Chapter 8 Renato #2
"No. This requires a personal touch." I head toward the door. "She needs to understand the stakes. Needs to believe this is real enough to put pressure on her families."
"And if she panics? If she breaks?"
"She won't break. She's stronger than that." I pause at the door. "But she needs to believe she's in real danger. That's the only way the families will believe it too. This is all for her own good. She might even thank me one day."
As I say that, I realize there’s no way in hell Camilla will ever thank me for any of this.
"Boss? What if they don't pay? What if we actually end up with buyers here expecting to purchase her? What will you do then?"
The big fucking question I've been avoiding.
"Then we compensate them for their time and inconvenience, blame it on the families, and move on. But it won't come to that. Someone will pay."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
But as I head upstairs to Camilla's room, I'm not sure at all. I'm gambling that fear will force the families to act, that the threat of trafficking will be enough to make them find money they claim not to have.
And if I'm wrong?
If the buyers actually show up expecting a purchase?
I'll deal with that problem when it arrives.
For now, I just need to make this threat convincing enough to work.
Even if it means lying to everyone—including myself—about how far I'm actually willing to go.
I unlock her door and step inside. She's standing by the window, still dressed in the white cashmere and black pants from this morning. But something in her posture has changed. More alert. More calculating.
She turns when I enter, and those eyes study my face carefully. "You look like a man delivering bad news," she observes.
No tears. No hysterics. No desperate pleas for mercy. Just calm assessment of my expression and tone.
I take slow steps toward her, my shoes clicking on the floor. She doesn’t flinch.
"Your future in-laws have declined to meet my terms."
"Declined how?"
"They counter offered 2.5 million for damaged merchandise. I refused their offer."
She nods slowly, as if she'd been expecting exactly this outcome. "And my father?"
"I spoke with him earlier and he expressed his inability to pay."
"That isn’t surprising. What happens now?"
The composure with which she asks about her own fate is both impressive and disturbing. "Unfortunately, now it’s time for me to reconsider alternative arrangements to recoup their debt."
"By alternative arrangements, are you talking about selling me?"
"Yes,” I tell her bluntly.
She's quiet for a moment, processing the information. "How much time do I have?"
I sit on the edge of the bed, one leg propped. "For what?"
"To prepare. If I'm going to be sold like a used car, I assume there's a process. Buyers to contact, arrangements to make." Her voice is matter-of-fact, businesslike. "I'd like to understand the timeline."
The clinical way she discusses her own potential trafficking gives me pause. She should be begging me to reconsider, to give her family more time, to find another solution.
Instead, she's asking for a project timeline.
"You're remarkably calm about this."
"If I panicked, would you change your mind?" She meets my eyes directly.
I blow out a long breath. "No."
"Then I need to focus on what comes next. And how I present myself?” She turns to face me directly. "Tell me about these buyers. What are they looking for? What increases value? What should I know if I'm going to be evaluated like a piece of meat?"
The word hangs between us, and I see her choose it deliberately. Not sold, not trafficked, not destroyed. Evaluated. Like this is a business assessment rather than a life-or-death situation.
"You want to understand the market?"
"I don’t give a shit about the market. I want to maximize my chances of survival.
Which means understanding what these men value, what they're willing to pay for, how to present myself in the most appealing way. How to stay alive. That’s what I’m interested in.
" She reaches back and tugs her ponytail loose, letting her full hair fall free around her shoulders.
"In your experience, would you say willing merchandise is worth more than reluctant merchandise?”
The word she uses — merchandise — lodges in my throat. I tell myself this is a bluff, pure leverage. Still, the thought of other men looking at her the way I study ledgers makes something cold and possessive stir under my ribs.
“In most markets, yes.”
“In that case, I'm prepared to be very willing. Under the right circumstances."
Her words make my hands clench. I move to the window without thinking, putting space between us to avoid looking at her face.
She's not just accepting her fate, she's strategizing to optimize it. Planning to cooperate with her own sale to improve her odds of survival.
"What circumstances would those be?"
"Information. Choice. Some degree of input into the process." Her voice is calm, controlled. "I'm not asking to escape this situation. I'm asking to have some say in how it unfolds."
I turn back to her, studying her face, looking for deception or manipulation. Finding only cold intelligence and strategic thinking.
"You want to choose your buyer? That’s impossible."
"I want to understand my options. Make informed decisions. Influence the outcome in ways that benefit both of us." She tilts her head slightly. "After all, we both want the same thing, don't we?"
"Which is?" I ask.
"Maximum return on your investment. And maximum chance of my survival." She gives me a smile that tries to hide her fear. "Those goals aren't mutually exclusive."
The logic is sound. Disturbingly sound. She's not just surviving this impossible situation—she's finding ways to exert control, to turn her cooperation into leverage.
"You'd help facilitate your own sale?"
Jesus Christ, this is going too far, too fast.
"I'd help facilitate the best possible outcome for everyone involved. The question is, are you smart enough to see the opportunity?"
The challenge in her voice wrecks me. She's offering to partner with me in her own trafficking, and somehow making it sound like a privilege.
"What kind of partnership are you proposing?"
"The kind where I don't end up dead or worse.
" She returns to her chair, settling in like we're about to negotiate a business deal.
"Now tell me about these buyers. What they value, what they expect, how this process actually works.
If I'm going to survive this, I need to understand what I'm facing. "