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

FAMILY TIES

I leave Aemelia with Luca and Antonio, trusting them to keep her safe and ensure the mess is cleared up. This war with Enzo is reaching its peak, and while my brothers handle one end of the battlefield, I take four of my best men—Nico, Leo, Rafa, and his brother, Sandro—to handle the other.

The ride to Aemelia’s aunt’s apartment is tense, the low growl of the engine the only sound as we weave through the city streets. Vito, Andre, Gabe, and Matteo got there ahead of us, and their last update confirmed two of Enzo’s men had been captured and another three were being pursued. That’s a small comfort. It means we still have the upper hand—barely.

As we pull up outside the building, I survey the rundown complex again with a frown. The place is a dump, bricks crumbling, windows stained with years of city grime—no place for anyone, least of all the mother of the woman we love.

Vito and Andre are waiting by the side entrance, their boots planted firmly against the backs of two restrained men who are on their knees, heads bowed in forced submission. One of the bastards is bleeding from his temple, his face half-swollen, while the other keeps his mouth shut, likely contemplating how much more of his own blood he’s willing to lose tonight.

“Where are they?” I ask, stepping out of the vehicle, the night air sharp against my skin.

Vito jerks his chin toward the alleyway. “They can’t have gotten far. There’s an alley further down. Try there first.”

I nod once, imagining Aemelia’s sick aunt out in the cold. That motherfucker Enzo trying to kill a woman who’s already on her deathbed. If Aemelia hadn’t pierced his heart with my knife, I’d have done it with pleasure. Remembering the cool way she handled business makes me smile. She’s fire and ice, heart and blood, sweet and vicious, a delicious conundrum. “Secure these two. I’ll handle the family.”

Vito grins. “Already got a place picked out for them. They won’t be a problem.”

I wave him off and gesture at Leo and Nico to follow me. The alleyway is dark, the weak glow of a flickering streetlamp barely illuminating the narrow path between buildings. The scent of rotting garbage clings to the damp air, and my stomach turns at the thought of Aemelia’s family crouched out here, hiding like prey.

Then I see them.

Carmella Lambretti clutches her sister, her body curled around the frail woman, shielding her from the night’s cold. Aemelia’s brother, Carlo Junior, pale and gaunt, is crouched beside them, his arms wrapped around himself, shaking with either fear or withdrawal—I don’t have the patience to figure out which right now.

I approach slowly, hands visible, voice low but firm. “Signora Lambretti.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wild, rimmed with exhaustion. “Venturi—”

“We’re taking you somewhere safe. Come with me.”

She tightens her grip on her sister. “Why should I trust you? Where is my daughter?”

I crouch beside her, meeting her eyes. “Because my brother warned you that Enzo sent men to kill you. If we wanted you dead, you wouldn’t still be breathing.”

Her thin lips part as a shuddering breath escapes. She glances at her son, then at her sister, before nodding. “Okay.”

“Good. Let’s move.”

I help her stand, my hand firm but careful on her arm. Leo lifts the sickly woman, carrying her as gently as possible, while Nico steers Aemelia’s brother toward the waiting vehicles. He stumbles but keeps moving. His weakness disgusts me.

As we make our way back to the SUV, Carmella grips my wrist. “Aemelia?”noveldrama

“She’s safe,” I assure her. “She’s the reason we’re here.”

That seems to ease some of the tension in her shoulders, but she doesn’t speak again.

We urge them into the vehicle, and I’m just about to slide in next to Carmella when a white van creeps to a stop across the street. Its engine ticks once, twice, then goes still. The windows are tinted, making it impossible to see who’s inside, but every hair on my body stands on end. A low, instinctualprickle of awareness scrapes down my spine.

Vito and Andre pull up at the curb, ready to follow us back to the penthouse. Vito’s half leaning out the window. “You okay, boss?”

“The van,” I hiss, voice low and sharp. The air thickens, heavy with the promise of violence.

He glances over, his eyes narrowing into slits. Then they widen. His hand is already slipping inside his jacket, fingers curling around the grip of his Glock.

“It’s him,” he hisses, his voice dripping with venom.

My grip tightens around the handle of my gun. “You’re sure. The one who bought the roses?”

