Chapter 3: THE MASKED AUCTION

NIKOLAUS’S POV

“Shit,” I muttered, staring at my hands soaked in blood. My own.

“You can’t run from me.”

Her voice,smooth, chilling, seductive,slithered through the darkness like venom.

I stumbled back, trying to catch my breath. “Screw you. Why don’t you show that face of yours, so I can snap it off your neck?”

Footsteps. Quiet, deliberate.

“Run,” she whispered again. But I stood frozen, spine rigid with dread. Her silhouette emerged,red hair like fire, face drenched in blood. My blood. I couldn’t see her face clearly, never did.

The gunshot rang out, a white-hot pain exploded in my leg. I collapsed with a grunt.

She raised the gun to my temple.

“Goodbye, stranger.”

BANG!

My eyes flew open, my chest heaving. Sweat clung to my skin like a second layer of clothing, and my sheets were a twisted wreck beneath me.

Her voice still echoed in my head,velvet and venom.

“Goodbye, stranger.”

I could still feel the heat of the bullet in my leg, the taste of blood rising in my throat.

Another dream.

Another death.

My death.

Every night for the past five years, she came for me. A phantom in red. Sometimes she drowned me. Sometimes she slit my throat with a smile on her lips. Last night, she blew my head off like I was a nameless mark on her kill list.

And every time… I let her.

Groaning, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and rubbed my palms over my face.

“Still having dreams?” Damien’s voice filtered in as he stepped into the room, his tone low with concern.

I didn’t answer. What was the point?

Instead, I stood and dressed quickly,black tailored slacks, a midnight-blue shirt rolled to the elbows, and a black-on-black watch. Cold steel over a dying heartbeat.

“Has the auction started?” I asked as I grabbed my mask from the dresser.

“No, boss. They’re waiting for your signal.”

“Good.” I buttoned my cuff, eyes sharp. “We need that heirloom. No distractions tonight.”

As the car wound its way through the twisting Italian streets, my thoughts strayed,against my will,back to her.

The redhead at the masked ball.

She didn’t give me her name. Played innocent with a mouth too sharp for purity.

But those eyes… they haunted me even before I saw them.

There was something dangerous in her.

And I was going to uncover what it was.

~

The venue was a gothic dream,stone pillars, crystal chandeliers, and marble floors that swallowed footsteps. The air crackled with secrets and money. The masked crowd murmured like snakes, every soul here ready to devour.

I took a seat at the back, near the shadows.

Item one, an 18th-century dagger,rumored to be cursed.

Interesting…

Sold for two million.

Item two, an encrypted flash drive supposedly holding blackmail on half the Eastern European elite.

Bullshit.

Sold for five.

Still, nothing I came for.

My eyes scanned the room. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for until I saw her.

Same red hair. Same slanted mask.

Same goddamn eyes.

She sat near the front like she owned the air around her. Her fingers danced along her wine glass,delicate, bored, lethal.

My heart stuttered once.

Just once.

Then they brought out item three,

A diamond-studded choker once worn by a duchess who supposedly slit her husband’s throat with it.

I wasn’t interested.

Until she lifted her paddle.

“One million.”

I smirked.

“Two million.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Five million.”

I leaned forward.

“Ten million.”

She didn’t even look back.

“Fifty million euros”

The crowd gasped. The host’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull, definitely didn’t expect to sell it for that amount.

I sat back, impressed, letting her win. This wasn’t about the necklace anymore.

It was a declaration.

She won.

Of course she did.

~

I found her near the rose trellis, where the moonlight made her skin glow silver and the wine in her glass stain like blood.

“You enjoy humiliating powerful men, don’t you?” I asked, approaching with a slow smile.

She turned slightly, her lips curving.

“Only the ones who think they can’t be beaten.”

Her voice,like silk and broken glass.

Fucking beautiful.

“Take off your mask,” I said.

“No,” she replied simply. “I don’t take orders.”

My blood stirred. I stepped closer. She didn’t back away.

Being near her felt like standing on the edge of something that might collapse.

“There’s something about you,” I said, stepping closer. “Your eyes… they lie.”

She scoffed as her eyes darted around, “I am not surprised.”

I pulled out a flask from my coat. “Drink with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust devils with charming eyes.”

A smile painted her face as she turned to leave,and just as she did, the strap of her mask slipped. It fell to the floor between us.

Time slowed.

I froze.

Her mismatched eyes met mine,one deep blue, the other green with flecks of gold. Red hair framed a face that was too flawless to forget. A face from another lifetime. A face only a goddess can have.

I bent down, picked up the mask, and offered it to her. “You forgot this.”

She took it slowly, brushing my fingers. “Thanks,” she murmured, her gaze suddenly shy, as she avoided my gaze.

Not so fearless without the mask, huh?

“Thank me with a drink,” I said, this time softer.

She paused. Then smiled as her eyes lit up a bit. “Tomorrow,” she whispered. “I will write you the address. Bye, Stranger”

Before I could ask her name, she was already walking away,mask back on, hips swaying like a threat.

then,

BANG!

The gunshot shattered the air like glass.

I reached for my gun just as Damien crashed through the smoke-fogged doors, panting, panicked.

“It’s gone!” he shouted over the noise.

“The heirloom?” I asked, voice razor-sharp.

He nodded. “Stolen.”

“Damn it,”

I have been distracted, I nearly forgot what I was here for.

He yanked me back toward the wall, his grip hard. “Boss, look.”

My eyes followed his.

A dove.

Dead.

Its wings were pinned open with gold cufflinks.

My cufflinks.

Blood smeared the wall like paint.

Tied to its leg was a note.

Damien untied it and handed it to me.

A note written in Russian.

«Милосердие , это клинок. Тот, кто его не проявляет, найдёт богов глухими к молитвам , пока истекает кровью.»

The words carved themselves into my brain, colder than the barrel of a gun.

“Mercy is a blade. He who shows none will find the gods deaf when he prays, as he bleeds.”

I looked up at the dove again.

This wasn’t a message.

It was a warning.

And whoever did this wasn’t just playing a game,

They were declaring war.