Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
CAMILLA
“The auction is over, Viktor. Camilla is mine, and we are leaving.”
This whole time, I had been entirely pliant in this strange man’s arms. Part of it was the sheer terror of the bullets ripping through the ballroom, but the other part was the absurd strength of his arms.
He held me so securely, and the heavy, intoxicating rush of his masculine cologne completely paralyzed my senses. For a fleeting second, I had actually felt safe.
But the moment the words leaves his mouth, I snap right back to reality.
"Camilla is mine."
I am his?
How dare he?
Seriously, what is wrong with these men?
First of all, I don’t know this man.
Although my sisters and I attend galas and balls with my father and many people in a single night, I am convinced I have never seen him in my life.
Because as much as I hate to admit it, he is unforgettable.
His face. And body. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and has dark blond hair and icy, gray-blue eyes.
If we were at a normal gala, I would probably be fawning over him.
There is no way I'd forget a man like that.
The other man—the one currently glaring and threatening us, who looks vaguely familiar but whose name I also don't know—called my captor Maksim.
So that is the single, solitary fact I know about him.
How can a total stranger claim I belong to him?
From the corner of my eyes, I see the other guy storm off, his face a mask of rage and vengeance. But I’m not letting this slide.
Hearing Maksim say that like I am a newly acquired piece of real estate makes my blood boil.
I have seen this exact script play out way too many times in my life.
I watched it with my sisters' arranged marriages, and I’ve seen it in every single transaction my father ever conducted.
These men and their fragile, towering egos.
They honestly believe a high bid gives them the right to own a woman's body and soul.
Before he can realize what I am doing, I place my palms flat against his very muscled chest and push with everything I have, wrenching myself out of his grip.
Because I was so deceptively soft just a second ago, it take him completely by surprise.
His heavy arms fall away from me before he can tighten his hold.
His eyes narrow into dangerous slits as he glares down at me. "What do you think you are doing?" he demands over the noise.
All around us, the chaos is still absolute. Overpriced crystal is shattering, bullets are ruining the upholstery, and smoke is filling the air, but the indignation in my chest burns much hotter than the danger.
I smooth down the front of my gown, looking up at him with a sharp, mocking smile. "I am deeply flattered by the grand gesture, truly," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm despite the noise. "But I am not your property, and I never will be."
He steps toward me, his face tight with frustration as he gestures to the literal warzone around us. "Look around you. Do you honestly think this is the best place to have this conversation?"
"Oh, I apologize," I reply, crossing my arms. "Should we schedule a more convenient time to discuss my lack of availability?"
I open my mouth to add another jab, but a deafening, explosive bang echoes right next to us. Someone screams in pure agony, and the crowd panics even more, creating a stampede of desperate people rushing for the exits.
Out of nowhere, a heavy body running past shoves me hard from behind. I lose my footing entirely. I go flying sideways, crashing violently against a shattered glass table.
A sharp, blinding line of pain rips through my side as the broken glass cuts straight through the fabric of my dress and slices into my ribs. I gasp, the breath completely knocked out of my lungs as hot blood begins to soak into the silk of my gown.
Despite the agony blooming in my side, I force myself to stand my ground. I press a hand to my bleeding ribs, tilting my chin up to look him dead in the eye.
"I am not leaving with you," I say, keeping my voice as steady and cold as possible. "Whatever exorbitant amount you just paid for me, I suggest you go get a refund. I am not for sale."
He looks down at me, his icy gray-blue eyes completely devoid of warmth. "Tell that to your father, princess."
Before I can even process the remark, his gaze drops to the crimson stain rapidly spreading across the silk of my gown.
His jaw tightens. Losing whatever sliver of patience he had left, he steps forward, grabs me, and effortlessly lifts me right over his broad shoulder.
He positions me with a practiced care, ensuring his grip keeps any direct pressure away from my wounded ribs.
"Put me down!" I demand, pounding my fists against his solid back.
I fight him with everything I have left, despite the pain, kicking my legs as he carries me straight through the screaming violence of the room. He completely ignores my protests, treating my struggles as nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
With his free hand, Maksim raises his weapon.
