Page 29 of Silent Night With Alessio

He looks at me as though I’m something he’s already dissected, already taken apart and put back together in ways he knows will break me.

My pulse pounds against my ribcage, but I lift my chin, refusing to let him see a crack. He can’t know what I’m feeling. No one here can.

“All right, Isabella,” Nico says in my ear, his voice calm but insistent. “Keep going.”

So I do. I force my voice to stay steady, my hand just the right amount of raised, and I bid again.

Another gasp ripples through the room. I’m feeling lightheaded, each word that leaves my mouth tightening the room’s grip on me. They’re all watching me.

My lips go dry, but I’m barely aware of it. I’m only aware of the looks, the murmurs, and of Dante’s stare burning through the mask.

Then he makes a move, the simplest gesture of raising his hand. “Ten million dollars,” he calls, his voice slicing through the chatter.

I stop breathing. Ten million dollars. It’s more than I could ever fathom, more than I could have imagined even being involved with, much less raising a bid against.

But I hear Alessio’s voice come through the earpiece. “Do not let him win.” And I know what I have to do, even as my stomach churns and every nerve in my body screams for me to run.

I raise my hand. “Twelve million.”

The room falls into a stunned silence, my words hanging heavy in the air. I see the flicker of shock in Dante’s eyes, just foran instant, before he covers it, and that gives me a flicker of strength. I’ve surprised him. That’s enough for now.

The auctioneer recovers, his tone professional but intrigued. “Twelve million from the lady in black. Do we have any other bids?” He waits, but the room remains silent. “Going once, going twice…”

He raises his gavel, eyes on me as though trying to memorize every detail of the mystery woman who dared to outbid a Vitale. “Sold. Twelve million to… the lady. And what name shall I put on record?”

A moment of hesitation, and then I find my voice, low and clear. “Isabella.”

His brow arches, a flicker of surprise passing over his face, but he doesn’t press further. I’m grateful; I’m already on the edge of unraveling, and another question might have pushed me over.

I manage a small nod as he gestures me towards the back room, where payment and collection will take place.

Inside, it feels like the walls are closing in, tightening around me with every step. But Nico’s voice crackles through the earpiece, anchoring me.

“Alright, you’re almost there. Just keep the ring you’re wearing steady, so I can catch the account details when the clerk shows you,” he says, calm as ever.

I walk in, and the clerk holds out a laptop screen with an account number. I pretend to make a transaction with my phone, angling my hand just right to keep the ring camera focused on the screen.

“Perfect. Got it,” Nico murmurs, his voice a low buzz in my ear. “Now... should just take a second. These fake wire deposits run fast.”

It hits me then: Nico isn’t transferring any money. It’s a ghost deposit, a clever bit of smoke and mirrors.

I laugh…the thought prickles with a sense of poetic justice. Fake money to get the real ring back after it was switched for a fake ring. For a moment, the fear that’s been twisting inside me loosens, replaced by a spark of satisfaction.

It only takes a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. I glance up just in time to see the clerk’s face light up with approval. “It’s been received. The Ice Box thanks you for your business,” he says, with a slight bow that’s all formality.

He hands me a small box, and as my fingers curl around it, I feel a sinking sensation. The weight is all wrong. Again. My instincts, honed by years of handling jewelry, scream that something is off.

And as I open the box and see it, I know. The ring is a perfect replica, but that’s all it is…an imitation. My chest tightens, fury bubbling up with a heat that shocks me.

They’re toying with me. After all this, after the fear and danger, they’re going to hand me a fake?

“No.” The word escapes me before I can stop it. The clerk looks up, his mask a shield for whatever expression he’s making. I don’t care.

“"This isn't the actual ring," I say, my voice icy.“Give me the real one.”

A flicker of surprise, and then he exchanges a glance with the other Ice Box bosses lingering nearby. I can see them sizing me up, wondering if I’ll make a scene.

Finally, with a nervous laugh, the man hands over a new box. “Forgive us,” he says. “It was… just a playful test. This is the real one.”

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