Chapter 19 Camilla #2
"I'm saying make sure he understands what's at stake.
The actual consequences. Don't let him think of this as just another negotiation.
" Another pause. "And Camilla? If the worst happens.
If he doesn't pay and you end up with one of these men.
..try to survive. You're a strong girl. You can make it through.
Do whatever you have to do. Stay alive."
"Papa—"
"I love you. Never forget that. I love you, and I'm so sorry I can't save you."
The line goes dead.
I'm crying now, can't stop the tears streaming down my face. My father loves me in his own way. I heard it in every word. But love isn't enough when you're bankrupt and weak.
Renato hands me a tissue, his face carefully blank as he takes the phone and pulls up the final contact.
"Last call. Alessandro Rossi." His voice is flat. "The man who actually owes me the money. Let's see what he has to say."
Alessandro answers on the first ring, his voice smooth as oil.
"Camilla, sweetheart. I was wondering when Vitiello would allow us to speak."
The casual tone, like we're arranging a dinner party, makes my skin crawl after my father's tears.
"Alessandro, I need your help. Please."
"Of course, of course. This whole situation is terribly unfortunate. I've been working day and night to resolve it."
"Have you?" I can't keep the edge from my voice. "Because I've been here for days, and you haven't once asked to speak to me. Lorenzo says you told him not to complicate the negotiations with emotional appeals."
A brief pause. "I said that it was important to handle Vitiello professionally. The man responds to business terms. Surely you understand that?"
"What I understand is that you owe him six million euros, and instead of paying it, you've let me sit here wondering if anyone cares whether I live or die."
"Don't be dramatic, dear. You're perfectly safe. Vitiello won't harm you. He's a businessman. He wants his money, that's all."
"Is that what you think? That this is all just pressure?" I take a shaky breath. "Alessandro, I've seen the files on the men who are coming to bid on me. There's a Saudi businessman. Do you know what he does to the women he purchases?"
"I'm sure Vitiello has told you many frightening things to motivate—"
"He keeps them in isolation for years. Complete submission, total control.
His last acquisition hasn't been seen in public in three years.
He has specific sexual requirements, specific punishments for any hesitation or disobedience.
Women are expected to thank him for every moment of pain he inflicts. "
“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” he says.
"And there's Kozlov. The Russian arms dealer. He broke his last woman's jaw when she hesitated to follow an order. Broke her ribs too. The women he purchases don't last long, Alessandro. They can't survive him. He's too violent, too unpredictable."
"These details seem very specific," Alessandro says slowly. "Where did you get this information?"
"I've seen their files. Full dossiers on every buyer coming to the auction. Their preferences, their requirements, how they treat the women. Do you understand what I'm telling you? These men are real. This auction is real. If you don't pay, one of them will own me."
"Own you? Such dramatic language, dear."
"It's not dramatic, it's accurate! I will be property, Alessandro. Owned. Used however they want. Hurt whenever they want. Maybe killed if I don't please them enough." My voice rises. "Is that clear enough for you?"
"Camilla, you're understandably upset. But I want you to stay calm and trust that I'm handling this."
"Trust you? You've had days to pay this ransom, and you haven't. You've kept my father out of the negotiations. You've told Lorenzo not to get emotional. You've done everything except actually get me out of here."
"These things take time. I need to liquidate assets, coordinate with banks, manage the transfer carefully so Vitiello can't simply take the money and disappear with you."
"He doesn't want to disappear with me! He wants what you owe him. Six million euros. That's all it takes to end this. You owe him. It's a legitimate debt. You borrowed money from a gangster and now he needs to be paid."
"And I'm working on it. But I won't be pressured into making foolish financial moves just because Vitiello has staged this elaborate auction mess to frighten you."
I'm shaking now. "You think he's doing all this to frighten me? Why would he do that? I don't have the money."
"I think Vitiello is very good at psychological manipulation. Creating fear, urgency, desperation. Making you believe the worst possible outcome is inevitable unless I give him exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants it."
"You're not going to pay?"
"I didn't say that. I said I'm not going to be manipulated into acting rashly." His voice is maddeningly calm. "I have until the auction to resolve this. We still have more than enough time to coordinate a proper payment structure that works for both parties."
"Alessandro, I'm not a party to this negotiation. I'm the merchandise!"
"Don't say that. You're family. Of course I'm going to resolve this."
"When? How? Give me something concrete. Tell me you have a plan, a timeline, something that isn't just vague reassurances."
A pause. "I'm coordinating with several financial institutions. The amount is substantial, and I need to ensure proper documentation, proper channels. These things can't be rushed."
