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

MAKE ME CRY

The sound of the TV hums through the walls, carrying up the stairs. Luca is watching some Italian American comedian—one of the few with the rare ability to make him laugh. Alexis is in the shower, washing away the filth of the day and probably jerking off. We have no privacy in this fucking place.

Aemelia sleeps beside me, her breath slow and steady, her hair a dark halo against the mattress. When I checked on her and found her like this, I couldn’t leave. She has nightmares, and if she wakes up alone in this strange place, she might panic.

The sun has drained from the day, leaving behind the heavy weight of dusk pressing down on the house. There are only two rooms on the second floor, one for my crew to sleep in shifts and one for us. Four thin mattresses almost cover the floor in a tight arrangement, forcing proximity whether we like it or not.

Carlo knows we have her. The coin rests at the bottom of the well, but he’s playing games instead of returning for her. What kind of piece of shit sends a bullet with his daughter’s name engraved on the side? He wants to kill his own flesh and blood? It has to be a game. He’s telling us to go ahead and kill her if we dare.

“The DNA test came back,” Luca had said earlier.

I jerked my head back. “Well.”

“Definitely not Mario’s kid.”

Even though I knew, the confirmation settled the last butterfly of anxiety in my stomach.

“The video wasn’t enough to scare Carlo out of hiding,” he continued. “They don’t believe we’ll kill an innocent woman.”

It’s our reputation that’s complicating this situation. In a city ruled by powerful families, we’re the only one that doesn’t trade in sex. That alone makes our enemies think we’re soft when it comes to women.

So we need to change that perception. We need Carlo and whoever is protecting him to understand that Aemelia will die if he stays in his rat hole. We have to show her suffering. If Carlo wants to play games, he needs to understand that we’re going to win. The thought churns in my stomach like acid.

Beside me, Aemelia stirs, her lashes fluttering before her dark eyes open, still fogged with sleep. Her first conscious breath is sharp, a small gasp as she blinks against the dim light. She stiffens when she sees me, scrambling back so quickly that she nearly falls off the mattress.

“Antonio?”

“I’m sorry to scare you.”

She exhales, shoulders slumping as recognition settles. “Is everything okay?”

“No, kitten.” I hesitate. “Nothing’s okay.”

Her face falls. “What is it?”

“Your father…”

“He isn’t coming.” There’s no question in her tone. Just cold certainty. She already knows. Of course, she does.

“The video wasn’t enough to drag him out.”

She nods once as if she expected it. “So, you need more?”

Nausea rises in my throat at how easily she says it, how readily she accepts the cruelty of this world. “Yes.”

“What?”

“We need to show you suffering. Enough to make him panic. Enough that he believes—” I can’t finish the sentence. The words taste like poison.

“Okay.” She doesn’t hesitate. “I can play along. It’ll be okay.”

I swallow hard. Sweet Aemelia. So sweet since I stripped her resistance away with a shower and my tongue. And she stripped away some of the armor around my heart.

“It has to be real.”

“I’m a good actress.” Her lips curve slightly, but it’s a sad smile. “I can make it real.”

I search her face for any trace of fear or hesitation. Instead, I find only quiet determination.

“What do you have in mind?” I ask.

She shifts, sitting up with her arms wrapped around her knees. “You need to show them something brutal. Something they can’t ignore.”

“Something convincing,” I murmur, running a hand through my hair.

She tilts her head, studying me. “How far are you willing to go?”

I don’t answer right away because I don’t know. When she looks at me, all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and go to sleep. Disappear into a world where I don’t have to face what’s coming next or remember what I’ve done in the past.

Aemelia takes a steadying breath. “You have to hit me.”

“No.” The response is instant and firm. What am I even saying?

She blinks, surprised. “It won’t be real, Antonio. We can fake it.”

I shake my head. “There’s a difference between faking pain and showing it in your eyes. If it doesn’t look real, they won’t believe it.”

She considers this, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Then we’ll make it look real.”

I exhale sharply. “Tell me.”

She shifts closer, lowering her voice. “Choke me. Not hard, just enough for the red marks to show. Mess up my hair, drag me to the floor like you’re punishing me. If we cut the right angles in the video, it will look worse than it is.”

I don’t realize my hands have curled into fists until she reaches out and uncurls my fingers, pressing her palm against mine. “I trust you.”

Her words settle deep and tighten around my ribs like a constrictor. I don’t deserve that trust. What have I done to earn it? Held her against her will. Threatened her family with death. Threatened her with the same. Cradled her body and tasted her sweetness. Not exactly the foundation for trust building, but I nod anyway.

I lift a hand to her throat, hesitating when she doesn’t flinch. “Tell me to stop the second you feel uncomfortable.”

She nods. “I will.”

I press my fingers against the sides of her neck, enough to leave impressions without cutting off air. Her breath hitches, but she holds my gaze.

“Struggle,” I murmur. “Make it look real.”

She does. Her fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging weakly. Her lips part as if gasping for breath. She kicks once against the mattress.

I let go immediately, pulling my hands back like I’ve been burned. She blinks up at me, rubbing at the phantom sensation.

“Good?” I ask, my voice rough.

She nods. “Again. Mess up my hair.”

I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand through her soft curls until they’re tangled and wild. She runs her hands over her own face, smearing away the traces of sleep.

“Now, the final touch,” she says. “Make me cry.”

I hesitate. “Aemelia…”

She grips my hand again. “Say something cruel. Something that would break me.”

I clench my jaw. “I don’t—”

“You have to.”

I close my eyes for a moment, then open them. My voice is quiet when I say, “You mean nothing to him. You mean nothing to anyone. You’re alone in this world.”

Her breath shudders. The pain in her eyes is so real before her tears spill over, slipping down her cheeks. What I said shouldn’t have cut so deep. She has a mother, aunt, and brother who love her, doesn’t she? Friends. Other family members. As do I. But my own connections don’t fill the space inside me. What I said is the thing that would gut me the most.

I want to take it back. I want to wipe away the proof of her pain. But she tilts her chin up, ready.

“You should start recording.”

“I’ll tell my brothers.”

Downstairs, Alexis is finished from his shower, rubbing a towel over his hair and laughing at the TV with Luca. I grab the remote and flick off the TV. Luca turns quickly, annoyed, but I put up my hand. “We have a plan.”

“What plan?”

“Aemelia is going to fake her suffering for the next video.”

“It has to be convincing, Antonio. She’s no Oscar-winning actress.” Luca stands, folding his arms across his chest. He’s still wearing his suit pants and a white dress shirt, always formal despite our surroundings.

“She’s willing to do whatever it takes,” I say. “We’ll stage it carefully. Bruising, distress, something that looks worse than it is.”

Alexis tilts his head. “But you’re not planning to actually hurt her?”

“No.” My voice is firm. “But it has to be real enough to make Carlo believe it.”

“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.noveldrama

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.”

Luca nods once, and the camera clicks off.

Alexis mutters a curse. Even he looks rattled.

The silence that follows is thick and suffocating.

Aemelia is crying for real now, her frame shaking. I release her immediately, hands hovering as if I could erase what just happened by letting her go. I want to pull her close to me, stroke her hair, kiss her sweet lips, and tell her everything will be okay, but I can’t even look at her. I turn away, catching Luca exhaling a ragged breath, rubbing his hand down his face. Even Alexis is quiet, his usual cocky expression absent.

What do I do? What can I do to make this right?

I force myself to meet Aemelia’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She wipes her tears with trembling fingers, giving a watery laugh. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “That was the point, right?”

I nod, but the truth is, I feel wrecked. And by the look in Luca and Alexis’s eyes, I suspect I’m not the only one.