Chapter 8
I had no intention of watching the horror show.
I don’t need to witness how it all unfolds. I trust Abaddon implicitly, and I know he’ll bring her to us.
Yet something keeps my eyes fixed on the phone, glued to the images transmitted by the hidden camera he carries. The moment I finally see her, I know I’ll watch until I’m certain she’s safe.
Unlike earlier, when he walked through the room and I couldn’t make out anything, now that he’s seated facing the stage, it’s as if I’m right there myself. The lighting is bright, designed specifically so those bastards can inspect what’s being sold.
The first thing I notice are legs long as a model’s, but as she moves, I realize that’s where the resemblance ends.
Elodie, barely covered by a sheer robe, has wide hips, thick thighs, and curves. The kind of body a man could lose himself in for days, forgetting to eat or drink.
She keeps her gaze lowered, leaving her face in shadow. All I can see is a fall of black hair, tied back—maybe a ponytail, maybe a braid—and a generous pair of breasts straining against the neckline of her lingerie.
Suddenly, the walls around her flare with images of a woman, and without being told, I know it’s her.
And finally, I understand why, even though she’s beyond the age they usually traffic and sell, Elodie caught Angelo Brambilla’s attention.
She isn’t beautiful. She’s a goddess.
I said her body could make a man lose himself in it for days, maybe forever, but it’s nothing compared to the perfection of her angular face, the full, pink lips set against golden skin, and above all, her eyes, a shade unlike any other, somewhere between warm honey and sunlight.
On the screens, her expression is one of uncertainty.
What must go through a woman’s mind, ripped from her life to serve as a mere toy in the hands of some fucked-up buyer?
All I can think about is one of my sisters enduring something like this, and it makes me want to kill someone.
The camera focuses on her again, and now, slowly, she raises her face, looking straight at the men she knows are watching.
She probably can’t see them. I doubt those men would ever allow themselves to be filmed. A human auction starting at one hundred thousand dollars is likely attended by prominent figures in the business world.
Her features are still blurred by the distance, as Abaddon is at least five meters away, but I’ve already memorized the contours and beauty of her face from the images on the screens.
I’m startled when she lifts her chin in defiance.
She acts as if she isn’t afraid, keeping her head high, but I sense she’s performing.
Any woman in her place would be terrified.
Me: No matter how high the bidding goes. I want her.
I send the message to Abaddon.
I can hear everything happening there, but he can only read the texts I send. We didn’t want to risk someone intercepting a Bluetooth signal and listening in.
It takes him a few seconds to reply:
A: Anxious?
I can imagine what he’s thinking, asking that. He’s a man, and I doubt he’s immune to her beauty.
I don’t know if he’s right, that taking Elodie from the Sicilians will destabilize Angelo, but I’m willing to follow through with the plan, now more than ever.
My reason for wanting her, though, is about more than revenge.
Abaddon said I can’t save all the women being auctioned. He’s right. But I can save this one. And I will.
Now that I’ve seen her face, now that she’s no longer just a name or a means of getting to Angelo, I won’t leave her there to be treated like an object.
I won’t let them buy her and use her. I won’t let them destroy the pride I can still see in her expressive, perfect face.
The auctioneer’s voice announces the opening bid of one hundred thousand dollars. Barely half a minute passes before someone raises it to two hundred fifty thousand.
It wasn’t Abaddon. As he predicted, her beauty is making those bastards open their wallets.
Me: Bid five hundred.
A: That’s too much.
Me: It’ll eliminate most of the competition. Do as I say.
He places the bid, and almost immediately, someone shouts one million.
Me: Something’s wrong.
A: Yes. It’s not common for bids to rise this fast.
Me: Bid two million.
A: Are you sure?
Me: I am. And if he keeps covering you, go up in increments of five hundred thousand. Make it clear you won’t stop. Don’t stop until you get her out.
But as soon as he doubles the bid from one million to two, a heavy silence falls over the room.
Abaddon is seated directly across from her, and she looks back at him.
Elodie can’t hide her anxiety, and all I want is to get her out of there.
The auctioneer follows protocol, giving others the chance to top the offer.
No one does.
When he finally closes the event, I can breathe again.
You’re safe now, Romani girl.