’t give a shit, according to Carmella.”
“Never did,” Antonio adds. “Enzo was right about that.”
Luca’s lips press into a thin line. “They could both be lying. Think about it. Enzo plants the seed of doubt about her parentage. Carmella plants the doubt about Carlo’s love. They’re trying to make us think it’s pointless to keep Aemelia. Pointless to try. The one person we haven’t heard from is Carlo. He’s the only one who knows the truth.”
“You think that rat has any humanity in him? He gunned down Mario like a fucking dog.”
Luca shrugs. “I don’t know.
“We should give it time,” Antonio says, like we agreed in the car, his voice low. “Make sure Enzo isn’t bluffing about his brother. If Carlo isn’t coming, we need to decide what we do next.”
Luca nods slowly. “And Aemelia?”
A moment of silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken desires.
“We don’t let her go back to that,” Antonio finally says, his tone firm, resolute. “Not yet.”
Luca studies him, then me. “Not yet,” he agrees.
16
ANTONIO
ESCALATION
Aemelia is still sleeping, curled on her side in her massive bed. It’s so white she almost looks like she’s resting on a cloud. Her breathing is soft, her face relaxed in a way that it never is when she’s awake. The tension that usually lingers in her dark eyes is gone, the fear of her nightmare in the past. I watch her from the doorway, my arms crossed as I exhale slowly. She’s too trusting now. Too comfortable. That thought sits uneasily in my gut.
I head into the kitchen to make espresso, which will give me a welcome hit of caffeine. I hardly slept last night, my mind twisting over the panic I felt at the thought that Aemelia could be Mario’s daughter, the sickness. I’ve done a lot of terrible, unforgivable things in my life, but that would have been the worst. And now we know she’s Carlo’s, I don’t feel any better about what I did. The guilt hangs around me like a black cloud. My feelings of attraction toward her, lust for her, feel forbidden and sinful.
Luca’s already up, studying something on his laptop. He likes to keep on top of the news and how world events or changes in government policy will affect our assets and interests.