Page 8 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“Where,” Stefano Savarese asks softly, “do you think you’re going?”
Everything in me goes still. I can feel him behind me, close enough that the heat of his body cuts through the night air. Close enough that if I move wrong, I die. Close enough that my body, traitorous and over-alert, remembers the exact feel of his stare from the auction room and understands, with a certainty I resent, that this man has never once lost control of the evening.
Not when the raid started. Not when the room fell apart. Not even now.
Especially not now. I look at Erin and Heath. Heath is watching me. Eight years old, pale, rigid, trying not to tremble. Alice’s son.
I lower the gun by one inch. Only one.
“I’m leaving,” I say, my voice shaking slightly. “With them.”
“Ambitious.” He sounds almost amused.
Omar moves to usher the children closer to the helicopter, and my grip tightens on the gun reflexively. Stefano’s barrel presses harder against my temple. A reminder, a warning, a promise.
I breathe slowly, swallowing hard again as I think. Evaluating the lack of options presented to me.
He knows something.
He didn't run during the raid. He bought me, then walked out like a man with a plan. Omar has the twins. Stefano is here. That means the children are no longer Leon’s — which means this isn’t the same operation I walked into.
I can’t shoot Omar before Stefano shoots me. I can’t reach the children before the helicopter lifts. And I can’t let them vanish without me.
So I do the only thing left.
I turn my head just enough to see Stefano from the corner of my eye.
“Take me with you.”
The gun remains at my head, but I can feel his attention sharpen.
“You were very eager to leave a moment ago,” he challenges, his voice smooth.
“I changed my mind.”
“Lying already.” His voice lowers a fraction. “We barely know each other, let’s not start our acquaintance off that way. Why?”
“I’m being practical.”
“No.” His mouth comes close to my ear, and the warmth of his breath moves over skin that should not notice. “I don’t think that’s quite it. Seems more desperate than practical with a gun to your temple. Don’t you think?”
I keep my eyes on the children.
“Maybe I am.”
That causes him to pause. Then his free hand comes around me, slow enough that I could track every inch of movement, and his fingers close around my wrist firmly. He turns my hand until the gun points toward the ground, and I let him because the children are watching and because right now survival requires restraint.
He takes the weapon from me with a quick jerk. Effortless. Infuriating.
Omar finishes securing Erin and Heath inside the helicopter. Erin is crying now, eyes on the floor. Heath is looking at me.
Stefano leans closer.
“So desperate to be mine?” he whispers, that amused tone surfacing again.
The verbal caress causes goosebumps to rise on my arms. I should hate it, I should say object, I should say no. But I don’t. Instead, I look at the helicopter.
At my niece and nephew. At the only future I have left.
