Bought By The Irish Mafia Boss

Elena

The necklace is worth more than my entire life. I can feel it. Cold diamonds wrapped tight around my throat like a warning I don’t understand.

“Don’t touch it too much,” the event manager snaps as she adjusts it for the third time. “You’re modelling it, not fidgeting with it.”

“I’m not…” I start, but she’s already moved on.

Of course she has. To her, I’m just another body in a dress. Another girl for the night. Another… “Stand straight,” she adds over her shoulder. “Smile. Wealthy clients only. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

I nod, even though something about all of this feels… off. The dress is black. Tight. Elegant. Too elegant for a simple serving job. And the jewelry… The collar alone feels excessive.

A diamond band wrapped around my throat, matching bracelets stacked along both wrists, a heavy ring catching the light every time I move. I was told this was a jewellery auction.

High-end. Exclusive. Easy money. Stand there. Smile. Let rich people look at the pieces. That’s it. That’s what I signed up for. So why does it feel like I’m the one being displayed?

The room is already filling when we’re led out. Soft music. Low voices. Expensive suits. Everything screams money. But the way the men look at us… It’s wrong.

It’s not the jewelry they’re watching. It’s us. I shift slightly, uncomfortable under the weight of their attention. Okay. Fine. Rich men. Drunk. Creepy. Not new. I can handle that. I’ve handled worse. Right?

“Spread out,” the manager instructs quietly. “Walk. Slowly. Let them see the pieces.”

I nod again, forcing a small smile onto my lips as I step forward. Just do the job. Get paid. Go home. That’s it.

At first, it almost feels normal. Almost. Men approach, glance at the jewelry, and ask quiet questions. “How much is the set?” “Is it a real diamond?” “Who designed it?”

I answer what I can. Deflect what I can’t. Keep smiling. Keep moving. But then… A hand brushes my hip. Too low. Too deliberate.

I flinch slightly, stepping away. The man smirks. “Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re here to be admired, aren’t you?”

My stomach tightens. “Please don’t touch me,” I say, keeping my voice polite.

He chuckles like I’ve just told a joke. I move further into the room. Away from him. Away from the feeling crawling under my skin. And that’s when I notice it. The other girls.

They’re dressed like me. All of them. Black dresses. Diamond collars. Matching sets. Too similar to be a coincidence. Too… uniform. My chest tightens.

This isn’t just a jewellery event. This…

“Hey,” one of the girls whispers as I pass her. Her eyes are wide, panicked. “Do you know what this is?”

“Jewelry modelling? I don’t know,” I admit, my voice low. “But something’s wrong.”

She nods quickly. “They told me the same thing. That we were just modelling…”

Her words cut off abruptly. Because a man grabs her wrist. Hard. “Come,” he says, already pulling her away. “No, wait, what?” She stumbles after him, panic rising in her voice.

No one stops it. No one reacts. Like it’s normal. Like it’s expected. My heart starts pounding. Fast. Too fast. Something is very, very wrong.

I turn… And someone presses against me from behind. My breath catches as a hand lands on my lower back. Then lower. Too low. My entire body goes rigid.

“Get off me,” I snap, shoving back.

The man laughs, his breath hot against my ear. “Feisty. I like that.”

Disgust surges through me. I twist, trying to move away, but another man steps in front of me. Blocking my path.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyes dragging over me slowly.

“I’m leaving,” I say sharply.

His smile widens. “No, you’re not.”

Something cold settles in my chest. Not fear. Not yet. Something sharper. Realization. I try to push past him. He doesn’t move. “Move,” I demand.

Instead, his hand grips my arm. Tight.

Painfully tight. “Time to go backstage,” he says.

“I’m not going anywhere with you…” His grip tightens further. My breath hitches.

“Don’t make this difficult.”

Panic hits. Full force. I yank my arm back, trying to break free. “Let go of me!”

Heads turn. People look. But no one helps. No one steps in. Because this isn’t wrong to them. This is part of it.

“No!” I shout, struggling harder. “Let me go…”

Another man steps in behind me. And suddenly, I’m surrounded. Trapped. My heart is racing too fast, my breathing uneven as they start moving me. Forcing me. Dragging me.

“No… this isn’t what I signed up for…”

“Quiet,” one of them snaps.

I fight. I twist. I try to pull away. But they’re stronger. And there are too many of them. The doors open. And everything changes.

The room is darker. Larger. Filled with men sitting in rows. Watching. Waiting. A stage stands at the center. Bright lights shining down on it. My stomach drops. No. No, no, no…

“Move,” one of the men orders, pushing me forward. I stumble. Barely catching myself as I’m forced toward the stage.

“This is a mistake,” I say, my voice shaking now. “You’ve got the wrong person…” No one listens. Of course they don’t. Because I’m not a person anymore. I’m a product.

The lights hit me. Blinding. Hot. Exposing. I freeze. Every single eye in the room locks onto me. Not the necklace. Not the bracelets. Me.

“Lot twelve,” a voice announces.

My ears ring. My hands shake. “No,” I whisper, backing up slightly. “No, I’m not…”

“Starting at five hundred thousand.”

The number slams into me. A hand goes up.

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

“One million.”

The bids rise fast. Too fast. Like I’m nothing. Like I’m easy to buy.

Tears burn in my eyes. I won’t cry. I won’t…

“Two million.”

The room goes silent. The voice is different. Low. Controlled. Irish.

I turn. Slowly. And I see him. He’s sitting in the shadows. Relaxed. Untouchable. Like he owns the room without even trying.

Dark hair. Sharp features. Cold eyes locked directly on me. And something in my chest… drops. Because he’s not looking at me like the others. Not with hunger. Not with curiosity.

With certainty.

“Two million,” the auctioneer repeats, his tone shifting slightly.

“Do we have higher?”

Silence. Heavy. Final.

And then… A man stands. Across the room. Sharp suit. Sharper eyes. Dangerous.

“I’ll make it three,” he says smoothly.

A murmur spreads through the crowd. Tension. Real tension. And suddenly… Everything shifts.

A figure appears beside him. Tall. Silent. Deadly. I don’t even see him move. One second, he’s not there. Next, a gun is pressed to the man’s temple.

The room goes completely still. “Sit down,” the man says quietly.

His voice is calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that promises violence.

The man’s jaw tightens. But slowly… He sits.  No one else bids. No one even breathes.

“Two million,” the auctioneer says again, faster now. Nervous. “Sold.”

My heart stops. Because I don’t know who that man is. The one who just bought me. The one who didn’t even hesitate. The one who silenced an entire room with a single number.

But I know one thing. The way he’s looking at me now… is not temporary. It’s ownership.

And somehow… that’s worse than anything else in this room.