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)
Antonio sits in the corner of the couch, a glass of whiskey dangling between his fingers, his expression thoughtful. “She just fell into our laps,” he mutters, breaking the silence. “Like a lamb to the slaughter.”
Luca finally turns, determination making his jaw tight. “This isn’t luck. It’s fate.”
I pace the length of the room, fire already burning in my chest at the thought of Carlo’s daughter. Her traditore father’s betrayal burns my soul. “So we use her. We drag her father out of hiding and make him answer for what he did to Mario.” My voice is rough-edged with anger that never fades.
Antonio swirls his drink, watching the liquid catch the light. “Mario’s in the ground, and that bastard has been walking free for too long.”
“We searched under every stone, every rotten piece of wood for that cock sucker,” I remind him. “He became air. His family, too.”
Luca exhales slowly, controlled. “Not anymore.”
The weight of Mario’s death sits heavy between us. No blood has been spilled to avenge him. But now? Now we have our bait.
A sharp knock on the door breaks the moment.
Vito, one of Antonio’s soldiers, steps inside, his face grim, eyes flicking to Luca before settling on Antonio. “Boss, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
Luca straightens, and Antonio sets his drink aside. “Spit it out.”
“One of my informants on the southside called something in. Something I thought you’d want to know.” He waits for Antonio’s nod to continue. “There’s an auction tonight. Girls. The usual, except tonight, they have something special on the menu.”
My blood cools. Antonio sits forward, his expression blank. Luca doesn’t move, but the air shifts, heavy with menace.
“Who?” Luca demands, voice lethal.
The soldier swallows hard. “Aemelia Lambretti. From what I heard, Carmine Nero’s out of pocket to her father. He’s looking to close the debt, and she’ll fetch a good price. She’s a bonafide virgin, confirmed by some doctor in Carmine’s pocket.” He lets the information hang for dramatic effect. Vito always loves a little theatre. “Plenty of men who’d like to work out their frustrations against Carlo on his pretty daughter’s unsullied body.”
Silence. A heartbeat, then another. In my veins, my blood is lava, my fury explosive, but I hold myself tight because that’s what’s expected.
Antonio stands slowly, his body stiff, but his movements are controlled. He lifts one arm to sweep Vito out the door. In the hallway, they discuss further in hushed tones before he returns. My eyes are on Luca, not because I think he will explode. He rarely shows any kind of reaction, so searching for tiny flickers in his expression is the only way I can gauge what he’s thinking.
Antonio lingers by the door. “I know when and where.”
Tension vibrates through the open plan space. The ceilings in this place are too high, and the furniture too low. It always makes me feel uncomfortable as if there’s not enough gravity. I flex my fingers, rolling my neck. “Looks like this might cost us more than we thought.”
“It’ll be worth it.” Luca nods and turns back to the sky.
***
The scent of cheap cologne and sweat fills the warehouse packed with men, predators circling for fresh meat. This isn’t our business. Our father forbade the Venturi name to be linked to prostitution. Three generations back, an ancestor fell on hard times. Her pain and redemption continue to shape our business. In all honesty, I’m grateful for it. I don’t have the stomach for the sad faces and the broken dreams.
I can barely hear myself think over the dull roar of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter, which overlays the whimpering and weeping of the girls on stage.
Luca stands to my left, rigid as a steel blade, his cool gaze sweeping over the scene. To my right, Antonio wears his cold, deadly expression like a mask, but I know him well enough to see beyond. His fingers flex at his sides, betraying the storm brewing beneath.
Then, the bastard hosting this auction calls the next lot, and the air changes. If the previous lots were fast food, Aemelia Lambretti, the untouched mafia princess fallen to the gutter, is wagyu beef. And these men are famished.
The moment her name is spoken, a hush falls over the room. My pulse slams into my ribs as a spotlight slices through the gloom, illuminating the stage. And there she is, nothing like the girl we reunited with at Rosita’s wedding. This Aemelia is a fragile, trembling thing, shackled at the wrists and barely clothed in a white lace nightgown. Her porcelain skin glows under the harsh light, and her hair, dark as spilled ink, cascades in waves down her back. Her eyes dart around, wide and fearful, blinking against the bright lights, and still, she forces her chin high.
Antonio is motionless beside me, and Luca clenches his fists so tight that the leather of his gloves groans.