Page 44 of Auctioned Innocence
I memorize his face, committing every detail to memory.
When this is over, Julian Reed will receive apersonalvisit.
“Some men pay for obedience,” I counter, playing my role. “Others for challenge. Question is only what you value more—time or money.”
Reed considers this, finally turning to actually look at me. “You speak from experience, Mr. Volkov?”
“St. Petersburg has similar markets. Smaller scale, less…refined.” I allow a small, cruel smile—one I’ve seen on toomany men’s faces over the years. “But principles remain same. Investment must justify return.”
My burner phone buzzes in my pocket—a message from my contact in the kitchen staff.
Storage room. 10 minutes.
The staff here are a mix of the coerced and the corrupted.
I’ve spent the past day identifying potential assets, people who might help us when the time comes.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say to Reed, rising from my seat with practiced nonchalance. “Business call. Even here, Moscow demands attention.”
I note how Reed immediately moves closer to the platform once I step away.
Every instinct screams at me not to leave Sofia alone with these predators.
But information is survival right now.
Knowledge is power, and I need all the advantages I can get.
The storage room smells of cleaning supplies and fear.
My contact—a young server named Jonah who’s in way over his head—is already waiting, fingers drumming nervously against his thigh.
Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. American accent with Midwestern traces. Probably came to New York with dreams of Broadway and ended up serving champagne to monsters.
“Mr. Volkov?—”
“Report,” I cut him off in my normal voice, dropping the Russian accent entirely.
Jonah’s shoulders relax slightly, confirming my suspicion that he’s been planted here.
Marco’s team has been busy.
“Overheard Madame Rouge on the phone with someone called Vincent. They were arguing about share percentages.” Tommy’s hands shake as he lights a cigarette. “Said somethingabout ‘the other families expecting their cut’ and how ‘Dominic better honor the original agreement.’”
My mind races, connections forming rapidly. “Other families?”
“Yeah, she mentioned a few names. D’Angelo. Kovac. Martinez.”
I commit each name to memory, linking them to faces, territories, specialties.
The D’Angelo family controls most of the Eastern Seaboard’s sex trafficking, specializing in high-end escort services for politicians and CEOs.
Old money, old methods. Patriarchal to the core, with Carlo D’Angelo recently taking over after his father’s convenient heart attack.
The Kovacs operate throughout Europe, laundering their human trafficking profits through legitimate art galleries and auction houses.
Irena Kovac took control last year after her brothers mysteriously disappeared during a yachting trip.
She’s rumored to be more ruthless than them both combined.
