Page 26 of Blood Heir

“Being a D’Angelis must have gotten into her head. Look how dignified her cousin looks.”

The voices float through the air like daggers. I don’t even have to look to know the words are aimed at me. The murmurs sting, but I don’t flinch. I don’t care what they think. They don’t know me. They don’t know what I’ve been through, and they sure as hell don’t understand the game I’m playing.

I glance over at Emilia, her back straight as a rod, chatting away with some woman by her side. She’s the picture of refined elegance, the perfect D’Angelis. The world loves her.

I roll my eyes.

But the children—the kids—they’re different. They look at me with wide eyes and genuine curiosity, like they’re seeing something new, something real. I lift my hands and wave at them, and to my surprise, they wave back, their faces lighting up in smiles.

I chuckle, my mood shifting. I make a few funny faces, and they laugh, the sound ringing out like a wave of joy in the room. For a moment, it feels like I’m actually doing something right. I’m not some stiff, smiling woman in the background. I’m Fioretta, and I’m here for them. For the kids.

But then the whispers reach me again. A woman steps forward, clear in her intentions, to give the opening speech. Her eyes flicker toward me, and I can see the confusion in her gaze as she searches for the words.

“Now, we welcome the brains behind this all, Fioretta D’Angelis.” The woman falters slightly. “We initially thought you wouldn’t be making it, but your cousin told us you would be here, and erm—”

I stand tall, ignoring the soft murmurs rising in the room. All eyes are on me now, and I feel the weight of their gazes, but I refuse to be intimidated.

I step forward, the sound of my heels tapping against the floor echoing like a drumbeat. I can feel the tension in the room, thick and suffocating, but I don’t care. I glance at the kids, and they’re clapping their tiny hands, cheering for me.

I blow them a few air kisses, and they cheer louder. I let my confidence build as I take the mic. The woman who introduced me looks at me, and I can see the horror in her eyes as she takes in my outfit. It doesn’t fit the traditional mold of high society, and I can tell she doesn’t approve.

I smile to myself, turning to the kids. “Hello, my angels!” I call out, and they cheer, their voices rising in a wave of enthusiasm. It’s like I’m finally in control of something.

“Today, we’re going to have a little fun, okay?” I say, my tone is light and playful, but there’s a firmness to it too. The kids cheer again, and I can’t help but grin.

I turn to the adults, the ones who still watch me with judgment in their eyes. “And you,” I say, lifting my chin, “thank you for showing up. I hope your wallets are ready.” I let the smirk slide onto my lips as I glance at the crowd. “Emilia D’Angelis, my precious cousin, come on up. Clap for her, kids.”

The room erupts in applause as Emilia steps up to the stage, looking completely caught off guard, her confusion written all over her face. The children, however, are delighted. Their tiny hands clap and cheer, and I can’t help but join in, raising my hands and clapping for her too. The irony of it all doesn’t escape me. Emilia doesn’t know what’s coming, but I do. I can feel the energy in the room shift—there’s a certain anticipation hanging in the air.

Emilia looks at me, her brows furrowed, her lips forming a tight, almost forced smile. She whispers to me as she walks toward the podium. “What are you doing?”

I lean in just enough to make sure only she can hear me. My lips curl into a smile—one that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Relax, sweetie,” I whisper back, my voice smooth, laced with mocking sweetness. I stand taller, moving back to the mic with a confidence I didn’t know I had.

“My lovely cousin has decided to auction off everything she is wearing, here and now!” I announce, loud and clear, drawing the attention of the crowd. I feel all eyes on me now, the room waiting, hanging on every word. “And I will have you know thateverything she has on is from the top designers in Australia, most of them one-of-a-kind pieces, specially handcrafted for her.”

The reaction is immediate. Women in the audience straighten in their seats, the whispers of intrigue already starting. I can see the shift in their expressions—they’re intrigued, curious, and the auction is about to begin, whether Emilia likes it or not.

Emilia’s expression falters, the panic creeping into her eyes. She tries to mask it with a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She leans toward me, but before she can speak, I say, “Cousin, are you ready?”

“Actually, I—” she starts, but I cut her off.

I lean forward, fingers gripping the mic with force. “We start from the ears,” I announce, pausing for dramatic effect. “This beautiful earring set was designed by Marcelle Couture, a top Australian designer, going for 500,000 USD.”

I can see her trying to hold it together, but her fingers are twitching at her side. She’s flustered, and I find it entertaining. The women in the crowd sit up straighter, their interest piqued. I can see the hunger in their eyes. They want the status of wearing what she wears.

The bidding starts, and I can feel the tension rise in the room.

“600,000,” one woman calls out, her voice sharp, excited.

“600,000 going….” I pause, scanning the crowd, relishing in the quiet tension that fills the room. “Going….”

“700,000!” a younger woman yells from across the room, almost too eager.

“700,000 going,” I say, my voice rising, a smirk tugging at my lips. I feel alive, like I’m controlling this moment, the crowd, everything.

“900,000!” a woman from the back yells, her voice almost frantic now.

“900,000 going? Going?” I say, a smirk still plastered on my face as I watch Emilia’s face falter just a bit more. “And…gone to the highest bidder!”

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