He moves with terrifying grace, killing several men on the way out with brutal efficiency.
Every shot he fires is precise, clearing a path through the smoke and attackers without a single shred of hesitation.
It is horrifying to watch, a masterclass in underworld execution.
As we burst out of the shattered exit doors and into the cool night air, I catch a glimpse of his right-hand man, Dmitri, falling into step right behind us to cover our retreat.
We reach a waiting black luxury sedan. The doors fly open, and Maksim forces both of us inside, shielding me with his own body as the car accelerates into the dark, escaping the chaos behind us.
The tires screech against the pavement as the sedan breaks away from the compound, the gunfire finally fading into the background.
Maksim drops me onto the leather backseat, immediately shifting to look out the rear window.
In the front, a stoic driver slams his foot on the gas, keeping his eyes glued to the road, while Dmitri rides shotgun, his weapon drawn and his eyes scanning the perimeter.
I press my hand hard against my ribs, wincing as the sharp pain flares up again. The adrenaline is the only thing keeping me from fainting, but it also fuels my mounting rage.
"I demand to know what is going on," I say, my voice trembling slightly but retaining its sharp edge. "Who exactly are you, why did you just trade a small fortune for me, what on earth was that disgusting display back there, and where are you taking me?"
Maksim doesn't even look at me. He keeps his gaze locked on the side mirror, his gun still ready. "Maksim Sokolov. That was an underworld auction. And right now, I am taking you somewhere safe."
I have to admit, the fact that he answered my questions earns him a point in his favor. It’s more than I’ve been given my entire life. Not even my father affords me that much.
But it doesn’t change the fact that this is far from an ideal situation. I’m still angry. Still terrified.
I’m trapped in a car with a strange man—no, three strange men—being driven to God knows where.
As monstrous as my father is, and he probably is a bigger devil than all three of them combined, at least I know him.
I know what he’s capable of. These men are complete unknowns, and that’s what scares me the most.
I have no idea what they plan to do to me.
“Safe?” I let out a breathless, mocking laugh. “Forgive me if I find your definition of safe a little lacking, considering I was just shoved into a glass table and am now being driven to my death by three armed strangers. And Sokolov? You’re Bratva.”
"And you are a Caruso," he replies smoothly, finally cutting his eyes toward me. His tone is flat, entirely unaffected by my sarcasm. "Which means you should be well aware of how the world works. Press harder on that wound. You're bleeding on my leather."
I glare at him, my chest heaving. "Oh, my deepest apologies for inconveniencing your upholstery with my fluids. If you had left me like I asked, your pristine car wouldn't be at risk."
"If I had left you there, Viktor would be tearing that dress off you right now," he says, his voice a dangerous, low hum that sends a strange shiver down my spine. "So keep your attitude in check, printsessa. You're alive."
"Alive and kidnapped," I counter, crossing my uninjured arm over my chest. "I am certain my father will have a great deal to say about this. My father is Massimo Caruso, I’m sure you know him.”
From the front passenger seat, Dmitri turns around and passes a clean roll of gauze back. Maksim takes it instantly, leaning across the seat toward me, clearly intending to apply the pressure to my ribs himself.
I immediately slap his hand away, my eyes flashing with a warning. "Do not touch me."
Maksim pauses, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, rigid slits as he glares at me. The silence in the backseat is deafening for a beat. Slowly, with unyielding finality, he shoves the roll of gauze directly into my palm.
"Your father sold you to the highest bidder, Camilla," he says, his jaw clenched as he turns his head back to the window. "I just happened to be the one with some of the deepest pockets. Now hold the gauze yourself and stop the bleeding."
He is right, and I can’t even argue against it. The cold reality of his words settles heavy in my chest. I press the gauze firmly against my bleeding side, biting down hard on my bottom lip to swallow the moan of pain threatening to escape.
I notice he didn't argue earlier when I implied he was driving me to my death, and I want to press him on it, to demand to know my ultimate fate. But what could I actually do? Even if he openly admits he is driving me to my death, I am entirely at his mercy.
