"You got this many?" Benedetto asked, blinking in disbelief as he stared at the avalanche of Marcello’s clothes laid across the bed and couch. There was a glint of triumph in Azzurra’s eyes, her lips curved into a smug smile as she wiggled her brows at him.

He had told her three times to forget the idea. Told her Marcello would never part with his clothes, let alone for an auction. It was ridiculous, like asking a king to hand over his crown. Yet here she was, surrounded by an entire ...