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

NOT THE PLAZA

This isn’t the first time we’ve been confined to a safehouse, but it’s the first time we’ve had a woman with us. As a rule, families—the women and children—are kept out of business. To break that rule would be the end of this world. Everything would burn. We have rules for a reason. Even chaos requires order to contain it. But with one bullet concealed inside a beautiful bouquet, Aemelia has become the focus of this vendetta, not the pawn. We left the penthouse via secret passages with only our most trusted men, Aemelia sheltered between us.

She doesn’t fit into this basic environment. Not anymore. Not now that we’ve dressed her in designer clothes, adorned her like the mafia princess she is, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

Fuck.

She’s exquisite, like a swan gliding through the filth of the world with her head held high.

She tastes sweet.

My brother’s words ring through my head like a damn gong, over and over. And every time I remember, my mouth floods with saliva. How did he get her to open for him so easily, spreading those pretty legs like butter over warm toast? When I tried, she looked at me like she wanted to carve me up with a rusty blade. If looks could kill, she’d have liquified me in a fucking second.

I drag a hand through my hair, pushing the messy curls back as I follow her into the house, my eyes locked to her perfect ass. The place reeks of dust and stale air, motes spinning in the bright shafts of light that slip through the ratty curtains. This house is a relic, barely livable, a place we retreat to only when we need to disappear. It’s in desperate need of a woman’s touch—anyone’s touch—to make it habitable.

Aemelia looks around, her chin high as always, her expression surprised, then she turns to me. “Here? This is where we’re going to stay?”

“The Plaza was fully booked.”

She rolls her eyes. “Is there a vacuum at least? I’ve never seen dust so thick.”

“Are you offering to clean up for us?”

“I’m offering to help. We’ll get allergies.”

Luca and Antonio enter through the back door, carrying bags. They’re followed by four men from Antonio’s crew. The older two look unfazed, having been through this before. The younger ones? Much less excited to go to the mattresses.

Antonio seems unable to keep the grim expression from darkening his features, even though Luca encouraged us to keep things light. We don’t want to scare Aemelia by telling her of this outside threat. She has enough to deal with worrying about the threat we pose to her.

She’s still our prisoner, after all.

One thing is certain—Aemelia won’t have her own room. I smile, already foreseeing her reaction and the chance it will give me to get closer to her.

“Let’s see,” I say, gesturing to the stairs. “Go up.”

She moves past me, her hips swaying slightly. I’m not used to going this long without pussy, so my body is hungry. But that’s not the only reason I’m fixated on her. Aemelia has the rare ability to surprise me, and I like it more than I should.

Upstairs, the situation isn’t much better. The mattresses are old and bare and have seen better days. She wrinkles her nose. “We have sheets, right?”

“Of course.”

I dump the bags on a mattress and toss my jacket on top. Aemelia drifts toward the window, but I block her way before she gets too close. “Stay away from the windows, gattina.” Her eyes dart to me, then back to filthy glass. “You don’t know who’s out there.”

She presses her hand to the hollow of her throat before dropping it. “We better get cleaning.”

Downstairs, the house hums with activity. Antonio has his sleeves pushed up, ready to unpack the bags of food lined up on the counter. At least with him around, we won’t starve while we’re holed up in this dump. I start rummaging through cabinets for anything resembling cleaning supplies and discover an old dustpan and brush, a few ratty cloths, and a vacuum that looks like it belongs in a museum.

Aemelia, dressed in black leggings and a fitted sweater, glances down at her expensive attire. “I’d change if I had anything older and less expensive to wear.”

“Don’t worry. Clothes aren’t an issue if money isn’t an issue.”

She nods, and I consider that this might be the first time she hasn’t had to worry about where the next outfit or meal is coming from. A girl like Aemelia should never have to serve others.

She twists her long, glossy hair into a neat bun, securing it with a band from her wrist. Then she takes a cloth and starts cleaning. There isn’t much furniture, but once she’s wiped those surfaces down, she crouches to tackle the baseboards, and I catch every man in the place staring at her ass.

Luca, who’s probably never lifted a finger for housework in his life, eyes the vacuum like it’s a foreign object. “How do you get this thing working?”

I smirk. Has Aemelia Lambretti achieved the impossible and domesticated the boss of this family? Is that how much he wants to get in her cunt?

Man, this is fucked up. Antonio’s already licked his way to half a claim on her body, but what does that matter? We’re not proposing marriage here. Best-case scenario, Carlo comes back, and we set Aemelia free. She leaves, and we all go about our business. Worst case? We’re forced to do something none of us wants to do.

Her virginity is still a bargaining chip. We cannot take it from her without losing leverage. But there are many other things we can take. Many places on her body to taste.

“Plug it in,” I tell Luca, watching as he awkwardly fumbles with the cord. The vacuum roars to life, belching out a cloud of dust before revealing a clean streak on the floor beneath it. Luca nods, satisfied, and keeps going as I stifle my laughter.

I meet Antonio’s confused eyes, and we both shake our heads. Thank fuck the men are outside, watching for threats instead of witnessing this circus.

I use the brush to sweep the stairs, and the scent of frying onion and garlic fills the air as Antonio makes something to satisfy our bellies. The first time we went into hiding was after pop died when Mario’s grip on the family wasn’t strong enough, and other families were circling like vultures. I remember him lying next to me, hands behind his head, telling me that going to the mattresses was a tradition. A chance for men to be men.

