Page 1 of Auctioned Innocence
1
SOFIA
Emerald silk slips through my fingers as I smooth down my dress for the hundredth time.
In the full-length mirror, my reflection stares back, all wide eyes and nervous energy.
The dress had seemed perfect in the store—sophisticated without trying too hard, the kind of thing that might make certain people see me as more than just Marco’s little sister.
Now I’m not so sure.
“Miss Sofia?” Josefina knocks at my bedroom door. “Your father is asking for you. The guests are arriving.”
My stomach does a little flip.
He’scoming tonight.
I’d overheard Marco on the phone with Dante earlier, their voices low and serious about something I probably wasn’t supposed to know about.
Not that anyone tells me anything important anyway.
At twenty-two, I’m still treated like the baby of the family, despite having run cons since I was ten and handling delicate extraction operations by fifteen.
They may use my skills when it suits them—my reputation for getting people out of impossible situations is well-earned—but when it comes to the inner workings of the family, I’m still kept at arm’s length.
Which is ridiculous. Who was the one who outsmarted Matteo DeLuca and managed to get Elena Santiago out of the hospital he had on lockdown?
Me. That’s who.
“Coming!” I swipe on one last coat of lip gloss, practiced movements taking over as I check the small knife strapped to my thigh.
A habit from years of never being truly unarmed.
I breathe deeply, centering myself the way I would before an operation.
“God, I’m being stupid. So fucking stupid,” I mutter. “It’s just Dante. He’s been around forever, he’s Marco's friend, he’s…” I trail off, because that’s the problem, isn’t it?
We’ve worked jobs together, planned operations side by side.
The fact that my heart races every time he walks into a room is my problem, not his.
I’ve faced down armed guards and rival families without flinching, but somehow Dante makes me feel like that awkward ten-year-old running her first con again.
I take one final glance in the mirror, straightening my shoulders.
The emerald brings out the gold flecks in my dark eyes, making them look almost amber in certain light.
At least that’s what Uncle Lorenzo had said when he’d taken me shopping last week, insisting on buying me this dress despite my protests.
“A Renaldi should always look the part,” he’d said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of affection and authority thatbrooked no argument. “My little treasure deserves only the best.”
As Dad’s oldest friend and advisor, Lorenzo Abate has been a major part of my life since before I could walk, the uncle who dotes on me with expensive gifts and treats me like a precocious child despite how long I’ve been running cons.
Precocious child.Ha.
He knows what I can do, but he still sees me as the little girl who needs his guidance and protection.
And it is really fucking annoying.
