Page 7 of Sold to the Silver Foxes (Forbidden Hearts #6)

NICO

Dante is known for his impulsivity. He’s spent half his life leaping off cliffs and diving into shark-infested waters. But tonight, I feel dangerously close to spontaneous. The second the tall redhead stepped onto the stage, my gut clenched with an unfamiliar kind of urgency: I want her.

Time to bring this to a close. I lean in so I can say this quietly. “I want her. But I’ll share. Let’s not keep digging ourselves deeper for this.”

Sal arches a brow but nods. “You sure about sharing?”

“Yes. Brotherly bonding time, remember?”

He sits back, while Dante raises a brow, surprised at me, I suppose. I murmur to him, “That asshole in the back has the high bid. Up it big, and let’s finish this.”

He nods once and puts in a bid that flusters Tabitha. Finally, the auctioneer lifts his gavel. “Going once…going twice…sold! To—” He checks his screen. “Paddle 153. Congratulations.”

Thank fuck.

I won. Technically, all three of us won, assuming Dante doesn’t go back on his word about sharing her.

A wave of realization crashes over me, and I slowly lower my phone, hands shaking.

The crowd applauds politely, though some folks nearby glance our way, probably trying to puzzle out who we are behind our masks.

That’s the last thing we need right now.

Tabitha stands there, chest heaving, eyes wide with what looks like disbelief. The staffer at her elbow gently guides her offstage. I can practically feel the adrenaline lighting me up from the inside. The high is ridiculous.

No wonder Dante does stupid shit like this for fun. It’s a rush. But reality has an ugly way of popping up when I don’t want it to. I mutter to myself, “What did we just do?”

Dante laughs, breathless. “We bought a virgin for a month. Collectively, apparently.”

Sal sits back in his seat. “Unless you’d like to find one for your very own, Nico.”

I am very close to dissociating. This was reckless, and what’s to come is even more so. But I can’t tell myself no. It’s as though there’s a magnet drawing me to that girl. “No. I want her.”

And not just as some casual fling. I want to own every whispered moment of this so-called month-long arrangement. Which is absurd, because I don’t know her. She could be a terrible person. She might have an irritating laugh or be squeamish about kink or any other complication.

Doesn’t matter. Sometimes you just have to know for yourself.

My brothers and I are hustled to a private lounge near the back of The Armory, a hush of velvet curtains and low-slung lighting. My mind races with the consequences of what we just did, but I’m not feeling regret, merely working out the possible consequences.

The staff has scattered, leaving us alone for a moment. Sal stands to one side, arms folded over his broad chest, while Dante hovers near the door, restless energy rolling off him. My pulse thuds in my ears. I tug at my collar, too warm for comfort.

“I want her,” I say abruptly, not bothering with niceties. “I never agreed to the month-long arrangement, but if we’re doing it, I’m staking a claim on this one.”

Dante’s eyebrows shoot up, and he gives a half laugh. “And I don’t? You heard me mention the girl at the bistro, right? I saw her first. That means I have dibs.”

I narrow my eyes. “What are you, twelve?”

My gaze flicks to Sal, who’s been silent. “Salvatore,” I press, “you’re usually the voice of reason. Tell Dante he can’t just call dibs because he saw her in a diner or something.”

Sal exhales a low breath that stirs the hush around us. “This bickering is pointless. You both want her, so do I. It’s not the first time we’ve shared a woman. And since Dante apparently signed us up for a month , that’s not going to change. She belongs to all three of us, temporarily.”

My chest tightens. “We’re actually going to share? You’re serious?”

Sal lifts one eyebrow. “None of us is exactly squeamish about…less conventional arrangements.”

I blow out a breath. He’s not wrong . Once upon a time, the three of us indulged in group scenes at that club, though it’s been a few years.

Life got in the way—my CFO responsibilities, Sal’s CEO schedule, Dante’s globe-trotting.

But the memory of those nights stirs something inside me.

Taking a woman between the three of us…I can’t pretend the memory isn’t appealing.

Dante cocks his head, still glancing between us. “So if we share her, who gets her…you know, the first time?”

Sal’s jaw flexes. “Does it matter?”

“It might,” Dante counters. “Given that this is literally a virginity auction, I assume that’s the main attraction, right? The first time is some big deal. If we’re drawing straws, I call the short one.”

I roll my eyes, the heat in my chest spiking. “Honestly, if that’s your priority, be my guest. I’m not jonesing for the status of the first .”

Sal gives me a quick nod. “Agreed. Let Dante have that particular moment.” He says it in his usual no-nonsense baritone, as if he’s delegating tasks for a quarterly budget meeting. “We just need to make sure we don’t scare the girl. She’s obviously new to everything.”

I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “Then we won’t bicker in front of her. Agreed, Dante?”

A flicker of triumph crosses Dante’s face, but he doesn’t gloat. Instead, he smooths his tux jacket. “Agreed. Because I can’t wait to see if she’s half as sweet as she looks.”

My stomach knots. I don’t like hearing him talk about her that casually. But before I can voice anything, a staff attendant sweeps into the waiting area.

“Gentlemen,” she says, giving a polite bow. “This way, please. We’ll finalize the agreement in the next room.”

We follow her to a well-appointed office, all dark wood and leather chairs.

A desk sits in the center, flanked by large, marble-topped side tables.

Thick curtains cover one wall, blocking what I assume is a window that overlooks the gardens or the distant city lights.

The glow of a desk lamp illuminates a stack of papers.

None of that really registers, though. Not when I see Pietro Dumas behind the desk.

The Dumas family is connected to half the shady business dealings in this city.

They excel at hiding behind legitimate ventures like clubs, restaurants, charities, and philanthropic events.

But no one denies the swirl of speculation that they’re mob-connected.