If he could see us now, he’d turn in his grave.

The ache of missing him never fades. The memory of his blank face staring up from the floor of Carlo’s club, his blue eyes fixed to the ceiling, glassy and dead, will never leave me. The sound of Antonio’s cry and Luca’s wounded gasps for breath still come to me as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Worse, the pounding blood in my ears and my own harsh breaths as my heart felt like it had been skewered.

Aemelia follows behind me, wiping the fine layer of dust I leave behind. “I bet you never thought you’d be cleaning with the Venturis,” I tease, flashing her a smirk.

“Why does that sound like a Netflix show?”

I laugh. “Would you watch it?”

“There’s a lot of money to be made in shirtless cleaning,” she says. “Just saying.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “You’re funny,” I tell her, then, just to push her buttons a little, I add, “Since my brother made you come.”

I expect her to blush, to get flustered, but she just seems amused, and my dick perks up in response. “He has a clever tongue, but not that clever. My humor is my own.”

“You ready to come to bed with me?”

She frowns at my quick shift in the conversation, flushing a little at my bravado.

“To put sheets on those old mattresses.”

Biting back another smile, she brushes past me on the stairs. “Now there’s a proposition I can get behind.”

***

Antonio takes food out to the men guarding the house, ensuring they take turns to eat. The cool night air blows in through the backdoor, but the men barely seem to notice, exchanging a few quiet words before he heads back inside, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, braced under the weight of the night’s tension.

Inside, Luca washes the dust from his hands at the kitchen sink, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room. It’s still a shithole, but it’s as clean as we can make it. He even vacuumed the twenty-year-old couches, an effort that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Aemelia, who seems to have worked up an appetite from cleaning, doesn’t hold back as she digs into her plate. “Oh my god. So good.” she groans.

“He learned it all from our mama,” I tell her. “She’s old school.”

“Shouldn’t this have been passed to Rosita?” she asks.

“Our grandfather was a chef,” Antonio explains. “Mama sees cooking as a life skill.”

“So Luca and Alexis can cook like this, too?”

Antonio pauses serving the food to smirk. “They can cook, but not like this.”

She licks her lips. “You promised me the recipe,” she says.

Luca tuts, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I didn’t know Antonio was so easy with our family secrets. What else has he told you?”

His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying edge to it—smooth as silk but sharp enough to cut. He’s watching her closely, his expression unreadable. He’s worried. Worried that Aemelia is burrowing under Antonio’s skin in a way none of us anticipated. Worried she’ll find a weak spot and take advantage.

She tilts her head, cat-like, a knowing little smile curving her lips. “That’s for me to know.”

There’s a beat of strained silence as Antonio and Luca exchange an intense look. The way Antonio squares his shoulders just slightly and Luca presses his lips together for the briefest second before taking another bite, tells a story.

In the end, Luca leans back in his chair, draping an arm over its back. “A recipe has to be earned, gattina. How do you propose to earn it?”

Her gaze flits between us, her fingers toying with the stem of her fork. Maybe Luca didn’t realize how his words would sound, or maybe he did. He enjoys playing with people, leading them through a maze when a straight line would do. She arches a brow. “The cleaning wasn’t enough.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Cleaning’s a good start, but maybe you should tell us some secrets.”

She shrugs; an infuriatingly slow, elegant movement. “Any secrets I have about this life are for women’s ears only.”

“So, there are secrets?”

She tips her chin and smiles slowly. “Men think their indiscretions are private, but women have eyes everywhere.”

Antonio leans forward, intrigued. “Who’s being indiscreet?”

She rests her hands in her lap, her expression almost innocent. “Mesina has another family. Did you know that? An African American goomar.”

“Alfonso?” I ask.

She nods, her eyes calculated.

Luca stills, his fork poised midair. “He does?”

“They have three kids.”

Antonio barks out a laugh. “How did you hear about that?”

“My aunt is dying. People tell her things thinking she’ll take them to the grave.”

“Motherfucker.” Luca wipes his mouth on a napkin and drops it onto the counter. “What else?” His voice is calm, but there’s a tightness around his jaw that I wouldn’t trust if I was Aemelia.

Oblivious, she smiles and picks up her fork again, taking a slow, deliberate bite. He watches her, waiting, expecting more. When she’s done chewing, she smiles slyly. “What? You wanted me to earn the recipe. A secret for a secret.”

“Quid pro quo,” I laugh, enchanted.

She points at me with finger guns. “Exactly.”noveldrama

Luca exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “I think this girl wants my hand on her ass again.” He raised his right hand, mimicking the kind of slap our mother used to give us when we misbehaved as kids.

Antonio, who usually looks somber at best and miserable at worst, has a glint in his eye, a smirk playing on his lips. In this dilapidated house, we seem far from our world of power and threat. The bullet with Aemelia’s name was left back at the penthouse, along with our restraint. Aemelia has a way of making me forget who I am, who she is, and why we’re doing this dance. She makes me want to do another kind of dance, and my brothers are acting like they feel the same. I don’t remember the last time my brothers were this lighthearted. It’s like something that was rusted shut inside them has been forced open and greased.

Aemelia lifts her chin, a picture of defiance. “A spanking has to be earned, Luca Venturi.”

The sparks between them are electric, the air charged, and my laugh is loud enough to wake the dead.

Going to the mattresses is supposed to be about men being men, but with Aemelia here, something very different seems to be happening.