CHAPTER 002: Sold

AURELIA

“Lot Number 306. Female. Estimated age: nineteen. Virgin. No prior ownership.”

The crowd hums, a few murmurs of interest fluttering across the room as the handler announces my “specs” behind me.

I squint, trying to see past the light… as I finally adjust to the scene in front of me.

A gasp nearly escapes as I take in the rows of seats filled with men in tuxedos sipping champagne.

A woman in designer heels lazily films me on her phone with a smirk on her porcelain face.

I see another woman whispering and pointing at me…

“We’ll start the bidding at one hundred thousand. Do I hear one-fifty?”

“Hundred!” someone barks from the left.

The handler scoffs. “Do I hear one-fifty?” he insists.

“One-fifty,” a slick voice calls out.

Bile rises in my throat as the bidding rises fast from left to right. Voices barking over each other like dogs at a bone. One-fifty, two hundred, three hundred…

A woman in pink heels giggles and shouts,

“Three-fifty. She’ll be perfect for my top-floor girls. Her face’ll clean up nice for the men.”

This has always been my fear.

Being bidden on by greedy people who don’t see us as humans but tools to use for their advantage.

“One million dollars,” a cold voice quickly interrupts from the back, and suddenly, the room falls silent.

Even I can’t stop my head from turning, straining to find the owner of that voice. But the shadows near the back are too thick.

“One million, I have one million—do I hear one point two?” the handler says, his voice suddenly careful.

It’s him—the shadowed man. I don’t know how I know—but I… I just know.

That same feeling, like warm fingers caressing the back of my neck, assaults me again and I break into a cold sweat, chest tightening as a strange image flashes into my brain almost instantly—

A man. Naked from the chest up. Slick with sweat.

I wince as it shifts again and I’m staring into eyes—golden glowing, unnatural-looking eyes.

Blinking hard, I brace my hands on the glass wall to steady my breath as the faces in front of me warp, making my knees wobble slightly.

What the hell is happening to me?

“Going once…”

“Going twice…”

I barely hear the words over the pounding in my ears.

“Sold!”

The gavel slams.

For a moment, the silence feels louder than the bidding. My body is sold, but my mind can’t accept it yet.

Next thing I know, the same guard from before yanks me off the stage like a sack of potatoes. He throws a heavy blanket over my shoulders and drags me away.

“Lucky girl. Such a shame,” he mutters near my ear, breath hot and sour. “Would’ve loved to be the first to fuck your pretty little cunt.”

Hot anger snaps inside me at his perverted statement.

“Fuck you,” I breathe, barely audible over the pounding in my skull.

He just laughs.

A slow, sick, delighted kind of laugh as he drags me through the back corridor.

Another girl gets shoved into the spotlight box almost immediately.

“Rumor has it,” his grip on my wrist tightening like a vice—and I bite back a whimper—“your new owner’s the King of Sicilian Flesh.”

I blink. “What?”

“Oh yeah.” He grins, flashing yellow teeth. “Runs the biggest fucking whorehouse on the Mediterranean.”

He leans in until his lips brush the shell of my ear.

“They say his girls don’t walk anymore,” he whispers.

“Because they spend all their time getting fucked.”

Oh God… I’m going to be made into a whore…

His voice softens, like he’s savoring my reaction.

“He breaks them in slow. Loves the moment the fight dies in their eyes.”

My throat tightens as I drag my cold feet along.

“And you?” He undresses me with his eyes. “Three days, tops, before you’re on your back begging for cock. You’ll moan like a trained bitch before week’s end.”

A door buzzes open ahead of us with a low mechanical groan, and a gust of night air slams into my face.

“You’re lying. You just want to scare me,” I mutter sharply—I hope.

The bastard has the guts to laugh.

“Don’t worry,” he sneers. “You’ll learn to love it. They all do.”

He drags me to the side of a sleek black tinted car with headlights spilling gold across the gravel.

Hot tears slide down my cheeks as he shoves me inside the car and slams the door shut.

Almost instantly, the driver pulls off, catching me off guard as my head slams into the seat in front of me.

Sharp pain shoots through the base of my forehead.

“Hey!” I croak, voice cracking. “Slow down—plea—”

A hand shoots from the front seat, and before I can finish, a piece of cloth slams against my face.

I gasp at the harsh, salty smell.

Another hand presses down on my neck as I thrash in the back seat.

“No, no—please—”

But then I feel it. The sudden weakness creeping into my bones, urging me to just—sleep.

And that’s exactly what happens next.

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“She’s so skinny—” a voice rasps somewhere in the background, thick with a heavy Italian accent.

I try to move, but it feels like I’m buried under a mountain of clothes.

Not the scratchy rags I’m used to—these feel soft.

It almost feels like I’m lying on a—

“Shhh. Just drop the tray on the—shit.”

My eyes flutter open.

A pale redhead stands next to me, holding a tray stacked with food. His eyes lock with mine, and he tenses.

