Page 27 of Sold to the Silver Foxes (Forbidden Hearts #6)

TABITHA

I’m curled in the bay window of the east-wing music room, trying to read Pride and Prejudice for perhaps the fifty-ninth time.

Truthfully, I’m only half processing Lizzy and Mr. Darcy.

The other half of my brain loops through surgical statistics, mortgage math, and the memory of Salvatore’s heartbeat under my ear last night.

Snow drifts sideways across the lake, muffling the world so thoroughly that even the distant sound of staff vacuuming hall runners feels hushed.

Life here is peaceful. Different. These small moments of calm mean everything to me. After working three jobs to take care of the hospital bills, being able to slow down and just enjoy the quiet feels like the biggest luxury of all.

Nico is the only brother at home. Sal is in a meeting with a textile engineer.

Dante took two junior cousins night-skiing.

The villa vibrates with an unusual quiet, almost like a library whose books wear tuxedos.

I’ve grown fond of that quiet. It helps me separate the Morettis’ gilded universe from the sterile chill of Erin’s hospital room.

I’m still processing what happened with Sal last night when a row of black SUVs glides into the circular driveway below my window.

They materialize out of the snow like sharks in the deep.

Four men in wool coats fan out first, scanning sight lines.

Then the rear door of the middle vehicle opens, and Pietro Dumas steps onto the gravel, brushing imaginary lint from a charcoal overcoat.

My pulse stumbles. What the hell?

They head for the front door. This cannot be good.

Not a minute later, Carla, the housekeeper extraordinaire, enters the library. “Pardon the interruption?—”

“What’s going on? Why is Pietro here?”

Her unflappable calm fractures as her lips flatten into a thin line. “Excellent question. Mr. Moretti has been notified, and your presence has been requested down the hall.”

I swallow. “Requested by whom?”

“Both parties.”

Where is my luxurious quiet now?

Nico meets us at the landing. His glasses glint under the chandelier, and his rolled shirtsleeves frame his meaty forearms perfectly.

Slick and calm, yes, but his jaw flexes like an idling engine.

The polite half smile he offers Pietro could be mistaken for hospitality if you don’t notice the vein ticking in his temple.

“Signor Dumas,” he says, the Italian honorific razor-sharp. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Pietro’s wolfish smile reveals perfect orthodontics. “Surprise inspection.”

“I don’t like surprises, Dumas.”

“One of the world’s greatest secrets is that no one does.”

“What I meant to say is that my staff would have arranged refreshments,” Nico replies. It’s phrased as mild regret, but his eyes scream I’d have arranged snipers .

Pietro flicks his fingers. “I’ve tasted your wine cellars, but thank you for the imagined courtesy. Not to worry—I’ll keep it short.” He nods toward me. “Tabitha, dear, might we speak privately?”

Nico’s nostrils flare, but he says, “The salon is available.”

I glance at him, and he gives a fractional nod—permission or warning, I can’t tell. Pietro’s bodyguards step past us into the salon, sweeping handheld detectors over sconces and mantels. Two others linger outside the door. Their earpieces glint like frost.

The hairs at my nape prickle. I remember Dante’s story of boutique cameras, Pietro’s threats. Intimidating, yes—yet bizarrely reassuring. He guards his virgins like priceless art.

We enter the salon, which is a nice word for an attached greenhouse.

At least, that’s what it looks like with all the plants and glass panel walls.

Pietro gestures gracefully for me to sit, and he remains standing, long fingers clasped behind his back.

His people close the doors, and now I’m alone with a mobster.

“Tabitha, my dear, how are you faring?”

I fold my hands in my lap. “I’m well. The brothers are treating me with respect. More than respect.”

He lifts a brow. “Affection, perhaps?”

Heat creeps up my neck. I remember Nico laughing in the studio, Sal’s pulse beneath my cheek, Dante defending me against Cousin Antonio’s barb. “Seems to be.”

Pietro sighs as though that complicates bookkeeping. “That’s a pity.”

“Why?”

“Emotional attachment can cloud judgment. If harm occurs, some girls protect their lovers by lying to me.”

“I’m not lying. They’re good to me.”

His gaze searches mine, predator assessing prey for fractures. Finding none, he exhales softly. “Very well. The others report similar goodwill.”

It’s shameful, but I haven’t thought much about the other virgins from that night. Still, I’m glad to hear they’re doing well. “That’s good, I guess.”

“But circumstances evolve. If you, at any moment, wish to terminate, contact me directly.” He produces a matte-black flip phone the size of a playing card from his coat pocket. “No GPS. Press the star button, and it dials me. Funds will be wired within hours, nonnegotiable.”

I swallow. “I said I’m fine here.”

“That option keeps bidders on their best behavior and virgins safe.” He sets the phone in my palm. “If your feelings change—toward them, toward the arrangement—use it.”

