Auctioned by My Mafia Husband

"Take off your clothes. Spread your legs."

"...What? Why?"

The voice cut through the silence, and my heart seized. I instinctively covered my stomach.

It was the first anniversary of my marriage to Alessandro, the Don of the Santoro family.

I was pregnant and had wanted to surprise him.

But his secretary, Liliana, had blindfolded me and brought me to this unfamiliar place.

"Donna, stop playing the victim. Seducing men is your specialty, isn't it?"

"Tonight, in this underground auction house, you are the final item on the block."

A chill shot down my spine, and my voice trembled.

"Are you insane? I'm the Donna of the Santoro family! I'm carrying his heir! Alessandro will kill you..."

Liliana scoffed and ripped off my blindfold.

Blinding lights bore down on me. I squinted, and gradually, a man sitting in the VIP section came into view...

It was Alessandro!

I stared in disbelief as he slowly extinguished the cigar in his hand.

"Pregnant? Whose bastard are you carrying?"

"It's yours!" I cried out.

"Liar!"

He raised his hand, and a report was tossed at my feet.

The bold letters "PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 0%" burned my eyes.

He came closer and gripped my chin.

"Liliana was right. Women like you are rotten to the core."

"My love was never enough to satisfy your greed."

"And I, Alessandro, will never raise another man's bastard."

Later, he finally learned the child was his.

For the first time, the man who was always so composed, arrogant, and in control knelt before me, his voice trembling.

"Celeste, I'm begging you... even if you can't forgive me, please, let me make it up to you."

But I felt nothing for him anymore.

...

With a Soldato on each arm, I was dragged into the private underground auction house like an animal to the slaughter.

I was wearing only a silk nightgown, a flimsy thing that did nothing to hide my four-month pregnant belly.

The air was bone-chilling, making me shudder uncontrollably.

As soon as I entered the hall, all eyes snapped from the auction block to me, hungry and predatory.

"Look at our Donna. I wonder whose mutt she's carrying in that belly."

"Wearing lingerie with a belly like that. Looks like she's been around."

"Spread her legs. I want to see if she's as tight as they say."

The lewd jeers, mixed with the acrid smell of cigar smoke, made me want to vomit.

I tried to cover myself with the pitifully small scrap of fabric, but my hands were roughly forced behind my back and cuffed to the gilded railing of the circular display platform.

Tears blurred my vision, but I finally found the familiar figure.

My husband, the king of New York's underworld, Alessandro Santoro, sat in the seat of honor. He wore a perfectly tailored Italian suit, his long legs crossed elegantly.

He toyed with an auction paddle, a cigar glowing and fading between his fingers.

The handsome face that had once filled my dreams was now a mask of ice.

"Alessandro..." I called out his name with all my might.

"Look at me! I didn't betray you! This is your flesh and blood, the bloodline of the Santoro family!"

He slowly lowered his cigar and let out a short, cold laugh.

"Mine?"

He rose, his leather shoes clicking on the marble floor. "Celeste, do you really think I'd believe your lies again?"

"Celeste, I've been so busy with family affairs these past six months, I can count the times I've touched you on one hand."

"The last time was four months ago."

He walked up to me, his cold fingers suddenly clamping down on my jaw, forcing my head up.

"It's only been four months, but you look like you're about to give birth. And you're telling me it's mine?"

"I don't know, but I swear on my life, I absolutely never betrayed you!" I tried desperately to explain, hot tears splashing onto the back of his hand.

"Enough!"

Alessandro flung me away, snatched a stack of documents and photos from a nearby table, and slammed them into my face.

"You act so pure in my bed, but behind my back, you're doing things this filthy!"

The sharp edge of a photo cut my cheek, stinging fiercely.

The photos scattered across the floor, each one more shocking than the last.

It was "me."

In dimly lit hotel rooms, at secret yacht parties, with different men.

The woman in all those photos had my face.

In one of them, "I" was straddling the lap of Salvatore Falcone, Alessandro's mortal enemy. The pose was shameless, the scene obscene.

"The DNA report is here, too."

"Proving the bastard in your belly isn't mine."

The paper fell at my feet, the data on it clearly showing zero probability of paternity.

I stared at the flawlessly forged evidence, oblivious to the cut on my face, now bleeding from the paper's sharp edge.

"No, it's impossible! This has to be fake..."

"That's not me! Alessandro, you have to believe me!"

I pleaded desperately, tears blurring my vision.

"Don," Liliana said, stepping from the shadows. "She isn't worth your anger. The auction must continue. Everyone is waiting."

Alessandro gave a detached nod, turned, and sat back down in his seat, not sparing me another glance.

"You're right. Since she loves being screwed by men so much, I'll grant her wish."

The auction resumed, and the atmosphere in the room erupted once more.

Only this time, the lot was me.

"The opening bid is five hundred thousand. Minimum raise of one hundred thousand. Let's begin."

The moment the auctioneer finished speaking, the entire room went wild.

"Five hundred thousand!"

"Seven hundred thousand!"

"One million!"

...

The men in this auction room were all thrill-seekers.

A bald Capo with a fleshy face was the first to raise his paddle.

He threw down his catalog, his greedy eyes raking over my body. "Don, forget the antiques. I'll give you three million for one night with your wife. How about it?"

"Three million to screw a pregnant woman. Now that's fucking interesting."

"I'd like a taste of the Don's woman, too."

The catcalls rose from all around, threatening to drown me.

I looked at Alessandro in despair, my body trembling uncontrollably.

I clung to a final shred of hope that he would step in to protect me, just as he always had.

But the bald man was rubbing his hands together, a lecherous grin on his face as he stalked toward me.

Alessandro just let out a soft chuckle, not moving a muscle.

Just as I was about to close my eyes and resign myself to my fate, I heard a familiar voice.

"Three million?" Alessandro said, slowly turning the paddle in his hand. "Then I'll bid five million."

The bald Capo froze, stopping in his tracks.

My heart began to pound.

I knew it. He did love me, after all. He couldn't bear to throw me to these animals.

"Alessandro..." I choked out his name.

He flicked the ash from his cigar. "Five million. I'm buying her."

He slowly rose to his feet. His tall figure approached me, each step landing like a blow to my heart.

He stopped below the platform and looked up at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth.

"This is a special gift I've prepared for tonight, for all of you to enjoy."

Instantly, a chorus of whistles and cheers erupted, loud enough to shake the foundations.

I felt as if I'd been crushed by a heavy weight, my body trembling too much to stay upright.

For a split second, I even hoped I had misheard him.

"No, Alessandro, don't!"

Several men who could no longer hold back rushed forward like wild animals.

Greasy hands pawed at my skin, the disgusting touch making my skin crawl.

Someone grabbed my hair, while another roughly tore at the last piece of cloth covering me.

"Get off! Don't touch me!"

I screamed, kicking wildly, my nails digging bloody scratches into their disgusting skin.

But it was useless.

I looked toward Alessandro, searching for even a final shred of pity.

But he just stood there coldly, accepting a glass of red wine from Liliana and swirling it gently, as if he were watching a spectacular circus performance.

In his eyes, I was no longer his wife. I was just a whore who had betrayed the family, a toy to be broken at his whim.

Why would he care?

I closed my eyes as tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable.

When my heart died completely, I stopped struggling.

I let a rough hand close around my neck, while another tried to pry my legs apart.

Let them do what they will. If living is hell, then let me die.

I closed my eyes, and with the last of my strength, I slammed my head violently against the gilded iron railing.

I would rather die than be dishonored.