Page 9 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

The city lights blur as we speed through the streets,and my anxiety rises with every mile that takes me further from the hell I justescaped. Did I escape? Or am I simply on the knife edge of falling into anothertrap? Someone bought me, that’s all I know—bought my body, my virginity. Ipress my legs tightly together reflexively as the thought of what’s comingfloods me with dread.

In the auction, the lights shining on me blinded me tothe faces of the audience. Panic was a serpent winding around my windpipe,stealing my breath and hope. It’s like I’m trapped inside the kind of dream youwake from in a sweat, only half convinced it’s not real.

We arrive at a towering glass building, the type thathouses men in suits with bloodstained hands. The Venturi name glows in sleeksilver letters above the entrance. My stomach knots. The Venturis. If they paidmy price, does that mean they saved me?

Last night, they questioned me like a spy, but I thoughtthey believed me when they let me go. I know nothing about my father and hisbusiness. I might carry his name but do it with bitterness and resentment. Ifhe’s even still alive, CarloLambrettiis my fatherby blood only. I will never forget the violence he rained down on my family orthe hateful words he spoke to us. My mother still carries the scars of hisjealousy and fury. She was too beautiful for him, and he never trusted hermotivation to marry him. I’ll never know if the rumors that followed her weretrue or just driven by envy. All I know is that my father should stay awaybecause I’m not the terrified little kid I once was, and if he comes for usagain, if he lays his brutal hands on me like he used to or tries to lacerateme with his insults, I’ll kill him myself.

The Venturis have a legitimate grudge against him. I wasyoung, but I had ears. I know why we fled to Maryland and hid with distantfamily. It makes me question: Am I free or just a different kind of prisonernow?

The night is cold, and it cuts through my skin eventhough I’m wearing Andre’s jacket over my slut dress. As I climb from the car,I catch him looking at the place the lace dips above my thighs, revealing theshadow of my pussy, and I turn away in disgust.

Men are animals if they can think about sex with a womanwho’s vulnerable and captive.

Their base desires repulse me.

I pull the jacket closer around me, revolted by thecloying scent of his cheap cologne, catching sight of a white van slowing downacross the street and the shadow of a man staring through the window in mydirection.

Vito grabs my arm, and they escort me through to aprivate elevator, up, up, up until the doors slide open. The penthouse seemsempty. It’s pitch black, and our footsteps echo like we’re walking through adeserted showroom. By the light of the moon, the space is sleek and modern,with marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over theglittering city. The furniture is low and Italian-designer chic. Precisely thekind of thing I imagine the Venturi’s choosing. Masculine and expensive butsoulless like them. It’s eerily quiet, as if the walls are joining me inholding their breath.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Andre says, his voicea low rasp. He nods toward a door down the hall.

I don’t move. “What do you mean? What is this place?”

Vito sighs, his patience thinning. “You belong to theVenturis now. That means you do as you’re told. Now, go.”

I want to argue, to demand answers, but these men arejust paid goons. They probably know less than me. My legs feel weak as I handthe jacket back to Andre and walk the plank toward the distant doorway heindicated. When I open the door, I’m greeted by more of the same decor: a hugelow bed in the center dressed in crisp white linens, mirrored nightstandstopped with tall lamps, and a substantial white vanity with a mirror above itthat touches the vast ceiling. I enter the room, noticing a door to an equallystark marble-filled bathroom. The door clicks shut behind me, and then, thesound of a lock sliding into place. Panic surges through me.

I spin, instinct pressing to pound on the door. “Wait!You can’t just lock me in here! Let me out!”

Silence.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I whirl around,scanning the room. It’s more luxurious than I’ve seen since I was a young girl,but cold and impersonal—a gilded cage.

I pace, fists clenched at my sides, but exhaustioncreeps in fast, and defeat forces me into a curled heap on the bed. My bodybetrays me, dragging me down into restless, uneasy sleep.

***

When I wake, my eyes fly open, half believing I’m in the small,cramped room at my aunt’s house that smells of mothballs, cigarettes, and stalemarinara sauce. In front of me, a tall white lamp stands on a nightstand thatalmost disappears beneath the weight of the room’s dark reflections. The sightof it brings me to full consciousness of my situation. The air in the roomfeels different. Charged.

I blink, my vision adjusting to the dim light. My breathcatches in my throat when the shadowy form sitting in a chair by the door comesinto focus.

A man, his presence a dark, looming force, sits withwide-spread legs, hands resting casually on his thighs. The low glow of thecity skyline from the window behind the bed casts sharp shadows over hisface—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips pulled into a slash across hishandsome face. But it’s his eyes that hold me captive. A deep, endless gray, asliquid and reflective as mercury. They watch me with quiet, deadly focus as ifhe’s already decided my fate.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs.

I swallow hard, pushing myself upright. “Antonio?”

His smirk deepens. “You remember me?”

I do, even after all these years.

He was captivating, even to a five-year-old; so tall Ifelt like I had to tip my head to the top of a mountain to see his intensebeauty. My father would laugh when I talked about marrying him, a charmingprince who would sweep me off my feet years into the future.

What a twisted joke!

“Why am I here?”

“Why do you think?”

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