Page 22 of Wrathful King
“Shhh,” Liana warned.
Amon’s cousin leaned over and whispered something in his business associate’s ear. The fucker laughed, found my gaze again, then gestured at his men.
“The auction may begin,” the devil announced.
Auction.The word was like a poison in my body.
I felt a rough shove between my shoulder blades and I stumbled.
“Move,puta.” I wanted to snap. What was the point of shoving me around if they already knew I belonged to Perez Cortes? Maybe someone else would swoop in and save me. Although I doubted I’d find a Good Samaritan in this crowd of barbarians. They were all villains—ugly, vicious, and disgusting.
And still, I hoped for anyone—fuckinganyone—but Perez Cortes.
Liana tugged us toward the podium.
“Stay close to me.” My eyes traveled over the girls. There were so many of us. Younger than me. Older than me. Some, like Liana, looked to be the same age as me.
I rubbed my arms, my nails scratching at my skin. “Who are all these girls?”
“They’re the illegitimate daughters of Camorra, Cosa Nostra, Bratva. Among other underworld families.”
Illegitimate daughters.
Those words. I’d heard them before. And then the memory dropped into place.
The first summer we spent in Italy. The summer we tried to make Venice our home.
“Attacked in our home! And you know how much I hate dark, enclosed spaces.” Mamma was on the phone, her whispers cutting through the silence of the store while I stood still, trying to figure out who she was talking to from behind the dressing room curtain. She was still mad at Papà for putting us in the room behind the fireplace.
It was wrong to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help it. My curiosity got the better of me.
That was until Phoenix ran up to me and pinched my shoulder, signing, “You’re it!” then bolted. My squeal echoed as I took off after her.
I sprinted through the store, oblivious to the sales ladies’ glares, when my breath caught at the sight of a beautiful silver gown. My sister forgotten, I came to a stop, unable to tear my eyes from it.
Picturing myself in it, I lost myself in the princess stories I loved so much. Until a body slammed into me, making me stumble into it. My hands flew, flailing through the air to steady myself.
One minute I was on my feet, the next I was on the floor, suffocating under the sea of pink, green, lavender, black.
“Reina!” I winced at Mamma’s voice, unable to swim through the material of dresses and find my way out. “Where are you?”
“Here.” My voice was small as I finally pushed my head through a ruffled pink skirt.
Mamma stood in front of the messy pile with one hand on her hip and her phone in the other.
“For the love of God,” she scolded.
A sales lady screeched in Italian, calling out names. “Gucci! Chanel! Valentino!” She must have heard our names wrong when Papà dropped us off and introduced us.
I shook my head. “No, I’m Reina,” I grumbled miserably, speaking in English. I didn’t know Italian.
“Why can’t you behave, Reina?” Mamma’s tone was cross. “You’re just like—” She cut herself off, horror passing her expression.
“I’m sorry, Mamma,” I said, lowering my head, ready to take the scolding. I was about to get an earful and I had no good excuses to use.
A loud sound shattered the air and my hands came up instinctively, covering my face. Screams rippled around me as harsh footsteps echoed through the room. Men spilled inside, dressed in all black and wearing heavy boots.
Mamma shrieked. One of Papà’s guards appeared out of nowhere, shoving my head back into the sea of clothes while I fought him, desperate to find Phoenix.