I blink down at myself, and the reason for the softness finally registers.

I’m wrapped in the middle of a massive black bed… in an equally large black room draped in thick red curtains that bathe everything in dim light.

The smell of garlic bread hits my nostrils almost immediately.

“Um… Hello, bella,” a heavily accented voice stammers from the left.

I turn my head slowly.

Another guy—blond this time—leans against the wall near the door, palming something in his hand.

Is that a gun?

The redhead coughs as he sets the tray down on the nightstand.

“You think she knows how to speak?” he mumbles.

The blonde one snorts and takes a step forward.

“Antonio confirmed she can speak,” he waves it off. “She just… doesn’t have a name yet. Poor thing.”

He crouches, his face all gentle now. “Are. You. Hungry?” he asks slowly.

Am I hungry? God, yes. But can I trust food from the people who bought me like livestock?

“Where am I?” I ask instead.

They don’t answer immediately as they both walk to the door.

“You’re at the La corona Estate. I am Matteo, and he this is my brother Marco. We’ve been assigned to see to your needs. Everything you need will be brought to you. You can’t leave this estate. We’ll leave you now to finish your breakfast. Good morning.”

Blondie—Matteo—grabs Marco by the arm, and just like that, they stalk out of the room, leaving me speechless.

I shove the covers aside and try to stand.

Why sedate me at all? It’s not like I have any plans of running away—yet.

Cold air grazes across my belly and I freeze, staring down at the duvet now puddled at my feet.

Instead of the flimsy gown I was clad in at the auction house, I’m now clad in clean white shorts and a crop top.

So this is it? This wasn’t what I’d been expecting.

I thought I would wake up to a place similar to Drevane, or worse—in a whorehouse.

Feeling confused and slightly agitated, I glance at the nightstand as my stomach growls.

Okay, fine. Just one bite.

Just one—

I end up clearing the entire plate, surprised at how hungry I actually was.

After locating the wide, spotless, dark-themed bathroom, I bathe quickly.

I need to find my way out of this place.

I don’t know how, but I must.

There’s something weird about this place.

And I’m not staying to find out.

I don’t care if their boss spent millions on me… there’s no way in hell I’m slaving away in a whorehouse.

I throw on a plain shirt, a black jumpsuit that I found on the bed after showering.

Slip into flats, and grab the empty food tray—just in case anyone sees me.

They’ll think I’m headed to the kitchen.

After checking that the door wasn’t locked, I make my way outside the room.

What I’m actually looking for, is the front door.

Every hallway I pass is draped in the same thick, blood-red curtains as the ones in the room, blocking out all sunlight.

After getting lost at least ten times, I finally spot sunlight peeking through the edge of a tall door near the staircase.

Please let that be the exit.

I make my way down, breath catching in my throat—

“Who the hell are you?”

A high-pitched voice startles me so badly I almost trip.

Shit.

Spinning around, I come face-to-face with a tall, gorgeous dark-haired woman in tight jeans standing by the banister, arms folded—with a knife in her hand.

“I—I’m—”

Shit.

“Why are you carrying that tray? Did you steal it from the kitchen?”

“No! I didn’t—”

Before I can react, she’s already storming toward me.

A startled yelp escapes as she drags me across the hallway.

“Let go!”

“How the hell did you even get past the guards you filthy little—”

“Leave her alone, Petra,” a voice warns behind us.

But she doesn’t let go. If anything, her grip tightens, nails digging into my skin. “She’s a thief, Marco. I caught her red-handed. Look at this!”

She rips the tray from my hand.

“She’s not a thief,” Marco says. “She’s Don’s pet.”

…I’m what?

The lady freezes. Then twists my arm behind my back, yanking hard enough to make me cry out.

“Her?” she shrieks. “He’s accepting stray dogs now?”

“Back off, Petra,” Marco warns. “She’s not what you think.”

He closes the distance between us in seconds, grabs the knife and tray from her in one clean motion.

Petra lady steps back, eyes blazing. “I can’t believe this. Rafaele wouldn’t choose… this.”

When Marco finally pries her hand off me, I see it.

Her wrist.

A deep cut, wide open, drips blood freely onto the carpet.

She rakes that same bloody hand through her hair without flinching.

My stomach twists.

“I can’t accept this—“

“You hurt yourself again?” Marco asks, voice filled with anger.

“He shouldn’t have kept me in the dark about this!” she screams, voice cracking.

“He doesn’t owe you explanation and you know that.” He says softly, stepping in between us.

But the cut on her wrist is what really worries me.

If she’s a lunatic…

“He’ll regret throwing me away for this trash!” she screams. Then her eyes flick to me. “And you—you better watch your back.”

She lunges, but Marco grabs her before she can claw my eyes out.

“Enough.”

He hauls her back, ignoring her thrashing as he drags her up the stairs, leaving me behind as he mutters something about stitches.

I watch as she leaves a bloody trail behind her, staining the marble floor.

