Chapter 7 #2
My focus tails off again for the next few winners, my eyes roaming the room searching for any clues as to who might have bid on me—if anyone did. Only a few glances shoot my way and they’re fleeting, making my stomach drop another inch.
My right leg starts to tremble when the woman next to Hallie makes her way to a masked man who is eating up every step she takes and licking his lips.
When Cassio turns to Hallie, I feel her entire body stiffen. Reaching out, I take hold of her hand. It goes against every instinct I have, but I force myself to do it. To be here for her.
My gaze cuts to the two men sitting to our left. Their heads are turned our way and I can feel Il Diavolo’s gaze searing into my skin. Remo is watching Hallie, a corner of his mouth twitching as Cassio reads out her name.
“The winner of the beautiful Hallie Mitchel, is…”
He turns the sheet of gold card in his hand.
“Anonymous.”
There’s a collective intake of breath across the room and I look out to see a veil of shock on multiple parted lips.
Cassio wipes a knuckle across his mouth.
“This is unprecedented,” he says, slowly. “We haven’t had an anonymous bid before.” He looks over to Il Diavolo who nods for him to continue. “Hallie will be assigned a room where she’ll meet with the winning bidder.”
She shakes like a leaf beside me, her hand growing damp with sweat. “I don’t understand,” she whispers under her breath.
Cassio’s voice cuts through. “Hallie, please see Vivienne. She’ll direct you to where you need to go.”
Hallie squeezes my hand tightly then lets go and walks toward the elevators.
Suddenly, it’s just me standing alone at the front of the room, feeling the eyes of the entire lounge sparking across my skin. Every part of me is trembling.
What have you done, Pfeiffer? What the hell have you done?
“And finally, the beautiful…” Cassio pauses, his gaze drifting to mine beneath his mask. He swallows like he might have said something wrong.
“Pfeiffer McAllister. Your winning bidder is…”
Time stops as he turns over the gold card.
It catches the light, casting a golden glow over the bottom half of his face, illuminating a knowing, yet slightly concerned expression.
I have the horrible feeling he knows who’s bid for me and for whatever reason, he doesn’t like it.
That’s ridiculous, I tell myself. He’s never even spoken to me before. He may have been in the club, I may have served him, but I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me.
Only one man in this place is memorable to me. Il Diavolo.
The room gasps again before I can wrap my head around the word.
“Anonymous.”
He turns back to me, and I detect an air of something on the slight inward roll of his lips.
Pity, perhaps?
I offer him a timid smile when I should be the one receiving compassion. Someone has bid for me anonymously? Why would they want to remain anonymous? What have they got to hide?
“Pfeiffer, congratulations. Please see Vivienne. She will show you to your suite.”
I step into the room feeling almost flattened by the stares that follow me. Each step I take feels more numb than the last.
As I pass the three brothers, I can’t help my gaze cutting to the left. It lands instantly on Il Diavolo. He’s sitting almost lazily on his chair, his knees apart, jacket unbuttoned, one finger tapping against his mouth. There’s no smile on those full lips but he looks almost… amused.
Before I can linger too long, I snap my focus back to Vivienne who’s waiting at the doors.
The closer I get to her, the more panicked I feel, because she isn’t looking back at me with her usual unguarded disdain. The look on her face is filled with something else.
It doesn’t shift even as she guides me into an elevator and takes me to the eighteenth floor. She steers me to a small room first and tells me to drink some water and sign some papers. I don’t really know what I’m signing—all the words are blurring into one.
It isn’t until I’ve followed her down the hall, reached a door and watched her curled fist rap three times, that I can put a label on that look.
It’s retribution.
There’s no time to think about the implications of that when a deep, unfamiliar voice murmurs the words, “Come in.”
I freeze, waiting for Vivienne to do as instructed, when she pans to me with a triumphant look in her eye.
“He means you,” she says, stepping back.
My whole arm shakes as I reach out to wrap my fingers around the doorknob.
I’m too petrified to worry about Vivienne’s reaction—it’s obvious she’s never warmed to me. I’m too focused on the widening gap of the door and the room it’s slowly revealing on the opposite side.
Dark, red, decadent, haunting.
Velvet. So much velvet.
As my eyes become accustomed to the low lighting, they settle on a person seated on a wing backed chair in the far corner of the room.
The first thing I notice is the mask. Matt black leather, contoured to look like it’s a genuine part of his face.
Broad shoulders that move softly with each authoritative breath.
Full lips that haven’t smiled at me once.
It can’t be.
Il Diavolo?
My heart stops. I spin around only to see the door close, and hear the firm click as it seals my fate.
Holding my breath, I slowly return my focus to the man who brought me here—the one I’m trying to escape.
He’s watching me, one hand curled around a lowball of amber, the other softly rubbing his jaw.
I didn’t think I could be any more terrified. Why is he here? Have I done something wrong? Has he seen through my intent and wants to put me in my place?
Then he opens his mouth and says my full name. Long, low and carnal.
And somewhere inside my heart, a little crack appears. I don’t know where it began, I don’t know where it ends, but I have a crazy-weird feeling that repaying my uncle’s debt isn’t the only reason I’m here.