Page 142 of Auctioned Innocence
“Smug fucker,” I say softly, studying his body language, his positioning, his obvious satisfaction. “He thinks tonight proved he was right about our family being weak.”
“Was he?” Marco asks quietly.
“No.” I stand straighter, feeling the strength that’s carried me through everything since the auction. “He made me stronger. Made me who I needed to become to stop him.” I look between Dante and Marco. “Just not in the way he intended.”
The secure phone buzzes—an encrypted message from Mario confirming our parents are safe and that additional backup is moving into position around the city.
“Time to move,” Marco says, checking his weapon despite his injured shoulder.
I run through final equipment checks. “Remember, no one moves until I give the signal. Lorenzo needs to believe he has me exactly where he wants me. He needs to think he’s won.”
“Sofia.” Dante catches my arm, his grip gentle but firm. “If anything goes wrong…”
I kiss him softly, tasting the promise of our future in that brief contact. “Then you’ll be there. Like always.”
His smile makes my heart stutter. “Like always.”
31
DANTE
The abandoned warehouse looms before us in the industrial district, exactly where Lorenzo’s communications indicated he’d moved his operations. Sofia sits beside me, calm and focused as she reviews the plan one final time.
“This is the tricky part,” she says, checking her concealed weapons. “I go in first with the surrender message, get them to lower their guard. You and Marco’s teams move into position during the distraction.”
For a moment, the old protective instincts surge. “Sofia, maybe we should—” I catch myself, remembering everything that’s changed between us. “Sorry. Tell me what you need from me.”
Her smile is grateful. “I need you to trust the plan. James will expect standard approaches because that’s what he’s been preparing for. But he doesn’t know about the intelligence I gathered or the backdoors I’ve identified in their new setup.”
“James is here?” I ask, scanning the building’s exterior.
“According to the intercepted communications, yes. Lorenzo called him back from the estate after we locked him out ofthe systems. They need him here to coordinate their security manually since I compromised their digital networks.”
Before I can respond, Sofia’s hand shoots out to grip my arm. “Wait. Three o’clock, behind the shipping container. That’s not random debris.”
I follow her gaze and spot what she’s seeing—the subtle gleam of metal that doesn’t belong, positioned too perfectly to be accidental. “Sniper position?”
“Or spotters.” Her eyes scan the perimeter. “There—and there. At least four positions we didn’t account for. They’re not just early, they’re…”
“Waiting for us specifically.” Understanding hits me. “This isn’t their normal security. This is a trap designed around our approach.”
Sofia’s expression hardens. “James knows our preferences. How we move, how we position. He’s been studying us for five years.”
My mouth dries. “So what do we?—”
The world explodes.
The blast comes from directly beneath us—not a random mine, but a well-placed shaped charge designed to flip vehicles without killing occupants. I have a split second to register the perfect coordination, the way the explosion’s timing suggests someone watching through a scope, someone who triggered it at the exact optimal moment.
The car launches into the air, rotating like a roller coaster. Through the tumbling chaos, I catch glimpses of muzzle flashes from the positions Sofia spotted—not random gunfire, but coordinated suppression designed to pin down survivors. They want us alive but immobilized.
Glass explodes inward as we impact, the safety windows turning into thousands of tiny razors that slice through my jacket, my hands, the exposed skin of my neck. The carcontinues to roll, each impact throwing us against hard surfaces—dashboard, door frame, the roof that’s now crumpling under our weight.
When we finally stop, the world is upside down and everything hurts. Blood runs from my forehead into my eyes, warm and sticky. The acrid smell of leaking fuel and burning electronics fills the twisted wreckage.
“Sofia!” I call out, turning my head to where she should be, but finding only empty space and a spider-web hole in what used to be the passenger window. The safety glass has been blown outward, not inward—the explosion designed to throw her clear rather than trap her inside. “SOFIA!”
Automatic weapons fire erupts around the car, bullets punching through the thin metal. But there’s a pattern to it—they’re keeping me pinned down, not trying to kill me. Fire discipline from people who know exactly what they’re doing.
