AUCTIONED TO HER DAD’S MAFIA ENEMIES: A MAFIA AGE-GAP REVERSE HAREM ROMANCE (AUCTIONED SERIES Book 4)

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.noveldrama

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.

“Where’s Alexis,” I ask.

“Sleeping.”

“You want coffee.”

“Sure.”

He turns his attention back to his screen as I manhandle the coffee machine.

A knock on the penthouse door breaks the silence, and I turn sharply, my body instantly on edge. Luca looks up, questioning, as I move toward the door.

Vito is standing there when I pull it open, his large frame filling the doorway. But it’s not him that makes my pulse spike. It’s what he’s holding.

A bouquet of flowers.

Blood red roses, delicate and fresh, wrapped in crisp white paper with a silky ribbon tied in a perfect bow. An expensive arrangement, no doubt, but the sight of it makes my stomach twist.

I don’t move to take it. “Where did it come from?”

“Delivery,” Vito says, his tone wary. He holds the flowers out, but his eyes flick between me and Luca, reading the tension radiating from both of us. “A guy downstairs handed them off. Said they were for Aemelia.”

Luca stands slowly. “What guy?”

“Delivery guy.” Vito shrugs and Luca’s posture tightens.

“Did you get a look at a badge or uniform?”

Vito frowns, glancing down at the bouquet like he’s just realized how fucked up the situation is. “I thought you ordered them for the girl.” He tips his head in the direction of Aemelia’s room.

“The van?”

“It was white with tinted windows. Unmarked.”

I curse under my breath. “You didn’t think to check before bringing them up here?”

Vito tenses, his face darkening. “We checked the flowers.”

I grab the bouquet from him, my fingers closing around the delicate stems as I rip through the soft petals and glossy wrapping. Something small and metallic clinks against the marble floor.

Luca bends down, picking it up between two fingers and turning it toward the light.

A single bullet.

I lean closer, studying it. “Look at the side.”

Luca flips it in his palm, and my blood turns to ice.

Aemelia.

Her name is carved into the brass casing, neat and precise, like it was made just for her.

“Fuck.” I exhale, barely resisting the urge to crush the bouquet in my hands. My fingers dig into the ribbon still attached, something small and stiff tucked inside the folds of the bow. A card.

I pull it free and flip it open.

One letter.

C.

We stare at the initial in heavy silence.

Luca is the first to move, turning back to Vito with a look that could burn through steel. “Find out who delivered them. Check every florist in the city, Vito. Don’t make me wait for an answer.”

Vito straightens under Luca’s glare, his jaw tight. He nods, but Luca isn’t finished. His voice is low, lethal. “And find the guy who delivered them.”

Vito turns on his heel and strides out, already pulling out his phone. I toss the shredded bouquet onto the kitchen counter, the soft petals spilling across the surface like blood.

“Her own father wants to kill her?” Luca mutters, his voice high with disbelief.

I grit my teeth, looking down at the bullet in Luca’s palm. The message is clear. Someone wants her to be afraid. Or maybe for us to believe there’s a threat.

“We don’t know it’s him,” I say.

“It’s him,” he says. “I don’t like any of this.”

“We’ll find out where they came from.”

“Maybe.” He returns to sit in front of his laptop. “Or maybe we need to move her now.”