Page 75 of Auctioned Innocence
But ahead, finally, I see it—a faint glimmer of moonlight through an opening in the tunnel. Freedom. Safety. Home.
Just a few more steps.
Just a little further.
The night air hits our faces as we burst from the tunnel entrance, and I’ve never felt anything so sweet. But there are shadows moving toward us in the darkness—friend or foe, I can’t tell.
I raise the shotgun with my free hand, ready to fight one more time if I have to.
For Maisie. For the other girls. For Dante.
For all of us who refuse to be anyone’s merchandise.
14
SOFIA
“Here!” A familiar voice cuts through the darkness as we burst from the tunnel.
Marco’s men materialize from the shadows like guardian angels, weapons ready, covering our six as they hustle us toward a waiting SUV with practiced efficiency.
“Goddamn, Sofia,” one of them breathes—Tommy, I think, one of Marco’s newer recruits. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”
I probably have.
My dress is torn and stained with blood—some mine, some Dante’s, some from people whose names I don’t even know.
My hair has come loose from its careful styling, and I can taste smoke and gunpowder on my lips.
But we’realive. We made it out.
“The others,” I gasp as they help me get Dante into the backseat, my hands slick with his blood. “The other girls—did they?—”
“Mario’s got them,” Tommy assures me, but there’s something in his voice that makes my stomach clench. “Most of them, anyway.”
Most of them.Not all.
Someone didn’t make it out. Someone else died tonight besides Maisie.
The driver—Vincent Torrino, one of Marco’s most trusted lieutenants and a man who’s been protecting our family since before I was born—peels out before the doors are fully closed.
His weathered hands are steady on the wheel despite the chaos, forty years of experience keeping us alive.
Behind us, gunfire erupts as Marco’s team engages our pursuers. Muzzle flashes strobe in the darkness like deadly fireworks, and I can hear the distinctive rattle of automatic weapons mixing with the deeper boom of shotguns.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Dante demands through gritted teeth, pressing harder on his wound.
Blood seeps between his fingers.
“Perimeter breach on three sides,” Vincent reports, his voice carrying the calm professionalism that’s kept him alive this long. “They were waiting for us, boss. Somehow knew all our exit routes, our contingencies, even our backup plans.”
The words send ice through my veins.
Our security protocols aren’t just good—they’relegendary. Marco and Dad have spent years building layers upon layers of protection, safe houses and escape routes that even family members don’t know about. For someone to compromise all of them…
“Inside job,” Dante mutters, his face pale. “Has to be.”
A phone buzzes nearby—Marco’s emergency tone.
