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

SMART ENOUGH TO SURVIVE

I wake first, needing to pee, and find myself smooshed against Luca, who is sleeping on my mattress. His body rests on top of my blankets while I’m warm and snuggled beneath. In sleep, with his face at peace, he loses all the sharpness. Even his scar, long and neat across his face, doesn’t take away the ethereal beauty that he possesses. I take a few seconds to really study the man who made my whole body fizz with awareness with just a heated look across a wedding reception. The man who paid a high price for my virginity but hasn’t taken it yet.

Time has changed him from the man who carried me when I was a hurt and helpless child. His brow and jaw are more defined, his stubble denser, his lips a little thinner. His dark hair is peppered with the odd fleck of white, but it only makes him more handsome. This man is old enough to be my father, but I could never see him that way. Even when I was a kid, I thought of him as handsome, like a fairytale prince who’d come back for me when I was grown. He’s broad and muscular, fit in a thicker, more masculine way than men my age. And I kissed him.noveldrama

What was I thinking?

I wasn’t. That’s the truth. I was scared from a dream that felt like reality, Cohen chasing me, hurting me, violating me, and Luca was a safe haven. I gulp at the realization that my mafia captor is the person I clung to when my stalker violated my dreams.

These men are my captors, but it’s complicated. They’re in the wrong for holding me against my will, but they’re also my rescuers. If any of those other men had bought me at auction, I’d be deflowered by now. Maybe worse. Virginity can only be taken once, but men can make a fortune out of owning and selling what’s between a woman’s legs. I shudder at what could have happened to me if these men didn’t see me as a method of revenge against a man I myself despise.

And if Cohen had caught up with me, he’d have destroyed me by now.

I pull away, careful not to disturb Luca, drawing Antonio’s sweater around me and inhaling. The neck smells like his cologne, ocean breeze and alpine forest, and the subtle scent of his skin that inexplicably makes me feel safe. As I pad out of the room, Alexis stirs, rolling over, his hair flopping across his forehead. He’s beautiful in sleep, too, like a Roman sculpture brought to the ground by time, created to be the very pinnacle of men’s appearance.

I find my way to the bathroom and relieve myself, then wash my hands and face, staring into the cracked mirror before I look away from the disheveled, wide-eyed girl who stares back.

Downstairs, I search the refrigerator and cupboards, pulling together ingredients for breakfast. There’s egg, sausage, tomatoes, and mushrooms, along with a loaf of rustic bread that will toast to a perfect golden brown. As I start to prepare the food, rich, savory scents fill the kitchen, drifting up the stairs, and sure enough, the first to be roused is Alexis. He’s shirtless, his dark curls in disarray, and his eyes still heavy with sleep. I blush at the sight of all his smooth tanned skin, unable to prevent my gaze from sliding over his tight abs and nicely rounded pecs. The way his fire tats lick up his arms sends heat rushing through me like wildfire.

He flops onto a stool at the counter, rubbing his face with his hands before propping his elbows on the surface, this thick biceps bunching. “You look a lot nicer than the usual asshole who makes me breakfast,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep, “although I think you might have the same dress sense.”

I smirk, buttering the toast. “It’s not the appearance of the chef that matters; it’s what they do with the food.” I nod toward the coffee pot. “You want coffee?”

“Definitely. Black with two sugars because I’m not sweet enough.”

Behind him, Luca appears, looking fresh despite the uncomfortable way he slept last night. His hair is combed through, his face washed, and he moves with the kind of ease that says he’s ready to face the day.

“This smells good,” he says, sliding onto the next stool.

Finally, Antonio takes the remaining seat, still dressed in his undershirt, the muscles of his chest and shoulders stretching the white fabric to its limits. He wraps his fingers around the steaming mug of coffee that I hand to him and nods in gratitude.

“She’s taken your place,” Alexis teases, shooting Antonio a look over his cup.

“I’m grateful,” Antonio replies, taking a sip. “Sometimes, feeding your hungry asses gets annoying.”

“If Antonio wasn’t born into this life, he’d have been a chef,” Luca muses, raising a brow.

“Or some poor bastard’s mama,” Alexis laughs.

