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 shake my head at my brother's comment, catching the double meaning, hoping Aemelia doesn’t. When I glance at her, she’s smiling with a softness to her expression that makes my chest tighten. It’s like nothing can touch her after Antonio’s performance: a bride on the first glorious day of her honeymoon. If I said I wasn’t jealous, I’d be a liar. With all this drama, my only companion has been my right hand, and though experienced, he’s lacking in many departments.
“So, what are you doing down here?” I ask, my voice gravelly. If I’d been in Antonio’s shoes, I’d be upstairs, making Aemelia’s legs shake, taking the roof off again and again. She’s lucky it was Antonio for her first time.
“Hunting for snacks.”
Ah, she’s hungry. I’ll forgive him. “We left plenty in the kitchen.” I wave in the general direction, and he nods, steering Aemelia with his hand on her lower back, an intimate gesture that speaks volumes. They whisper between themselves, her laugh a soft, happy sound that wraps around me like silk. I shut my eyes for a second, remembering the brush of her lips over mine, the way she’d curled up against me when she slept.
She wanted to kiss me. Maybe she’ll want more.
I still want Carlo’s head on a stick but maybe this is the way he repays us until then.
I watch Antonio as he helps to plate up a snack, his gaze wide and full of hope. He seems so relaxed that it’s hard to reconcile that he’s the same man. He watches her like she's a dream he never thought he’d touch. Our mother has been like a stuck record with her views on marriage. You need a woman in your life, Luca. A woman to make you happy. But how do you find a woman when your life is dedicated to everything but love?
By buying her and taking her captive? It’s not exactly the start of an epic romance, and yet…
Antonio isn’t just interested in Aemelia for a place to stick his dick. He’s finding a way out of the darkness that consumes us. Redemption. He’s falling in love.
Alexis, too, watches her with fascination rather than hunger. We’ve never had a shortage of female company, but no woman has ever made my brothers look at her like she’s something more than a warm body.
Antonio lifts a sweet pastry to Aemelia’s lips, and she takes a bite. Her moan is soft, pleased, but it still makes my cock twitch because it’s impossible not to remember the sounds that were carried from upstairs earlier.
Patience, I remind myself. My turn isn’t coming tonight.
“We should leave here tomorrow,” I tell Alexis, leaning in so Aemelia and Antonio won’t overhear the rest. “With Carlo uninterested in our threats, there’s no risk in taking her back to more comfortable surroundings. Sleeping on a mattress in one room won’t show her what life could be like if she decides to stay with us. This kind of life might be what she’s used to, but we could give her so much more.”
“How about tonight?” Alexis asks, stretching his arms above his head, already eager.
“Tomorrow morning.”
He nods, then stands and strolls to the door so he can brief the men outside.
For now, we have to get through another night on the mattresses with Aemelia between us.
***
“We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Aemelia pauses mid-scrub, her fingers tightening around the dish in her hands. Water drips from her fingertips, sliding down the plate and into the soapy sink. Slowly, she turns, dark eyes searching mine.
“We’re going back?”
“To the penthouse,” I confirm. “It’s time.”
She blinks, processes, then presses her lips together. Instead of answering, she resumes washing, her movements slower, more deliberate. I can feel the weight of her unspoken questions hanging between us, thick as smoke.
“You don’t need to worry about anything,” I say, my voice low and steady. “That man, the stalker, is in your past. And your father? He’s still a ghost.”
She nods, but she doesn’t look at me. Her shoulders remain stiff, her posture guarded.
Antonio moves in behind her, close but not suffocating, his warmth an unspoken reassurance. He rests a broad palm against the small of her back, his touch light yet firm—an anchor.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmurs.
For a second, she closes her eyes, just breathing. Then, with a slow exhale, she places the final dish on the drying rack and dries her hands on a dishtowel, her movements careful and controlled.
And finally, she turns to us, something softer, almost vulnerable, in the depths of her gaze.
“Okay,” she whispers.
Antonio squeezes her waist, a silent promise, while I hold her gaze, giving her the same vow without words.
Tomorrow, we’ll return to the world we left behind.
Tomorrow, we’ll take her home.
***
When we finally make our way upstairs, the air between us is different. The tension is still there, but it’s shifted, heavier with something unspoken.