Vito’s already sliding out of the vehicle, his knuckles white on the weapon, the fury in his eyes cold and raw. “That fucking cock-sucking piece of shit.”

“Keep talking,” I growl, pulling out my phone.

Without missing a beat, Vito straightens, squaring his shoulders, and launches into a bullshit story about how his wife wants him to take her on vacation to Florida and how she’s picked a five-star hotel that’s going to bleed him dry. His tone is casual, almost bored, his free hand gesticulating, but his other hand stays steady on the gun.

While he talks, I dial Matteo. The moment he picks up, I cut straight to the point.

“The white van. Box it in.”

I hang up and slam my hand against the side of the vehicle carrying Aemelia’s family.

“Drive. Up two blocks.”

Nico doesn’t hesitate. The car peels away from the curb, separating them from the imminent storm.

Engines roar as Matteo and Sandro’s SUVs screech onto the street. Tires scream against the pavement as they block the van in from both ends, cutting off any escape.

Before the van’s engine can so much as sputter, my men swarm it, yanking open the doors and dragging the lone hooded man out.

I move fast, crossing the street in long, furious strides, flanked by Vito and Andre, guns drawn. The pavement thuds beneath my feet, but it’s my pulse that thunders louder.

Matteo slams the man face-down onto the asphalt, planting a knee between his shoulder blades. The man lets out a wheezing grunt, his cheek scraping against the rough concrete. Matteo’s Glock presses into his skull, waiting for my command.

“Is it him?” I ask Vito, my voice a low growl.

Vito spits on the ground. His eyes are dark with certainty. “Yes.”

Matteo’s face is a mask of ice, unreadable as he pats the man down. He yanks a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, rifles through it, and shoves the ID into my hand.

Maryland license. Cohen Barker.

My breath stills for half a beat.

It’s him.

Aemelia’s stalker. The man who sent her roses and terror. The man who tried to make her feel small, afraid. The man who made her tremble in my brother’s arms.

Rage floods my veins, thick and sharp, and before I can think, I drive the toe of my boot into his gut.

He gags and curls in on himself, coughing and sputtering.

“I’m a florist,” he whimpers, voice reedy with panic. “I just deliver flowers.”

Matteo smashes his face into the asphalt again and presses the gun harder against his temple.

“Shut the fuck up.”

I crouch down, close enough that he can smell the blood already on my hands.

“You threatened someone I love,” I say, my voice low, lethal. “You made her live in fear for her life.”

I lean in until my lips almost brush his ear.

“What kind of man does that to a sweet, innocent girl?”

He whimpers something unintelligible, but Matteo cracks him across the back of the head with the butt of his gun. Cohen fucking Barker goes slack, blinking dazedly.

“Now, you piece of shit,” I say, flicking open my thin-bladed knife with a sinister click. I let him see it—the razor edge of the blade gleaming in the streetlights. “I’m going to take yours.”

The knife glides like butter through his temple, silent and precise.

For a moment, his eyes go wide with terror, his mouth falling open in a breathless gasp. Then, the light leaves them.

Blood seeps onto the concrete, pooling beneath his twitching body.

I straighten, wiping the blade on his pant leg with cold indifference.

“Put him in the van,” I instruct Matteo, my voice steady and emotionless. “Drive it into the river.”

Matteo nods once, and with Sandro’s help, they haul the corpse into the van like a sack of trash.

Andre pulls up in the black SUV, and I climb into the passenger seat, gun still loose in my hand.

As we pull away, I glance once at the empty white van, a coffin with wheels, knowing it’ll be rusting at the bottom of the river by morning.

A fitting grave for a man who thought he could terrorize my woman with roses and bullets.

When we rejoin Aemelia’s family, I switch cars to slide into the seat beside Carmella, and we drive back to the Venturi building in silence thick with the weight of the night, the faint scent of blood still clogging my nostrils.

Tonight, we put an end to Enzo’s reach.

We snuffed out the man who dared to think he could make our woman afraid.

And when we return, Aemelia will know that whatever life she had before, whatever fears she carried—none of them matter.

She’s one of us now.

We’ll keep her safe.