Page 34 of Auctioned Innocence
Believes it completely.
Because this whole place will be ashes before that auction begins.
“Impressive specimen,” the Saudi prince murmurs to me in Russian as we watch the door close behind her.
“Da,” I reply, my accent perfect even as bile rises in my throat. “Worth watching, that one.”
Worth burning the world for, I don’t say.
Later, in my assigned guest suite, I send a coded message to Marco:In position. She’s alive. 36 hours until execution.
The response comes quickly:End them all.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror—the gray at my temples, the subtle changes that make me Dmitri Volkov, Russian oligarch, and human trafficker.
The stranger looking back at me is a man I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding becoming.
Soon I’ll wash away this mask and become something else.
Something lethal.
Something that deals in death rather than purchase.
I’ve always been a weapon, but at least I’ve been pointed at those who deserve it.
At least I’ve killed to protect, not to possess.
But for now, I straighten my tie and practice Dmitri’s cold smile, preparing to watch Sofia paraded out twice more before the night ends.
I check my weapons—the ceramic knife hidden in my belt buckle, the garrote wire concealed in my watch, the poison pills sewn into my jacket lining.
Small tools, easily missed, but deadly in the right hands.
In my hands.
I think of Sofia’s eyes finding mine across the room.
The hope that flared there.
The trust I haven’t earned but desperately want to deserve.
I can maintain control that long. Can play this role without breaking character, without giving us away, without compromising the mission.
I have to.
For her.
7
SOFIA
“Don’t flinch.”
Madame Rouge’s perfectly manicured nails dig into my chin as she applies another coat of lip gloss.
The woman hasn’t stopped touching me for the past hour—adjusting my hair, smoothing my dress, treating me like a doll she’s preparing for display.
Which, I suppose, is exactly what I am.