"The auction is in less than two weeks."
"I'm aware of the timeline."
"And you'll have the money by then?"
Another pause, longer this time. "I'll have a solution by then."
"That's not the same thing."
"Camilla, you need to trust me."
"Tell me you'll pay," I say quietly. "Tell me you won't let me be sold to one of these men."
"I'll resolve this situation. You have my word."
It's not the same thing. Not the same thing at all.
"Alessandro, please. I'm begging you. Don't let me end up with in Saudi Arabia or Russia. Please."
"You won't. I promise you. This will all be over soon."
The words should comfort me. But they feel hollow. Empty. Like promises made to a child who doesn't understand how the adult world works.
"How long?" I ask desperately. "How long until you have the money?"
"A few more days. I need to finalize some arrangements. But it's coming together. You just need to stay strong a little longer."
"And if something goes wrong? If you can't get the money in time?"
"Nothing will go wrong. I've handled situations far more complex than this."
"This isn't a business deal. This is my life."
"I know that. And I'm treating it with the gravity it deserves." A pause. "In the meantime, if Vitiello asks you anything about our family's business dealings, about my investments or connections, you tell him nothing. Understand?"
The shift in topic makes me uneasy. "Why would he ask me about that? I don't know anything about your businesses."
"He might try to use you to gather information. Financial leverage, business intelligence. Keep the conversations focused on the ransom. Nothing else."
"Alessandro—"
"I have to go. I'll be in touch with Vitiello soon."
The line goes dead.
I sit there holding the phone, staring at nothing.
Three calls.
Three men who should be moving heaven and earth to save me.
Lorenzo, uncomfortable and distant, passing me off to his father like an inconvenient problem.
My father, heartbroken and powerless, broke and broken.
And Alessandro, smooth and reassuring but offering nothing concrete. No timeline, no plan, just vague promises that he'll "resolve" things.
Renato takes the phone from my numb fingers.
"Well," he says quietly. "Now you know what I've been dealing with."
He slips the phone into his pocket. "Your fiancé can't be bothered to fight for you. Your father loves you but has no power. And Alessandro..." He shakes his head. "Alessandro is a bastard.”
"He said he'll pay. He promised."
"He promised to 'resolve the situation.' That's not the same thing."
I stare at him. "You think he won't pay."
"Alessandro Rossi is a man who values his money more than other people's lives. Even family."
"But my father is trying."
"Your father is bankrupt. He told you himself. Lorenzo defers to his father. Who is stalling about paying up."
I want to argue. Want to insist that Alessandro will come through, that someone will save me. But the truth is staring me in the face.
There's a real chance no one is coming.
Lorenzo doesn't care enough. My father doesn't have the means. And Alessandro is playing some game I don't understand.
I'm alone in this.
Completely alone.
I wipe the tears from my face, trying to pull myself together. But when I look up at Renato, still standing there with his phone in his pocket, I realize something else is wrong. Something beyond the devastating calls I just made.
He hasn't moved since taking the phone from me. Just standing there, staring at nothing, his jaw working like he's trying to decide something.
"Renato? What is it?"
Still nothing.
But I see the tension radiating through his shoulders, the way his hands have curled into fists.
"Something else happened, didn't it?" I stand on shaky legs, moving closer. "You look like you're about to attend a funeral."
He doesn't answer immediately. Just stands there, hands now in his pockets.
"What happened?" I press. "Did Alessandro call you? Did something change?"
"The viewing." His voice is flat. "I've moved it up."
My stomach drops. "Moved it up? To when?"
"Two days from now."
My legs almost go out from beneath me. "Two days? But you said the auction was supposed to be in nearly two weeks. You said I had time. Why do they need a viewing so far ahead of the auction?"
"Plans change." He won't look at me. "The buyers are anxious. They want to see what they're bidding on. Two days, Camilla. That's all the time left."
"Two days." I can barely breathe. "And Alessandro—"
"Has two days to come up with the money. If he really intends to pay." The bitterness in his voice is unmistakable. Renato finally meets my eyes, and what I see there makes my blood run cold. "In two days, those men will be here. In this house. Looking at you. Deciding if you're worth their money."
"And if Alessandro doesn't pay by then?"
"Then the auction proceeds as planned." He moves toward the door. "Get some rest. You'll need to be at your best when they arrive."
"No! Renato, wait—"
But he's already gone, leaving me alone with the devastating math.
Two days.
Forty-eight hours until I become a catalogue item for men with appetites they don’t name out loud.
And no guarantee that anyone will stop it from happening.