I turn my head toward the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of neon, fighting back the burning tears threatening to spill over.
Eventually, the sedan slows, turning down a secluded path until we reach a house. It is pitch black outside, and I can barely take in the dark, imposing silhouette of the exterior before Maksim is guiding me firmly out of the car and leading me inside.
The interior is stunning—luxurious, pristine, and entirely devoid of personal touches. We don’t dally in the spacious living room; his hand remains unyielding on my arm as he steers me straight upstairs and into a massive bedroom.
The moment the door clicks shut behind us, he steps into my space, reaches for the neckline of my dress, and tugs.
I slap his arm away instantly, my eyes flashing. "What do you think you are doing? Take your hands off me."
He doesn't let go. His grip is like iron on the fabric, his expression completely unbothered by my outrage.
"Stop moving, Camilla," he commands, his voice a flat, authoritative tone. "You are bleeding through the cloth." Maksim loses the last of his patience. Ignoring my protests, he uses his superior strength to grip the torn, ruined fabric of my gown and rips it open with a sharp, decisive pull.
The cool air of the bedroom hits my skin, but before I can even open my mouth to scream at him, his focus shifts entirely. His gray-blue eyes narrow as he leans in, completely clinical and sharp, to examine the jagged, bleeding wound scoring my ribs.
I want to push him away, to cover myself, but there is absolutely nothing sexual or leery about his gaze as he looks at me. Instead, there is something akin to genuine concern buried in those icy eyes, and it makes me still under his hands.
Without a word, he pulls me into the adjacent bathroom, lifting me easily to sit on the marble counter.
I freeze, incredibly self-conscious because I am now sitting here in just my underwear and bra. My skin flushes, but he isn't paying my state of undress any mind. He lowers his tall frame and pulls out a medical first aid box from beneath the sink, snapping it open with ease.
He wets a piece of gauze with antiseptic and presses it to the cut. A sharp, burning sting makes me hiss.
"You are a barbarian, you know that?" I get out through gritted teeth, desperately trying not to react to the heat of his hands against my bare skin.
He doesn't reply, carefully wiping away the trail of blood.
I look down at the top of his dark blond head, watching the steady, meticulous way he handles the gauze. "You don't seem like the type of man to buy a woman at an auction," I murmur, the sarcasm slipping away for a brief moment.
He stops, slowly looking up at me, his face only inches from mine. In the small, brightly lit bathroom, the space between us suddenly feels suffocatingly intimate.
"You don't know the type of man that I am, Camilla," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
A sudden shiver runs through me. I shift uncomfortably under his intense gaze, and as I move, I notice his eyes drop for a split second, tracing the curve of my breasts in my bra, before his discipline snaps back and his focus returns to my wound.
To break the sudden tension, I tilt my chin up. "Why did you buy me? There were a lot of other girls on that stage. More beautiful, and likely far more experienced in dealing with men like you. Why me?"
He lets out a heavy sigh, smoothing a piece of medical tape over the bandage. "I bought you to take you from Viktor."
"And why on earth would you care about taking me from him?"
He finishes securing the dressing, throws the trash into the bin, and looks back at me, his expression hardening. "I expect a little more appreciation, printsessa. Viktor is very bad news. You would have been in a living hell if you had gone with him tonight."
I let out a harsh scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. "Oh, so you’re the good man in this scenario? You expect me to believe you bought me from Viktor because you’re some Good Samaritan who just wanted to save the damsel in distress?"
He snaps the first aid box shut and slides it back under the counter, entirely unfazed by my biting tone.
"I am no one's savior," he says smoothly.
The weight of my reality crashes back down on me. I am sitting on the counter, practically naked, trapped in a house I don't know, with a man who could do whatever he wants with me. "So what now?" I ask, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "What happens to me?"
Instead of stepping away, Maksim closes the distance between us. He steps into my space, his large frame crowding me against the edge of the counter, completely trapping me between his body and the mirror. He leans down, his eyes burning into mine with an unyielding, terrifying finality.
"So now," he whispers, his breath brushing against my lips, "you will be my wife."