Page 148 of Auctioned Innocence
“Ready?” I ask as our vehicles screech to a halt.
Sofia checks her concealed weapons one final time. “Let’s go save my family.”
The Council chambererupts into chaos as we burst through the main doors. Viktor stands at the podium, interrupted mid-speech about the Renaldi family’s supposed crimes, financial records and surveillance photos displayed on screens behind him. His face when he sees Sofia—alive, free, and very much not the broken victim he expected—drains of color.
“Impossible,” he breathes, gripping the podium. “The warehouse—Lorenzo confirmed?—”
“Lorenzo lied.” Sofia’s voice carries across the chamber with measured calm. “Just like he’s been lying to all of you for thirty-five years.”
We move in perfect coordination, Sofia beside me as Marco’s team secures the exits and herds the panicking Council members to safety. Every movement flows together like we’ve been partners our entire lives.
“The evidence against your family is irrefutable!” Viktor recovers quickly, gesturing at the damning displays behind him. “Financial crimes, unauthorized operations, systematic?—”
“Is fake,” Sofia interrupts, pulling out a data drive and holding it up for all to see. “Unlike the proof of what you and Lorenzo have really been doing. The auction houses. The trafficking network. The systematic campaign to frame multiple families.”
She tosses the drive onto the Council table where it lands with a small click that somehow echoes through the suddenly silent chamber.
Viktor’s remaining security detail—hidden throughout the chamber—choose that moment to reveal themselves. The ancient chamber transforms into a war zone as muzzle flashes strobe from behind marble columns, ornate balconies, and concealed positions throughout the hall.
I return fire automatically, taking down the shooter positioned behind the eastern columns while Sofia drops another emerging from behind the Council seats. Bullets spark off marble, sending stone chips flying like shrapnel. The beautiful stained-glass windows shatter in cascades of colored light, raining down on cowering Council members.
Everything’s chaos. Sofia’s somewhere to my left—I hope. “Sofia!” I shout over the gunfire. “You okay?” A bullet sparks off the pillar next to my head. Shit. I fire back, but I have no idea if I’m hitting anything.
It’s a deadly ballet, perfectly synchronized. Everything we’ve trained for, everything we’ve survived, distilled into this moment.
“Marco, movement on your left!” Sofia calls out, spotting a threat emerging from a concealed doorway.
He spins toward the danger, weapon rising, but Viktor’s sniper—positioned in the upper gallery with a clear sight line—fires first.
The shot echoes through the chamber with sickening finality.
Marco’s body jerks as the bullet tears through his chest, just left of center mass. For a split second, he stands frozen, looking down at the spreading crimson stain across his white shirt with something like surprise. Then his knees buckle and he collapses, hitting the marble floor with a sound that cuts through all the gunfire.
“Marco!” Sofia’s scream tears from her throat, raw and animalistic. It’s not just fear—it’s the sound of something breaking inside her. She breaks from our formation without hesitation, sprinting across open ground toward her fallen brother as bullets whine past her head.
Terror like I’ve never felt before slams into my chest. Not for myself, but for watching her run through that deadly crossfire, watching her throw herself down beside Marco’s motionless form. Blood is everywhere—soaking through his shirt, pooling on the pristine marble, staining Sofia’s hands as she presses them frantically against the wound.
“No, no, no,” she chants desperately, applying pressure while checking his pulse with shaking fingers. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this. Not ever.”
Marco’s breathing is shallow, labored. Each exhale produces a small bubble of blood at the corner of his mouth. His eyes flutter, unfocused, skin going pale from blood loss.
I lay down heavy covering fire, emptying clip after clip to keep Viktor’s men pinned while Sofia works. But I can see the panic building in her movements, the way her training is warring with pure terror. This isn’t just any casualty—this is herbrother, her protector, the man whom she looks up to.
“Stay with me, big brother,” she pleads, her voice breaking. Blood seeps between her fingers despite her pressure. “Don’t youdareleave me. We just got through all this. We just?—”
Her voice cracks into sobs, but she doesn’t stop working. Checking vitals, adjusting pressure, trying everything she knows while bullets fly overhead.
The sight of her like that—desperate, terrified, covered in her brother’s blood—makes something primal and violent rise in my chest. The kind of rage that makes men do stupid, heroic things. The kind that makes them burn the world down for the people they love.
“Behind you!” I shout as James appears in the upper gallery, weapon trained directly on Sofia’s crouched form. He must have broken free during the convoy’s arrival—blood seeps through his shirt where Sofia cut him, but his aim is steady.
“You really should have stayed in your cage, princess,” he calls down with cold satisfaction. “It’d have saved everyone a lot of trouble.”
Sofia doesn’t even look up from Marco, just shifts her body to better shield him while maintaining pressure on his wound. She’s choosing her brother’s life over her own safety, and it’s going to get her killed.
Before I can get a clear shot, Lorenzo staggers into view beside him, clutching his wounded shoulder but still armed. His face is twisted with rage and madness, the careful mask of the family friend finally stripped away completely.
“Enough!” Lorenzo’s voice cracks with fury. “I will not be defeated by an ungrateful child! By the spoiled brat I helped raise!”
