CHAPTER 1 — SOLD

The auction room smelled of sweat, fear, and expensive cigars. The air was thick, almost suffocating, and the bright lights overhead made Amara Cole squint against their harsh glare. Her wrists burned where the cold metal cuffs dug into her skin, her legs ached from standing too long, and yet she dared not move.

“Item Number 47,” the auctioneer announced, his voice sharp, practiced. “Virgin. Educated. Obedient.”

Lies. Every word was a lie.

She wasn’t obedient—she was terrified. She wasn’t here because she had chosen to be. She was here because her uncle had gambled away every last naira, including her freedom, to satisfy his own reckless vices. The thought made bile rise in her throat, but she swallowed it back. Crying wouldn’t save her. Screaming wouldn’t save her.

The crowd murmured, low and greedy. Rich men in tailored suits, criminals with shadows in their eyes, monsters wearing polished smiles. Some of them leaned closer, inspecting her as if she were nothing more than a collectible, a possession to be displayed and discarded at will.

Amara swallowed hard. She tried to make herself as small as possible, pressing her arms to her sides, keeping her eyes lowered. She had memorized this posture from the whispered warnings of the older girls in the orphanage. Obey, and you survive. Speak, and you risk everything.

Then the room went silent.

A man walked in.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Every eye turned as if magnetized by his presence. His dark suit was simple, impeccably cut, and yet somehow he dominated the space more than the lights or the crowd could. He didn’t need to announce himself. He didn’t need to speak. The air shifted when he stepped in, and even the auctioneer’s confident posture faltered.

His eyes found her. Silver, sharp, and unyielding, they scanned her as a predator would its prey.

Leonardo De Luca.

The name had haunted whispers in the underworld for years. Mafia King. Merciless. Feared. Untouchable. Dangerous. He didn’t buy women—not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t need to. And yet… here he was.

The auctioneer cleared his throat, visibly nervous. “B-bidding starts at—”

“Ten million,” Leonardo said lazily.

The room gasped. Conversations died. Phones were lowered. Men stared, their egos deflating under the weight of his command.

“And she leaves with me now.”

Before anyone could object, he began walking toward the stage. His guards flanked him, faces impassive, fingers resting near the triggers of the guns at their hips. Each step he took seemed to echo like a warning.

Amara’s chest hammered in her ribcage. Every nerve screamed at her to run, to hide, to disappear. But she couldn’t. Not with him there. Not with the world’s most feared man watching her like a chess piece.

He stopped inches from her. She could feel his presence, the cold intensity radiating off him like frost.

“You’ll do exactly as you’re told. Nod if you understand.” His voice was low, lethal, and utterly commanding.

Amara lifted her chin, refusing to break eye contact. “I won’t be your slave,” she said, each word tasting like ash in her mouth.

A dangerous smile curved his lips, slow and calculating.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning close enough for her to feel his breath—icy, controlled. “You won’t be my slave.”

Her stomach dropped as he traced a finger along the edge of her jaw, tilting her face slightly to force her to meet his gaze fully. “You’re going to be my wife.”

The words hit her like a physical blow.

“You… what?” Her voice trembled.

Leonardo’s silver eyes glinted with something she couldn’t name—amusement, warning, perhaps both. “You heard me. You will live with me. Eat when I allow it. Speak when I allow it. And you will wear my name.”

Amara staggered back, only to feel the edge of the stage press against her heel. Resistance felt dangerous, futile, terrifying. Her uncle stepped forward, his face pale, hands trembling.

“Amara… he’s the buyer. You… you must comply,” he stammered.

Her jaw tightened. “I don’t care what he paid. I will never be his—”

Leonardo’s hand shot out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. His touch was deliberate, heavy with control. His silver eyes softened—not with kindness—but with a dangerous amusement.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low, a growl hidden beneath every word, “this isn’t a negotiation. This is survival. And right now, you survive by doing exactly what I say.”

For a moment, Amara faltered. The weight of his presence, the inevitability of her situation, pressed down on her chest. He was powerful. He was dangerous. Defiance might get her killed. Surrendering entirely… well, that was a different kind of death.

“I… understand,” she whispered, the words tasting bitter and hollow.

“Good.” He released her chin and gestured to his waiting car. “Let’s go.”

Two guards moved to escort her, but it was Leonardo’s hand on her back that guided her down the steps of the stage. Each step felt like walking toward a coffin, yet a thrill, terrifying and strange, stirred somewhere deep in her chest.

As they exited the auction hall, Amara’s mind raced. Who was this man, really? Why had he bought her? And most importantly, how was she going to survive him?

One thing was certain: her life as she knew it was over.

And in its place… a new world had begun. A world of power, control, and danger. A world ruled by Leonardo De Luca.