Fallen From Grace [Married to the Mafia Novel]
I reach out, touching his arm cautiously, worriedly chewing on my lip.
He sighs again before touching my hand and intertwining our fingers. “I’m not mad, Jean,” he says, tiredness in his voice. “Just tired and antsy.”
“Why antsy?”
But Dante doesn’t get to answer because the atmosphere in the auction hall takes a darker turn.
“What’s happening?”
Dante’s hold on my hand tightens as people filter in onto the stage. Men, women, and a few children.
“What are--”
“As you can see ladies and gentlemen, here is the prized crop for tonight’s auction,” the bid caller starts, gesturing towards the people on stage, strung together with heavy chains, even the children.