“Pietro, I’m not pretending…” It’s odd how hard that sentence hits when I say it out loud. It’s true, though. I’m not pretending. The way I feel about them is genuine, and that scares the hell out of me.

He smiles kindly. Or what passes for kindly on his face. “I’m sure you’re not. All the same, keep the phone. And do not worry about your pay. You’ve more than earned it, even if I have to liquidate their assets to do so.”

My throat tightens. “That’s not necessary.”

“How is your sister doing? I understand her surgery is soon.”

Mental whiplash. I’d ask how Pietro knows about her surgery, but he seems like he always knows more than he should. The conversation shifts to medical logistics. Turns out, he knows her neurosurgeon. His charm is oily yet sincere, a paradox that leaves me rattled.

Finally, he bids me farewell. I follow him to the foyer where Nico stands sentinel, arms folded.

Pietro tips an invisible hat. “Lovely villa, Niccolò.”

Nico’s smile shows no teeth. “Let me know next time you’re in the neighborhood.” Translation: I’ll booby-trap the driveway.

The SUVs roll away, taillights bleeding crimson through snowfall. Nico releases a long breath. “Are you okay?”

Pietro’s threats feel far away when a Moretti stands beside me. “Um, yeah. Just…that was unexpected. He gave me a phone to call him if I want out of our arrangement.”

“I hate to say it, but good.”

I blink up at him. “Good?”

Nico’s hand traces along my cheek as his eyes draw lines all over my face. “I never want you to feel like you’re stuck with us, sweetheart. You always have a choice.”

“I know that.” My voice is hoarse, and I don’t know why. I feel shaky. Oh god, I can’t get sick. Not now?—

“What is it?”

“I feel weird. Uneasy. I hope I’m not coming down with something.”

“Adrenaline spike? Pietro is a ball of stress.”

A weak laugh escapes me. He’s right. I recognize it now. “Yeah, probably. I just…he’s intense. And he was talking about liquidating your assets if you screw up, and I can’t let that happen, and?—”

Nico presses his lips to mine, and I’ve never been more grateful for a kiss in my life. His arms wrap around me, and the kiss slides from tender to claiming when his fingers lace through the hair at the back of my head. He angles me to open me up to him, and I feel weightless. Ethereal.

Hungry.

“Let me make you forget,” he murmurs against my lips.

I nod, and he pulls me into the salon and shoves the door closed using my back.

For long minutes, the only constants are touch, breath, and the midday sun beaming through the glass ceiling.

Nothing else exists, just Nico’s deft hands.

My world narrows to his fingertips as they slide into my underwear.

I’m still standing. Barely. The door isn’t a great place to lie down, but I care less and less when that throb hits. I cling to his shoulder to stay on my feet, and it’s all I can do not to collapse when I come with a yelp.

Without a word, he picks me up in his arms and lays me on the wooden dining table nearby. He jerks my lounge pants off completely, all thought of propriety gone from his eyes. Only raw need there now.

He pulls me to the edge of the table, yanks his pants down, and thrusts in with a hiss. No more foreplay, no talking. He doesn’t even wait to take his shirt off, instead ripping it over his head once he’s inside me. It’s like he couldn’t wait.

His abs ripple in the sunlight as he pumps into me, and the heady sense of longing takes over.

I want this, but I want more than this too.

I sit up as much as I can and reach for him.

He doesn’t disappoint, leaning until he’s on the table too.

This is what I needed. His body close to mine, the weight of him grounding me to this moment.

I needed to touch him too.

His shoulders, his chest. I needed to feel his heartbeat under my palm. It’s racing now, like his breaths. He mutters, “Can’t even believe you’re real,” between our kisses.

I know the feeling. But I can’t speak. I’m too close to something good. When I take a breath, it washes through me, fire and ice colliding in my core. He arches, driving my orgasm higher, further, deeper.

“You’re mine,” he growls in my ear as he pounds into me, his hips slamming into mine. He swells inside of me, and his body jerks as his eyes roll. But then he pulls out, coming on my thigh and the table as his body shakes on top of me.

Our breaths are ragged things, broken by wheezes and little coughs. It’s never been quite like that. Never that animal or that quick. But I needed that more than I can say. Right now, my brain is marshmallow fluff.

Nico’s head lies on my breast. His warm breaths ghost heat across my chest. “I’ll make it up to you later. Just…needed that.”

I dig my fingers through his gray crewcut, counting on the fact that my fingertips will smell like him later. “Nothing to make up for. I needed that too.”

“I meant what I said, sweetheart. You always have a choice. And…for the duration of the contract or until you say otherwise, you’re mine.”

I smile at the thought. “And your brothers?”

“Theirs too.”

Maybe it’s crazy, but I can’t stop smiling at the thought of belonging to them.