They’ve been dancing around the line of legality for decades.

I shouldn’t be surprised to learn they’re behind this too, but all the same, the hair at the back of my neck stands on end.

A cool smile curves Pietro’s lips as we enter. “Ah, the Moretti brothers. I was wondering if you’d ever darken my doorstep.”

I glance at Dante, who looks equally tense. So he didn’t know we’d be dealing with this Dumas either. Sal, stoic as always, steps forward. “We came for the auction. Didn’t realize you were the one running it.”

Pietro gives a casual wave. “I handle certain aspects of The Armory. Tonight’s event is one of them. I’m pleased it caught your interest.”

“Caught it enough to drop a small fortune on a single woman,” Dante mutters.

Pietro’s grin widens, but his eyes remain cold. “Indeed. Why don’t we get straight to the business at hand?”

He gestures to three thick contract packets on the desk. Each is embossed with The Armory’s logo—a stylized letter A—and our names typed on the front. That was fast.

He runs a fingertip over the top page. “Standard procedure, though I suspect it’s a bit more extensive than you’re used to. We require absolute compliance from all parties to maintain the safety and discretion of our virgins.”

I glance at the header. Immediately, I spot a clause referencing forfeiture of assets should harm come to the “purchased party.” Another clause states The Armory’s right to press charges.

My blood runs hot. “You want controlling shares of our company if we violate the contract? Isn’t that a bit… extreme?”

Pietro steeples his fingers, unruffled. “This is a dangerous world, Mr. Moretti. Some men don’t understand the concepts of harm , no , or care . We find that a strong deterrent encourages buyers to behave. Otherwise, our virgins could be put at risk, and we will not tolerate such a thing.”

I grit my teeth. There’s a small part of me that admires the protective measure, but I loathe the thought of giving the Dumas family leverage over Moretti Brands. Still, we’ve come this far, and something inside me rebels at the idea of backing out. “Fine,” I mutter. “We’ll read it carefully.”

“You do that,” he says, tapping a pen on the desk. “Your friend—Gabriel, from the bistro—told me you were serious about this. I’m happy to see that wasn’t an exaggeration.”

Dante shifts, looking uneasy. He gives me a sidelong glance that confirms he didn’t realize Gabriel was in bed with the Dumases. Sal just inclines his head in acknowledgment. Without further preamble, the three of us start to skim the contract, page by page.

It’s loaded with legal jargon. Funny that they’d go through all this trouble for a legally unenforceable contract.

But the formality is there to remind us not of the law, but of the power of the Dumas family.

If we were to break it, we’d never see the inside of a courtroom.

The inside of a dumpster or the bottom of the harbor, maybe.

The most important stipulation is that if she’s harmed in any way—physically, emotionally, psychologically—Pietro and his associates can take retribution, including seizing assets.

I fold my arms, forcing myself to remain calm. We pride ourselves on keeping our tastes discreet, especially in the realm of kink. But letting the Dumas family hold the fate of Moretti Brands in their hands? That leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

But backing out isn’t an option. This contract is a type of formality, and we all know it. Pietro’s family is an unspoken threat. More importantly, I can’t deny that I want to see this through with the redhead, consequences be damned.

Pietro must sense our discomfort, because he offers a polished smile. “You won’t have to worry about any of those clauses, provided you treat your new companion with respect and care.”

A knock on the door disrupts the tension.

Another attendant peeks in, stepping aside to reveal her —the redhead—wearing a white satin negligee that clings to her every curve.

The overhead lamp casts a soft glow on the fabric, revealing tantalizing outlines.

Not as much as the spotlights did, but it doesn’t matter to my libido.

My breath catches in my throat.

She’s more stunning up close, with big, anxious green eyes and slightly flushed cheeks. The swirl of pink at her collarbone suggests she’s overheated or maybe just nervous. Possibly both.

I can’t help the flicker of heat that surges in my chest, a potent wave of desire I haven’t felt in ages. Normally, I weigh my attractions carefully, consider the ramifications. But right now, my mind is a blur, fixating on her parted lips and the gentle curve of her hips.

Ridiculous , I chide myself. Focus .

Pietro stands, smoothing his suit jacket. “Ah, Tabitha. Please, come in. These are the men who placed the winning bid.” He gestures toward us.

She must notice the tension in the room because she hesitates for a fraction of a second. Then, taking a breath, she walks in with more grace than I’d expect from someone so obviously on edge. Even with the mask covering half my face, I feel like she can see right through me. Nerves coil in my gut.

“Tabitha,” Pietro continues, “we’ve gone over the main points of your contract. I trust you remember them from your initial sign-up?”

She nods, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, sir.”

He offers an indulgent smile. “No need to call me sir. We’re all friends here. I expect these gentlemen to be perfect hosts.”

“Of course,” Tabitha says, her gaze darting to me. She lingers a beat before sliding her eyes to Dante, then Sal. I watch her swallow hard, but she doesn’t bolt.

Pietro returns his attention to us. “Now is the time for final signatures. You’ll sign in her presence, she’ll sign, and then I’ll take you upstairs to one of our suites for the first night.” His tone is polite, but no part of what he said is up for debate.

Sal steps forward first, picking up a sleek fountain pen from the desk.

He skims the final page, flips to where it indicates the three of us must sign.

The pen is offered to me last. I feel Tabitha’s eyes on me the entire time.

My chest is tight, but a kind of excitement swells in me as well.

This is insane, but it’s also exhilarating.

At this point, there’s no real choice in the matter.

I want her. I sign and place the pen down, meeting Tabitha’s gaze for the first time without flinching.

She is stunning, truly. Pietro extends the pen to her, and for a beat, she hesitates.

But then she takes the pen and carefully inscribes her name on the page.

Tabitha Calloway. Our partner in this crime.