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 can do it.”
We all turn to find Aemelia halfway down the stairs. She’s clutching a towel around herself, her smooth, shapely legs bare, her white bra straps still in place over her shoulders. She’s stripped off her clothes for the scene. My blood runs cold at her obedience. Already, she’s changing. Already, she’s losing her spirit. “You need to make me cry,” she says. “Make it look like I’m going through hell.”
Alexis whistles low. “Damn. This girl has more guts than half our men.”
“You think you can handle what it will take?” Luca asks, his blue eyes sharp.
“I can.” She fixes her jaw, but her knuckles are white as she’s clutching the towel to her.
“We played it out,” I say, more to reassure her than Luca. “She’s good. Very convincing.”
Luca studies me for a moment that drags on way too long, his assessing gaze looking for holes in my story. He’s always been like this with others, but not usually with me. Before, we would have just done what we needed to. Hurting people isn’t something any of us have shied away from. This is the life we live. There’s no hiding from the brutality. But suddenly, we’re all relieved to fake the violence and threat.
We’re changing. All of us.
“Fine,” he says eventually. “We do it now.”
“Now,” I repeat as dread moves through me like silt settling against the river floor.
The next moments are a blur of preparation. Luca adjusts the lighting to cast deep shadows. Alexis shifts the position of the furniture while I stand in front of Aemelia to mess up her hair, teasing it between my fingers until it looks as wild as it did before I washed it. “This—” I start, but I don’t even know how to finish. What can I say to her with my brothers standing behind me? What choice does she have? It’s this or—
I don’t even want to think of an alternative.
She rubs at the skin of her throat, making it red. “Press your fingers here,” she says. “Make a mark.” I wrap my fingers around her slender neck and press, wincing when she shudders and pulls away.
Fuck.
I’ve killed men like this, throttled the life from them with my bare hands. It’s never been easy, but it’s also never been this hard. Aemelia shudders, but she doesn’t pull away. The trust she has in me to let this happen floors me.
“Time for the real performance,” Luca murmurs, holding up the phone. “Aemelia, are you ready?”
She nods, her breathing quick and uneven, dropping the towel.
My breath catches in my throat as she reveals herself in white lace underwear, the kind a bride might wear on her honeymoon. Her breasts are high and lush, her waist tiny, and her belly gently curved above the panties that barely cover what’s beneath. My hands flex at my sides as I restrain a maelstrom of emotions. This isn’t right. None of us should see her like this, almost naked, stripped of her dignity. I swallow against a fist-size lump wedged in my throat, desperate to pick up the towel and cover her, raging to tell Luca that avenging Mario this way is wrong.
The cost is too high.
But how can I go against my brothers for a woman I’ve just met? We’re loyal to blood. We avenge blood. Nothing can come before that.
“Aemelia,” I say, and she smiles tightly.
“Like this, he’ll believe you’re violating me. It’s the best chance we have.”
She says ‘we’ and can’t look at her anymore. How easily she has allied herself with us against her own family. Either we’re so terrifying, she’s too fearful to remain defiant, or her father hurt her enough for her to be unfeeling about his life.
Her feet are bare, and I think about Luca forcing her to kiss his feet, and I want to drop to my knees and plead for forgiveness. Of all the horrors I’ve committed in my life, hurting Aemelia has cut me the deepest.
She perches on the edge of the sofa, and I kneel beside her, dragging in a long breath. I have to pull myself together before either Alexis or Luca sees how wrecked I am. Gripping her shoulders, I meet her wide brown eyes. “Struggle,” I whisper. “Make it real.”
She thrashes against my grip, letting out a ragged sob. Her hands hit my face and chest, vicious slaps raining down on me. Tears spill down her cheeks, her expression one of raw, desperate fear as I push her back and overpower her. It guts me to see her like this, even if it’s an act.
Aemelia chokes on a breath. “Please,” she whimpers, voice breaking. “Papa, don’t let them hurt me. Please. Please, I’ll do anything.”
I tighten my grip just a fraction, my jaw clenching. I need to sell this, even though every instinct in my body is screaming at me to stop. “You’re running out of time, Lambretti,” I growl. “If you care about your daughter at all, you’ll come for her before it’s too late.”