Auctioned to the Mafia

Auctioned to the Mafia Bratva Mafia Abduction Romance Sorvino Mobsters Book 8 Veda Rose Copyright © 2023 by Veda Rose. All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of the book only. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form, including recording, without prior written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in a book review. Contents Chapter 1 - Anastasia Chapter 2 - Luigi Chapter 3 - Anastasia Chapter 4 - Luigi Chapter 5 - Anastasia Chapter 6 - Luigi Chapter 7 - Anastasia Chapter 8 - Luigi Chapter 9 - Anastasia Chapter 10 - Luigi Chapter 11 - Anastasia Chapter 12 - Luigi Chapter 13 - Anastasia Chapter 14 - Luigi Chapter 15 - Anastasia Chapter 16 - Luigi Chapter 17 - Anastasia Chapter 18 - Luigi Chapter 19 - Anastasia Chapter 20 - Luigi Chapter 21 - Anastasia Chapter 22 - Luigi Chapter 23 - Anastasia Chapter 24 - Luigi Chapter 25 - Anastasia Chapter 26 - Luigi Chapter 27 - Anastasia Chapter 28 - Luigi Chapter 29 - Anastasia Chapter 30 - Luigi About the Author Books by Veda Rose Chapter 1 - Anastasia The loud bangs echo behind me as the ride I’m on carries me in circles. How did I get here? Only moments ago, I was walking between my parents, holding each of their hands. My father scooped me up and put me on the fairground horse. It was beautifully painted, and to me, it was alive. The bangs. They weren’t close, but they still bounced inside my head as though in an empty cave. I’m curled up in my father’s arms. He’s wrapped himself around me, holding me, and shouting for my mother. Next, he’s cradling my mother as I stand nearby. He tells me not to look, but his grief washes over me. I don’t understand. Her eyes are open. Why is she covered in red? Why doesn’t she respond when I touch her hand? Why is her hand so cold? I sit bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat, quickly cooling in the early morning air. I glance at my watch and squint as the screen lights up. It’s three in the morning, and I sigh. The nightmares have been more intense lately. I feel like I’m reliving that horrible day which is weird because I barely remember what happened when I’m awake. My brain is obviously trying to fill in the blanks. Piecing together the scenario I couldn’t understand as a child. Long before I knew my father was playing with people's lives and dealing cards with two up his sleeve. That is life in a mafia family, especially as the boss. Father always says our family business is about playing chess, and it’s the long game that matters the most. That’s what he said when he married Tori to unite the Sorvino and Volkov families, but then he fell in love with her. I fell in love with her too, as a friend and confidant. Someone I akin to more of a sister not-by-blood than that of a stepmother. It’s weird because I consider Roman my brother. Weird family dynamics aren’t unusual in families like ours. I get up and carefully step through the clothes I casually discarded to the floor when I got home a few hours ago. I go into my bathroom and flick on the smaller light behind the mirror. It’s not as bright as the main light, so it doesn’t hurt my eyes as much. I run the cold water, cupping it with my hands, waiting for it to overflow before I lower my head and splash the icy water across my face. It chases away the lingering images of my wide-eyed dead mother staring at me and the blame I’ve felt since I understood what guilt was. I had insisted we got to the fair, and yes, it is silly to think a child is accountable for a parent's death when one of those parents is a mobster, but it’s how my brain thinks, and I’ve come to accept it. I dab at my face to dry it and then put on my slippers. I’m wearing long thin pajama pants and a tank top, I consider putting some sleeves on, but I want to feel the fresh ocean breeze on my skin. I quietly make my way through the house and out onto the deck. I stand at the edge, looking at the water in the moonlight. It’s a beautiful night, and the salty ocean scent wafts up to the house. It’s cool, not cold, but when the wind picks up, there’s a nip to it. I sit on the deck chair and stare at the ocean bathed in the moonlight. I jump slightly when my father’s voice calls out from nearby, “What’s wrong, Ana? Why are you not in bed?” I look up at him, he’s lighting a cigar, but his eyes are trained on me. I see that in the light from the match’s flame. “I just couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d get some fresh air,” I smile at him before looking back at the horizon. I never tell him about the nightmares, not anymore, at least. “Let me finish my cigar, and I’ll make you some warm milk to soothe you. Like when you were little,” he comments, breathing out the smoke. I frown, instantly irritated, but I don’t look at him while I speak and try to keep my voice firm, “I’m not a little girl anymore, Papa. I’m not a helpless child. I’m more capable than you think I am.” My father chuckles at first, then chides me, “Ana, you will always be my firstborn and baby girl, no matter how old you get! You should know that by now.” He reaches out to stroke my hair. I pull away and stand up to move away from him. I know it’s mean, especially because I