Page 2 of Auctioned to the Mobster

I button up my suit and smooth out the fabric before pushing the door open. As I step out, the evening air hits my face, cool but not cold. It keeps me sharp. I smooth out my jacket and put on my shades as I move toward the entrance. My steps are steady and confident. I belong here.

The doors part as I approach, and I stride inside. The room is dimly lit, luxurious in a way that feels too polished, like it’s trying too hard to impress. The air smells of cologne and cigars, but I’m not here to be comfortable. I’m here to get answers.

As I make my way past the coat check, one of the attendants steps forward, offering to take my jacket. “Coat, sir?” she asks, her voice professional.

I shake my head. “I’m good.” My tone makes it clear I’m not in the mood for pleasantries.

I continue toward the bar, grabbing a glass of whiskey. The burn steadies me. Just as I take a sip, another attendant approaches, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

“Your table’s ready, sir,” she says, nodding toward the back of the room.

I give her a brief nod in return. “Lead the way.”

She directs me to the end of the room. The area is already filling up, people slipping into their seats, laughing, mingling.

I keep my expression blank. But behind the mask, I’m hunting. No need to draw attention to myself.

Someone in my organization has been using these auctions as a front to launder money. That’s the problem. They’re not just skimming off the top—they’re stealing from me. From my family. And that? That’s a death wish. I don’t give a damn ifthese people are trafficking humans or selling secrets. None of it matters to me as long as they stay out of my fucking business.

I slip into a seat, my back to the wall so I can see everything. My eyes flick across the room, taking in the faces, watching the way they move, the way they talk. Every person in here is a potential lead. They’re all connected, whether they know it or not.

The attendant comes around, her tray balanced perfectly in her hands. “Another drink, sir?” she asks, her voice smooth, but there’s a slight edge to it, like she knows who I am but isn’t quite sure how to act.

I give her a curt nod, signaling to the table. “Leave it.”

She places the glass in front of me, but her fingers linger on the rim for just a second too long. Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and I can tell she’s trying to figure me out. I don’t break the gaze. "Something on your mind?" I ask, my voice low, daring her to say something.

She straightens up quickly, her face flushing. “No, sir. Nothing at all.”

“Good,” I reply, turning my attention back to the room. “Keep it that way.”

Without another word, she disappears into the crowd, leaving me to focus.

The auctioneer steps up to the stage, and the lights brighten up a bit. It’s time to start the show. The first girl walks out, barely dressed, barely conscious. A few people lean forward, ready to make their bids. The air shifts, filled with anticipation and greed.

I keep my eyes on the room, not the stage. The men around me are practically salivating, throwing out numbers like they’re betting on a horse race. This is all just noise to me. Backgroundshit. I can’t trust anyone in this room, but I’m waiting for a slip-up. A glance in the wrong direction. A conversation that shouldn’t be happening. Anything that points me to the bastard who’s been siphoning money from under my nose. My real focus is on the people sitting in the shadows, the ones who think they’re safe, the ones who think they’re playing me.

They don’t know who the fuck they’re dealing with.

I crack my knuckles under the table, my patience running thin. If this traitor doesn’t show their face soon, I’ll start tearing this place apart, brick by brick, until I get what I need. I didn’t build my empire by being nice. I built it by being ruthless, by doing what needed to be done when no one else had the balls.

This traitor? They’re dead the moment I find them. They just don’t know it yet.

The auction continues, more girls parade across the stage, and more bids are tossed out like candy. The men around me lean in, eager for their prize. I stay silent, watching, waiting.

Every move in this room matters. Every glance, every shift in posture. Someone is hiding something, and when I find them, they’ll wish they’d never crossed me.

My patience is wearing thin, but I can’t rush this. One wrong move and the whole plan goes to shit. And if that happens, well... let’s just say blood will spill before the night’s over.

I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.

The auction’s been going on for a while now, and I’m already bored out of my fucking mind. One girl after another, each one trying to pretend like they want to be here like they’re not terrified out of their skin.

My focus never wavers, but as she steps onto the stage, everything fucking stops.

She’s different.

I lean forward, my eyes narrowing as I take her in. She’s terrified, her eyes wide, scanning the room like she’s looking for a way out. Her skin’s flushed like she’s just been scrubbed raw, and her long dark hair cascades over her shoulders in waves. She’s in some ridiculous outfit that barely covers her, showing off every inch of her body—the kind of curves that make a man lose his mind. My gaze drags down her legs, long and smooth, all the way to the high heels she’s stumbling in. I can’t tell if it’s the lighting, but it looks like there’s a damn halo around her head.

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