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)
“Quid pro quo,” I laugh, enchanted.
She points at me with finger guns. “Exactly.”
Luca exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “I think this girl wants my hand on her ass again.” He raised his right hand, mimicking the kind of slap our mother used to give us when we misbehaved as kids.
Antonio, who usually looks somber at best and miserable at worst, has a glint in his eye, a smirk playing on his lips. In this dilapidated house, we seem far from our world of power and threat. The bullet with Aemelia’s name was left back at the penthouse, along with our restraint. Aemelia has a way of making me forget who I am, who she is, and why we’re doing this dance. She makes me want to do another kind of dance, and my brothers are acting like they feel the same. I don’t remember the last time my brothers were this lighthearted. It’s like something that was rusted shut inside them has been forced open and greased.
Aemelia lifts her chin, a picture of defiance. “A spanking has to be earned, Luca Venturi.”
The sparks between them are electric, the air charged, and my laugh is loud enough to wake the dead.
Going to the mattresses is supposed to be about men being men, but with Aemelia here, something very different seems to be happening.
18
AEMELIA
PLAYING THE GAME
Secrets. They shimmer like rare gems, delicate and dangerous, meant to be hoarded and protected. I carry so many inside me, each one as fragile as a Fabergé egg, each one a risk waiting to crack.
And the Venturis? They have their own.
Something has shifted. It changed the moment Antonio’s hands were on me, his mouth, his whispered confessions. It changed with my acceptance of my position and my choice to take a different approach. These men are used to violent resistance. They’re not used to subtlety.
I stand beside Alexis at the sink, scrubbing the dishes as he dries, our movements easy and practiced. Across the room, Antonio and Luca converse in hushed tones in the dimly lit den, their words clipped and heavy sounding. Shadows stretch over them, and I listen without looking, focusing instead on the warmth of the water against my skin, considering what will happen to me as the days slip by. I need to be careful. Every moment here is borrowed time, and borrowed time runs out.
My father won’t return for me of his own free will. I know it deep in my bones. The Venturis, for all their cruelty, still live by an honor code. Carlo Lambretti has no honor. He left us with nothing. Less than nothing. His betrayal turned our name to filth, and his absence made us prey. We clung to the foolish hope that time would erase his sins, but we were naive. He never cared when he left, and he won’t risk his life for mine now.
And when he doesn’t come back, the Venturis will have to decide. Kill me or let me go. My survival hinges on one thing: whether I can carve out enough empathy in their cold, dead hearts to make them hesitate—or make myself too valuable to lose.
“How did Rosita meet her husband?” I ask, aiming to keep the conversation light as I pass Alexis a plate.
He smirks, drying it with exaggerated flourishes. “He was introduced to her, like the old days.”
“Seriously? Like an arranged marriage? I didn’t know it still worked that way for some people these days.”
“She could’ve said no, but when they met, it was like—bam!” He claps his hands together, making me jump.
I shake my head with a small laugh, amused at his performance and willingness to be open and funny with me. “She got hit with the thunderbolt?”
“Exactly.” He grins, stacking the plate back into the cupboard.
“They make a good-looking couple. He’s very handsome.”
Alexis tilts his head, considering. I let my gaze sweep over him, soaking up the sharp line of his jaw and the perfection of his olive complexion. He really is a very handsome man himself.
“You think so? He looks preppy like he just walked out of a country club.”
“Not like you, you mean?” I tease, drying my hands.
His eyes gleam with mischief, hazel darkening to a rich caramel. “Not everyone is as good-looking as me.”
I snort, tossing the dishcloth to the counter. “Be careful, Alexis. If your head gets any bigger, it will blot out the sun and wipe out all life as we know it.”
He throws up his hands. “It’s not being big-headed if it’s true.”
“Looks aren’t everything.” I counter, knowing full well how much of his confidence is built on his appearance.
“If the book cover is ugly, no one picks it up.”
“If it has a pretty cover but the story is boring, no one sticks around to finish it,” I fire back.