A strange flicker of pity curls in my chest.

She hurt herself for attention? For a man who buys girls like pets?

If she thinks I’m here to take her Don then she’s absolutely mistaken.

My wrist hurts like hell as I glance toward the front door feeling thankful for the distraction and wondering if I can just bolt.

But then I remember… she mentioned guards.

“You were trying to leave, weren’t you?”

I freeze.

Matteo is suddenly beside me, frowning.

“No, I wasn’t,” I lie quickly.

He gestures toward the dark staircase. “I saw you from up there.”

That’s impossible.

“Are you going to lock me up?” I whisper, knees threatening to give.

But he just… grabs my shoulders.

“Look… I don’t know what they did to you before. But no one here is going to hurt you.”

But definitely Petra—and your boss but I don’t say that out loud.

“It makes sense you’d want to run. You’ve spent your whole life caged. I get it.”

No, you don’t. But I keep that to myself.

Tears break past my lashes before I can stop them and I’m left in shock as arms wrap around my stiff frame, holding me as I tremble like a fool.

Part of me wants to pull away, another part wants to stay… I don’t even know anymore.

“I’m sorry about Petra,” he murmurs into my hair. “We should’ve warned you. She’s not usually so… violent.

Well. Actually, maybe she is.”

A wet, confused laugh slips out of me.

I guess I’ll have to steer clear of her if I’m planning on escaping before their Don comes back.

That night, I stayed in bed, wrist throbbing, heart heavier than ever. Matteo said no one would hurt me, but Petra already had.

There’s no telling how much worse their Boss will hurt me if i stay here.

And since there are guards outside…

Sparing a quick glance at the curtained window, a thought comes to mind.

It’s risky—I know that—but my stomach still churns when I reach the window and see how high it is.

From here, I can see the tops of thick dense trees. Like a forest straight out of a horror movie.

Running from Drevane had never even been an option.

But this? This is different.

I have a window.

And I have one chance which in God’s hell I’m not letting it slip past me.

“Move, you… ahh—”

Grunting, I tumble onto my ass, dragging the curtain down with me.

I didn’t expect them to be this heavy.

Sparing a quick glance at the door to confirm the knob is tightly in place, I wipe the sweat that’d formed on my brow as I take one last look at the room.

Moonlight spills silver across the floor.

It’s beautiful. Too bad I can’t stay.

After tying the last part of the makeshift rope and securing it to the window frame, The duffel bag nearly breaks my back as I haul it toward the window.

Swinging a leg over the windowsill, I hold my breath as I peek down.

Cold night breeze grazes my face as I stare at tall trees swaying around in the breeze.

“Didn’t think I’d catch you mid escape.”

I freeze.

That voice—

Whipping around, the duffel bag slips from my fingers, crashing to the floor with a heavy thud.

“I’m away for a few hours…” His voice is low… so low it’s almost… dangerous,

“…and you’re already crawling out of my window?”

He steps forward—just barely—but the air shifts.

There’s barely any light but somehow, i still see him.

High cheekbones. Sharp jaw. Slanted eyes half-shuttered beneath thick lashes.

Clean buzz cut and earrings gleaming faintly from the light.

Black tailored pants and a half-buttoned silk shirt, open enough to show the carved planes of his chest down to his belly.

And then he lights a cigar, and I watch him take a slow drag with his eyes trained on me.

I swallow.

Hard.

“I’m not—” I stammer. “I’m not trying to do anything.”

He comes closer and I freeze at the sight of him— his eyes. They’re golden.

“Is that so, piccola?” he murmurs, voice dipping low—lower than I thought a voice could go.

How long has he been watching from the shadows?

His gaze drops to the rope tied to the window.

“You were just… redecorating?”

“I—It’s not what it looks like—”

“My little nameless pet wants out of her cage is what it looks like to me.”

The words shrivel in my throat as he starts moving, slow and predatory like he did at the auction house.

And with every step he takes, the room shrinks.

My back hits the window frame and I feel the night air behind me.

The moonlight crawls over him—up his legs, across his shirt, casting shadows along his stomach, highlighting the muscles underneath like he was sculpted for vengeance.

The scent of smoke, cold metal, and something darkly masculine hits me as he braces both arms on the windowsill—caging me in.

“And they said you were tame,” he breathes.

There’s no smile on his lips, only a tick of his jaw.

I open my mouth to speak, but his hands move almost instantly and the next thing, they’re wrapped around my waist in an iron grip as I feel my feet lifting off the ground.

“Wait—no! Don’t!”

“If you want out so badly… let’s test your chances, piccola.”

One second, I’m staring into golden eyes that glow like fire in the dark—

And the next… I’m falling.

A scream tears from my throat as cold air claws at my face. The world flips in my vision.

He fucking pushed me.

Instinct kicks in, and I lunge for the rope, screaming.

But the knot—

The fucking knot isn’t tied.

Oh God—

I’m going to die.