Page 20 of Auctioned Innocence
I think of the women that were rescued from Anthony’s auction house last year—terrified, drugged, treated like merchandise.
I think of Sofia, brilliant and fierce and so goddamn young, in the hands of men who traffic in human lives.
My free hand curls into a fist so tight I feel my knuckles crack. “He’s using Sofia to get back at all of us. For Anthony. For the family’s ‘lost honor.’”
“I need you on this, brother.” The raw fear in Marco’s voice cuts deep. “Sofia helped protect Elena when she was pregnant with Stella. Now Dominic’s going to make her pay for it because he can’t get to Elena or Mario.”
Twenty-two years old. Brilliant and brave and too damn selfless for her own good.
And mine.
The thought ambushes me, unleashing an emotion so violent I have to grip the terrace railing to steady myself.
Sofia is mine to protect.
Mine to save.
Mine in ways I’ve never allowed myself to acknowledge, not even in the darkest hours of the night when her face haunts my dreams.
“I’ll handle it.” My voice is pure ice now, all emotion locked away behind the persona I’ve cultivated for years.
The Moretti who makes men tremble.
The enforcer who never fails.
“Send me everything you have. And Marco? Dominic’s going to wish he was in hell.”
I end the call, already calculating resources, contacts, weapons.
The cold, deadly part of me—the part that earned my reputation—lays out concise plans.
The rest of me, the part I keep carefully hidden, howls with a fury I’ve never felt before.
Mario and Elena are already in the doorway, alarm clear on their faces.
“Dominic,” Elena whispers, clutching Stella closer. “He’s really doing this?”
Mario’s expression is murderous. “My contacts say he’s rebuilt Anthony’s old network. Including the auction house.”
The words hit me hard.
I think of Sofia on an auction block, men bidding on her like she’s property.
The image threatens to shatter my control.
“Three days,” I cut in, reading Marco’s intel flooding my phone. “That’s our window before the auction.”
“You’ll need a cover to get in,” Mario says. “Dominic’s more unstable than Anthony ever was. More prone to violence.”
“Then make me someone who speaks his language. Someone with enough money and darkness to be believable.”
My voice could freeze hell itself. “I don’t fucking care what it takes.”
My phone buzzes again.
More photos from Marco’s team.
Sofia’s bedroom, the signs of struggle evident in overturned furniture and broken glass.
