Page 115 of Kneeling to Candy

It’s showtime.

Slipping my arm through Piero’s, we saunter into the estate like we own the place, paying no mind to the two guards stationed outside the front doors and two standing right within the estate. I wear a mask of indifference, not stopping to marvel at the grandeur of the black marble foyer and dark slate and wrought iron sweeping staircase. The place honestly looks like an expensive prison upon seeing it again. In many ways, it is a prison for those being sold today.

We don’t make it a few feet within the entrance of the manor when an agonizingly familiar stout man with a ruddy complexion rushes toward us. The navy blue suit he wears is tailored too tightly around his round body, making his thighs create friction while walking. He swoosh—swoosh—swooshes right to us with labored breath.

“Signore Bianchi! Welcome.”

My fingers grip Piero’s arm. The mobster covers my shaking hand in the crook of his elbow with his free hand, possibly trying to shield me from my trauma resurfacing. It takes all my remaining self-control to stop the rest of my body from quivering as we come face-to-face with Patrick Duffy.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you in person.” Duffy thrusts out his pudgy, more than likely sweaty, hand at Piero. A shiver runs up my spine at the sight of his hand. Memories of what he did with those awful mitts creeps into my mind. It’s a struggle to brush away those memories.

My biker must sense my unease. Butch subtly slides closer behind me. His warmth snaps me back to reality, chasing away those lingering fears. I mentally head slap myself. There are twenty women relying on me playing my part.

I will not fail them.

Luckily, Duffy is too transfixed on Piero to notice me. I prefer it this way. It’ll make my role easier without the pig’s attention on me.

“You must be Duffy,” Piero drawls, his tone flat with a slight edge of hostility as he takes Duffy’s outstretched hand. “The man who dared to steal from my city.”

“Ah!” Duffy yips, wincing. “Quite the handshake you have there, sir. And what’s this stealing nonsense? We’re partners.”

Piero’s smile is forced, almost calculating—not at all friendly. Alarm bells would go off in my head if he was smiling at me the way he is at Duffy.

Suddenly, Piero yanks Duffy forward, bringing him to his knees at our feet. The mobster pulls a pistol out of the inside of his blazer, holding it against Duffy’s temple. The confrontation forces me to release Piero’s arm, stepping backward into the security of Butch’s embrace. My biker carefully spins me behind him, his body coiled tight and ready to fight. Ziggy moves close behind me, surrounding me in a protective bubble.

Piero’s men don’t flinch at this sudden change in their boss, almost like it’s normal for him to flip at the drop of a hat. All they do is aim their weapons at the armed guards, their faces devoid of emotion or fear. Hell, even Tank reacts the same way, his gun trained at the guard at the top of the stairs. However, he’s used to these snake-like strikes, having served under the mob for many years.

Duffy’s armed guards are slower to react. They train their guns at Piero and our men, but Duffy waves them off with his free hand. His guards reluctantly stand down, watching closely.

The atmosphere is heavy with Duffy’s dread pluming the surrounding air. No one dares move as we watch the scene unfold.

This isn’t the Piero who’s befriended our MC. This is a dangerous man flexing his muscle—the new Don of Denver. Lorenzo had his moments, but I never witnessed him go full lethal like his cousin. He usually let one of his goons do the dirty work.

Not Piero. He apparently is okay with getting blood on his hands. Guess that’s why he fits in with our lot.

Petrified, Duffy stares up at him, probably sensing how badly he overstepped.

“Partners?” Piero chuckles darkly before his face turns stern.

Duffy stammers. “Aren’t we?”

“No, amico mio. This is your one and only test run to prove to me you can work in my circle. If you fail…” He smirks, patting Duffy on his Rosacea-pink jowl with the barrel of his pistol. “…well, don’t fail me and there won’t be a need to worry.”

It may be all an act, but I don’t doubt for a second this is how Piero operates in his world. The man is terrifying. Thank God he’s on our side.

“S—Sure, Signore Bianchi,” Duffy stutters as Piero releases his death grip on him. He staggers back onto his feet. Duffy attempts to appear unaffected, smiling like his life wasn’t threatened seconds ago. “Let me show you to your box seats and explain the rules of the auction.”

Having a hard time keeping my gleeful smile in check, I give a little harrumph as I slide my arm back through Piero’s with ease.

The don acts bored as Duffy drones on about how the auction works, how to place a bid, and where to pick up the merchandise after purchase. In actuality, Piero is taking in our surroundings like the rest of our team is doing.

Cameras cover every inch of the estate, monitoring all our movements. I do my best not to shy away when I notice another black orb on the wall as we ascend the grand staircase, blinking its little red light as we pass. Standing tall with my shoulders back, I give the appearance that I belong here—that I own it. If we weren’t on a rescue mission, I’d probably flip off a camera to show whoever’s on the other side of the monitor screen watching that they’re my bitch.

As we make our way to our private seating, Butch, Tank, and Ziggy give updates about the interior layout and how many armed guards they spot and their locations through their comms, talking low to avoid Duffy or the security we pass from overhearing. If anyone were to look at them, they’d assume they were talking amongst themselves. I would add to the conversation, although I fear I might alert Duffy of my identity. He may not see it’s me under the pink hair and designer clothes. But hearing a voice, one he made scream for mercy, may jog his memory.

Duffy blabbers on a mile a minute as he shows us to our center luxury box. The room is dimly lit, adding to the privacy. The space is completely black—black walls, black carpet, black furnishings—giving the atmosphere a foreboding vibe. It makes sense. Cowards like to hide in the dark.

Through the tinted panoramic window in the room, we can see the center stage highlighted by lights on the floor around the raised platform. The other box seats surrounding the stage are muted of light like ours, making it difficult to see anything beyond the tinted glass.

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