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

LITTLE KITTEN

The car ride is silent except for the engine’s hum and the low music playing. My wrists ache where the zip ties dug into my skin, phantom pain lingering long after they cut them off. The men flanking me are strangers—dangerous shadows with unreadable expressions. The one driving, Vito, is built like a brick wall, his thick fingers gripping the steering wheel like he could snap it in half if he wanted to. He has a sharp jawline, peppered with dark stubble, and an old scar that bisects his neck. His partner, Andre, is leaner with a narrow face like a rat but is just as intimidating, his eyes a sharp, calculating green beneath a mop of tousled dark hair. They haven’t spoken much, but their presence alone tells me everything I need to know. I’m not safe.

I haven’t been safe since I was bundled into a car after Rosita Venturi’s wedding by two terrifying men and held in a warehouse basement with seventeen other wretches. Blindfolded and gagged, I soiled my clothes, fear stealing my dignity. Before the auction, I was forced to shower in cold water and pull on a cheap white night dress like some hooker bride. No bra, no panties.

My chest hitches as fear grips me. I keep my hands twisted together so they won’t tremble. If these men see I’m frightened, it will make it worse. Men like this are parasites who live off the fear-spiked adrenaline of those weaker than them. Even though I haven’t eaten for over twenty-four hours, my stomach roils, and I swallow convulsively.

The city lights blur as we speed through the streets, and my anxiety rises with every mile that takes me further from the hell I just escaped. Did I escape? Or am I simply on the knife edge of falling into another trap? Someone bought me, that’s all I know—bought my body, my virginity. I press my legs tightly together reflexively as the thought of what’s coming floods me with dread.

In the auction, the lights shining on me blinded me to the faces of the audience. Panic was a serpent winding around my windpipe, stealing my breath and hope. It’s like I’m trapped inside the kind of dream you wake from in a sweat, only half convinced it’s not real.

We arrive at a towering glass building, the type that houses men in suits with bloodstained hands. The Venturi name glows in sleek silver letters above the entrance. My stomach knots. The Venturis. If they paid my price, does that mean they saved me?

Last night, they questioned me like a spy, but I thought they believed me when they let me go. I know nothing about my father and his business. I might carry his name but do it with bitterness and resentment. If he’s even still alive, Carlo Lambretti is my father by blood only. I will never forget the violence he rained down on my family or the hateful words he spoke to us. My mother still carries the scars of his jealousy and fury. She was too beautiful for him, and he never trusted her motivation to marry him. I’ll never know if the rumors that followed her were true or just driven by envy. All I know is that my father should stay away because I’m not the terrified little kid I once was, and if he comes for us again, if he lays his brutal hands on me like he used to or tries to lacerate me with his insults, I’ll kill him myself.

The Venturis have a legitimate grudge against him. I was young, but I had ears. I know why we fled to Maryland and hid with distant family. It makes me question: Am I free or just a different kind of prisoner now?

The night is cold, and it cuts through my skin even though I’m wearing Andre’s jacket over my slut dress. As I climb from the car, I catch him looking at the place the lace dips above my thighs, revealing the shadow of my pussy, and I turn away in disgust.

Men are animals if they can think about sex with a woman who’s vulnerable and captive.

Their base desires repulse me.

I pull the jacket closer around me, revolted by the cloying scent of his cheap cologne, catching sight of a white van slowing down across the street and the shadow of a man staring through the window in my direction.

Vito grabs my arm, and they escort me through to a private elevator, up, up, up until the doors slide open. The penthouse seems empty. It’s pitch black, and our footsteps echo like we’re walking through a deserted showroom. By the light of the moon, the space is sleek and modern, with marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the glittering city. The furniture is low and Italian-designer chic. Precisely the kind of thing I imagine the Venturi’s choosing. Masculine and expensive but soulless like them. It’s eerily quiet, as if the walls are joining me in holding their breath.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Andre says, his voice a low rasp. He nods toward a door down the hall.

I don’t move. “What do you mean? What is this place?”

Vito sighs, his patience thinning. “You belong to the Venturis now. That means you do as you’re told. Now, go.”

I want to argue, to demand answers, but these men are just paid goons. They probably know less than me. My legs feel weak as I hand the jacket back to Andre and walk the plank toward the distant doorway he indicated. When I open the door, I’m greeted by more of the same decor: a huge low bed in the center dressed in crisp white linens, mirrored nightstands topped with tall lamps, and a substantial white vanity with a mirror above it that touches the vast ceiling. I enter the room, noticing a door to an equally stark marble-filled bathroom. The door clicks shut behind me, and then, the sound of a lock sliding into place. Panic surges through me.

I spin, instinct pressing to pound on the door. “Wait! You can’t just lock me in here! Let me out!”

Silence.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I whirl around, scanning the room. It’s more luxurious than I’ve seen since I was a young girl, but cold and impersonal—a gilded cage.

I pace, fists clenched at my sides, but exhaustion creeps in fast, and defeat forces me into a curled heap on the bed. My body betrays me, dragging me down into restless, uneasy sleep.

***

When I wake, my eyes fly open, half believing I’m in the small, cramped room at my aunt’s house that smells of mothballs, cigarettes, and stale marinara sauce. In front of me, a tall white lamp stands on a nightstand that almost disappears beneath the weight of the room’s dark reflections. The sight of it brings me to full consciousness of my situation. The air in the room feels different. Charged.