“Too much facial hair,” Antonio says, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. The movement is casual, but my stomach tightens at the sheer masculinity on display.

I plate up the food and slide it across to them, pleased at their satisfied groans of appreciation as they dig in. My mother always said that learning to cook wasn’t just a skill but an act of love. Food brings people together and creates warmth where there is cold.

She was right.

I stand at the counter to eat, but Alexis notices and quickly vacates his stool, dragging it around for me. “The chef should never stand.”

I thank him, and my smile widens as I catch the glare his brothers shoot him as if annoyed that he’s making them look bad. Despite the strange circumstances, this moment feels almost domestic. I shake my head at the thought. I’m the captive of three mafia brothers, being kept in a secret location. It’s definitely not the setting for domestic bliss. And yet, when they think I’m not looking, they let their eyes linger on my face and body.

“So, we found Luca asleep on your mattress this morning,” Alexis drawls, his smirk pure mischief. “Did he crawl over there by accident or…”

I arch a brow, matching his playful tone. “Was he tempted by my siren’s call?”

Antonio snorts, shaking his head. “Luca doesn’t get tempted by women. He decides he wants them, then takes them.”

“She had a nightmare,” Luca mutters, not looking up from his plate. I stare, fascinated. Luca Venturi—the ruthless, stone-faced boss—blushing because he spent the night in my bed, comforting me like some kind of reluctant protector.

“Another one?” Antonio lowers his fork, concern flickering across his usually impassive face.

Before I can answer, I decide to see how far I can push Luca. “He sang to me,” I say, sweet as honey.

The fork in his hand stops scraping his plate. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Sang?” Alexis barks a laugh and smacks his brother on the shoulder. “This man? Luca Venturi? He sang?”

“Well,” I amend, biting back my grin, “more like he whispered me a lullaby.”

Antonio’s expression shifts, something dark flickering in his gaze. Jealousy? I wouldn’t have thought of him as the jealous type, especially not about me, but the way his jaw tenses tells me otherwise.

Luca exhales, setting his silverware down with precision. “I have a nice voice.”

I blink, surprised. “You do?”

He nods, like this is a simple fact and he didn’t just shock the entire room. “Yeah. Sometimes, in the shower, I forget myself.”

“You shouldn’t need to forget yourself to sing,” I say.

“Do you sing, Aemelia?”

“Karaoke, back in Maryland.”

Alexis hums “What do you sing?”

“Whatever feels right in the moment.”

“I think Aemelia should sing for us today,” Alexis suggests, his smirk widening.

I scoff. “You want breakfast and a performance. Your expectations are a little high.”

“Our expectations stretch much further than that,” Alexis says with a layer of innuendo, then just as smoothly, he adds, “For lunch, dinner, and a mid-afternoon snack.”

“What are you? A toddler?” I laugh.

“Ignore my brother,” Antonio mutters, stabbing a piece of sausage with his fork. “He can make himself useful today.”

“You want to eat my cooking?” Alexis gestures to his plate. “Because I guarantee it won’t be anything as good at this.”

“Burned toast isn’t on my menu today.” Luca stirs his coffee, then lifts his mug to his lips. Our eyes meet across the table, and for a moment, everything else fades. The almost-kiss flickers between us, charged like a storm ready to break. It was reckless and stupid, but in the moment, it was real and beautiful. And I can’t regret it.

Alexis pushes his empty plate forward with a satisfied sigh. “You know, Aemelia, for someone we bought and kind of kidnapped, you sure are spoiling us.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Stockholm Syndrome can work both ways, you know.”

Antonio smirks, but Luca only studies me, his expression unreadable. “You don’t seem like someone who breaks easily.”

I set my fork down, choosing my words carefully. “Maybe I’m just smart enough to know when to bend.”

Silence lingers, thick with an unnamable tension. Then Alexis claps his hands together. “Well, in that case, I’m expecting lunch in exactly three hours.”

Antonio rolls his eyes, Luca shakes his head, and I just laugh. But beneath it all, something unspoken simmers between us, something shifting, changing, pulling us toward a line none of us are ready to cross. Yet.