Days blur together. I move through the estate like a ghost caught between three gravitational pulls, unable to escape any of them.
I've slept with all three now. Given pieces of myself to each. And the tension is becoming unbearable.
They're careful not to cross paths when I'm present. Breakfast becomes a chess game of timing—Santo early, Matteo late, Luca taking his in the study.
But I feel the current beneath the surface. The rivalry. The jealousy. The simmering resentment threatening to boil over.
I'm passing Luca's study one afternoon when I hear raised voices. The door is cracked—just enough to hear everything.
"You're trying to control this like you control everything else." Matteo's voice, sharp with accusation. "Setting the rules, deciding when and how she sees each of us."
"Someone has to maintain order." Luca, cold as ever. "She's not a toy for you to fight over."
"That's rich, coming from the man who took her riding like some romantic hero."
Matteo's laugh is bitter. "Don't pretend you're above this, fratello. Don't pretend you haven't been planning every move like one of your business acquisitions."
"Enough." Santo's voice cuts through—quieter than his brothers, but firm. "Both of you. This is exactly what we said wouldn't happen."
"Stay out of this, Santo." Matteo's tone drips venom. "You already got what you wanted. First in line, like always. The good one. The gentle one. While Luca and I play the villains."
"I didn't plan anything. It just happened."
"Bullshit. You've been circling her since the day she arrived. The garden. The little gifts. Playing the sensitive card."
"That's not fair," Santo says, hurt beneath the anger. "I care about her. Actually care. Not just about owning her."
"And we don't?" Luca's voice drops, dangerous. "You don't have a monopoly on emotion just because you're better at showing it."
The argument spirals—old resentments surfacing, accusations flying.
"This is pointless." Luca's voice cuts through the chaos, cold and final. "She's free to go. The deal's been fulfilled. We have no right to keep her here."
The words hit me like ice water. I press closer to the door, heart hammering.
"So that's your solution?" Matteo laughs bitterly. "Just let her walk out? After everything?"
"It was always the arrangement. Her virginity for her family's debts. The terms have been met."
"Luca's right." Santo's voice is quiet. Pained. "We can't force her to stay. That was never what this was supposed to be."
"Then what was it supposed to be?" Matteo demands. "Because I don't remember any of us planning to actually—"
He stops. The silence is heavy with everything unsaid.
Feel something. Want her. Need her.
I push the door open.
All three fall silent instantly. Matteo's fists are clenched, knuckles white. Santo looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. Even Luca's composure shows cracks—tie loosened, hair disheveled, jacket discarded.
They stare at me like I've caught them doing something shameful.
Good.
"This stops now," I say, steadier than I feel.
"Gianna…" Santo starts, stepping toward me.
"No." I hold up my hand. "I've been listening, and I've heard enough. You're fighting over me like I'm territory to be conquered."
I look at each of them in turn. "You're brothers. Family. I won't be the thing that tears you apart."
Then I do something that surprises all of us.
I cross to Matteo first—the angriest, the most volatile. His amber eyes widen as I cup his face and kiss him deeply, pouring everything into it—the passion, the fire, the way he makes me burn.
"That wasn't a mistake," I tell him quietly. "What happened between us. I wanted it. I still want you."
Then Santo. Slower, softer, my fingers threading through his hair. His pale green eyes search mine as I press my lips to his—gentle, tender.
"What we shared meant something," I whisper. "You mean something."
Finally Luca. He watches me approach with calculating gray eyes, body perfectly still. When I reach for him, he doesn't move—but he lets me. The kiss is controlled, but I feel his hand tremble at my waist.
"You don't have to hold all that control with me," I say softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
I step back, facing all three.
"I care about each of you. Differently. What I have with Santo isn't what I have with Matteo, and neither is what I have with you, Luca. But I won't let you tear each other apart fighting over the choice."
I take a shaky breath.
"If you want me, really want me, then figure out how to share. Because I'm not choosing. Not yet. And if that's not something you can live with, tell me now."
Silence. They exchange glances—something passing between brothers I can't read.
"And if we can live with it?" Luca's voice is measured. "That doesn't change the facts. The arrangement is complete. You're free to leave, Gianna. No obligation to stay."
My stomach drops. I knew this was coming—knew since breakfast—but hearing it makes it real.
Leave. Go back to what? Parents who sold me? A life where I'm nobody again?
"I don't want to leave."
The words escape before I can stop them. All three go still.
"I mean…" I scramble for something less desperate. "I could be useful. Stay as an assistant. Help with the household."
"The position is filled." Luca's voice is flat. Final. "We hired someone last week."
Of course. No practical reason to stay. No excuse to hide behind.
"She stays as my guest."
Santo's voice cuts through—quiet but brooking no argument. His eyes meet mine, full of tenderness and desperate hope.
"Santo—" Luca starts.
"As my guest," he repeats, harder. "For as long as she wants. Not up for debate."
Matteo's jaw works. Then something shifts in his expression. "Fine. Mine too. She's my guest too."
They both look at Luca.
A long silence. Those steel-gray eyes unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.
"She stays. If that's what she wants."
"It is." My voice is stronger now. "It's what I want."
Matteo shakes his head slowly. "You actually expect us to share you?"
"I expect you to treat me like a person who makes her own choices. Find a solution that doesn't tear us all apart."
I turn toward the door.
"Gianna." Luca's voice stops me. "Where are you going?"
I look back over my shoulder. "To my room. To give you time to think. And to remind you I'm not a problem to be solved. I'm the solution—if you're smart enough to see it."
I leave them in stunned silence.
For the first time since the auction, I hold all the cards.