I blink, my vision adjusting to the dim light. My breath catches in my throat when the shadowy form sitting in a chair by the door comes into focus.

A man, his presence a dark, looming force, sits with wide-spread legs, hands resting casually on his thighs. The low glow of the city skyline from the window behind the bed casts sharp shadows over his face—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips pulled into a slash across his handsome face. But it’s his eyes that hold me captive. A deep, endless gray, as liquid and reflective as mercury. They watch me with quiet, deadly focus as if he’s already decided my fate.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs.

I swallow hard, pushing myself upright. “Antonio?”

His smirk deepens. “You remember me?”

I do, even after all these years.

He was captivating, even to a five-year-old; so tall I felt like I had to tip my head to the top of a mountain to see his intense beauty. My father would laugh when I talked about marrying him, a charming prince who would sweep me off my feet years into the future.

What a twisted joke!

“Why am I here?”

“Why do you think?”

I draw the white comforter, as soft as a cloud, closer around me, trying to hold my voice steady. “You bought me?”

“We did.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think, gattina?

Little kitten. No one’s ever called me something like that before, and as sweet as the pet name is, it fills me with dread. I could guess why this man and his brothers crossed the city to pay an exorbitant price for me, and I don’t believe it’s out of the goodness of their hearts.

I was young when I left this life, but my mama told me all the stories. I know more about the inside of this filthy world than most girls who are still connected to it. Women aren’t brought into confidence unless they’re married or have women in their family with loose lips. The loose lips only come with foolishness or a separation from the threat. My mama’s tongue spilled secrets from a mixture of both.

But I remember this man myself. I remember getting lost in the Venturi house, opening the door to a room, and seeing him kissing a woman passionately against the wall. His trousers were around his ass, and the woman was making funny noises I didn’t understand the significance of at the time. He’d turned at the sound of the door rasping over the thick cream carpet and stared at me as I cowered and then ran.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized what I had stumbled across.

“I don’t think it was out of the goodness of your heart,” I say. “Men always expect a return on their investment.” I leave out the ‘like you’ part because I don’t want to make this personal, even though it is. Poking the bear too hard is a risk I’m not ready to take. If there’s even a slight chance he’s playing with me and about to take me home, I need to leave the door open.

“A return.” He rubs his chin, the stubble rasping against his rough fingertips, then he makes his fingers into a gun and pulls the trigger. “Bingo.” His deadly expression steals the air from my lungs. “Your father,” he continues, his voice a smooth, lethal purr. “Where is he?”

I shake my head, heart pounding. “I told you, I haven’t seen him in years.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t know where he is.”noveldrama

“I don’t. He left and didn’t look back.”

“Pity.” Antonio leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, the upper part of his face disappearing into the shadows. “If we can’t extract blood through him, we’ll have to take it from you instead.”

A chill spreads through my veins. “I don’t know anything,” I whisper, my grip on the comforter increasing until my hands shake with the effort. “If I did, I’d tell you. I owe my father no loyalty. He’s done nothing for me.”

I don’t tell him that I suspect my father is responsible for the death of Mario, the oldest Venturi brother. Or that I suspect the reason for his betrayal. I don’t tell him that our family wears the emotional and physical scars Carlo doled out so easily before he disappeared.

“Ah, gattina. Family is everything. Loyalty is everything. Blood is everything.”

The blood rushing through my veins chills. “Even when blood betrays you?”

Antonio narrows his eyes, holding me captive through nothing but a narrow slit of icy steel. Tears burn my throat and dangle at the edges of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I grit my teeth, fists clenching the sheets. Begging won’t save me. Mercy is not something men like Antonio Venturi understand.

He stands and strides forward so quickly that it makes me scramble back. From the end of the bed, he towers over me, as heartbreakingly beautiful as Lucifer and just as deadly. His presence is as thick as incense in the air, as mesmerizing as a violin solo, hair dark and short as velvet, revealing the angles of his sharp jawline. His black sweater, most likely cashmere, looks more expensive than every outfit in my wardrobe, and he pushes at the sleeves restlessly.

He’s a vicious weapon in a stunning shell. I bite the inside of my lips, holding tightly to my desperate instincts to beg for my freedom.

I want to go home. I need to see my mama. My aunt has little time left, and everyone must be worried sick about me. Have my family reported me missing yet? Are the police out looking for me?

Antonio kneels on the bed, his thighs stretching his crisply pressed dark pants as he moves closer, so predator-like, I quiver like prey. His hand, whip-fast, grips my jaw, and he tilts my chin until I have no choice but to look at him. His eyes are almost colorless in the low light, ethereal and unnatural, his breathtaking angular face set with dark determination. His hand is so strong that my bones creak. “Understand this,” he says through gritted teeth. “From this moment on, you’re ours. You belong to us. You’re Venturi property. Not Aemelia. Not Lambretti.” He sneers at my name. “You are gattina. No past, no future. You. Are. Bait. You understand.”

Little kitten. Bought to secure retribution for a lost brother.

Little kitten. Owned by three ruthless mafiosi who want my father’s head.

Little kitten. Captive and under Venturi control

I don’t flinch. I don’t move. But inside, I’m screaming.