Paying for His Sins

Ale’s POV

The harsh glow of the overhead spotlights struck my face like a physical blow, burning against my retinas and wiping out the rest of the room in an instant. I stumbled as cold basement air swept over my bare skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and thighs. Behind me, Marcello tightened his grip on my bicep, his blunt fingers digging deep into my flesh as he dragged me forward onto the raised wooden platform. My bare feet dragged across the rough floorboards. I tried to pull back, but he shoved me mercilessly into the center of the stage.

The room exploded into a deafening roar.

Whistles tore through the haze of cigar smoke. A chorus of guttural groans, drunken cheers, and callous laughter rose from the floor below, vibrating straight through the boards beneath my feet. Men in tailored suits leaned forward in their leather booths, while others stood up at their tables, raising heavy tumblers of whiskey as their dark eyes raked over every curve of my body. They stared at me with an unvarnished, predatory hunger that made my skin crawl.

My stomach churned with nausea. Instinct took over before I could stop myself. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, hunching my shoulders forward in a desperate attempt to cover the sheer fabric clinging to my breasts.

The crowd immediately snarled in anger.

A man in the front row slammed his heavy palm against his cocktail table. "Get her arms out of the way! We need to see the goods before we open our wallets!"

Another rough voice shouted from the middle of the hall. "Yeah! Move her hands! Let us see what we are bidding on!"

Marcello lunged forward, his face dark with fury. He snatched my wrists in a brutal hold and wrenched my arms apart, forcing them down to my sides until my shoulders throbbed with pain. Before I could pull away, he grabbed the nape of my neck and pulled me close, his foul breath washing over my skin.

"If you try that again, I will personally chop your aunt's head off and deliver it to you in a box. Do you understand me, girl?"

A freezing wave of dread washed through my blood.

My body locked into stone. Aunt Vittoria had betrayed me. She had handed me over to Marcello for a twenty percent cut of tonight's sale, trading my body to clear an impossible debt. Yet, despite her treachery, she was the only family I had left in this world. She had raised me, bandaged my scraped knees, and stayed by my side when my father vanished for months at a time. If she died, I would be left alone in the dark.

So I forced myself to obey.

I stood tall, locking my knees and keeping my spine straight. I dropped my hands to my sides, clenching them into tight fists while my fingernails bit into my palms. I forced myself to face the sea of monsters below, refusing to flinch as their greedy eyes drank me in.

A man near the runway gestured toward me, his gaze fixed on my chest. "Those breasts look ripe and heavy!"

Another man laughed, dragging his tongue across his upper lip. "Look at those legs. I would ride her all night long and still want more by sunrise."

Every crude word felt like filth smeared across my skin. I lowered my chin slightly, tracking the sound of the laughter until my eyes found the man sitting in the front row. He was short and wide, his massive belly straining the buttons of an expensive silk shirt. Greasy brown hair clung to his forehead, framing a puffy, red face with small, porcine eyes.

Marcello barked a dry laugh from behind his wooden podium. "Greco, if you bring enough cash to the table, she is all yours."

Another voice rose from a shadowed booth near the bar, thick with spite. "I will taste Silvano's bloodline tonight! That will be my revenge on the bastard for leaving me to rot in federal prison!"

My throat closed up. Tears burned behind my eyelids, but I blinked them back, refusing to let a single drop fall in front of these hyenas.

My father had spent my entire life hiding me in a quiet town on the outskirts of nowhere. He had kept me locked away behind tall iron gates and bulletproof glass. No boyfriends. No social circle. No freedom. He had only permitted me to attend college when I turned twenty, and only after two solid years of tears and screaming arguments. He always claimed the isolation was for my own protection.

Now, standing on this stage, I finally understood the truth. Silvano Marchetti had left behind a trail of bitter enemies. But instead of facing them himself, he had died and left me stranded to pay for his sins.

I drew in a slow breath through my nose, trying to steady my racing heart. I had to survive this night. If I could just endure the horrors of the next few hours, Marcello would hand over Vittoria's twenty percent cut. With that money, my aunt and I could buy new identities, cross the border, and vanish into a quiet corner of the world where the mafia could never touch us again. I only needed to survive until dawn.

Marcello stepped up to the center of the wooden podium, tapping a polished gavel against the sound block to silence the room. "Gentlemen, quiet down. Let us begin tonight's main event. Opening bid starts at one hundred thousand dollars."

Greco threw his thick hand into the air, holding a crystal glass of amber liquor. "One hundred thousand!"

The bid came without a second of hesitation. A repulsive grin spread across his round face, flashing a pair of gold crowns in the front of his mouth.

A voice yelled from the center tables. "Two hundred thousand!"

Another man called out from the darkness near the bar. "Three hundred!"

A bidder on the far left raised his glass. "Four hundred thousand!"

The bidding escalated into a frenzied storm. Voices barked numbers from every corner of the room, overlapping like hungry wolves snapping at a piece of fresh meat. Every sharp yell drove another spike of dread into my stomach. They were shouting out prices for my flesh, treating my life and my body as nothing more than merchandise on an assembly line.

Greco slammed his heavy glass onto the tabletop, splashing whiskey over the polished wood. "Five hundred thousand!"

A cold chill swept down my neck. I looked down at him, my pulse pounding in my ears. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his collar was soaked through. His small, wet eyes stared up at me with open lust, stripping away what little dignity I had left. The thought of his damp, heavy hands touching my skin made bile surge up my throat.

I silently prayed for another man to step up and outbid him.

A bidder in a navy suit raised his hand. "Six hundred!"

Greco did not even pause to draw breath. "Seven hundred thousand!"

A man near the private lounge called out. "Eight hundred!"

The room hummed with frantic energy, but the number of voices began to drop. Eight hundred thousand dollars was a massive fortune to spend on a single night, even for men with deep criminal pockets. Several bidders muttered curses under their breath, shaking their heads and setting their glasses down in defeat.

Greco noticed the hesitation. He pushed himself up from his leather booth, standing on thick legs with his chest puffed out like a prize fighter. He raised both arms toward the ceiling and let out a triumphant roar that echoed off the concrete walls.

"One million dollars!"

A dead silence instantly blanketed the room.

The murmurs died out. Men looked between each other, shaking their heads in disbelief. No one else raised a hand. The men who had been shouting just seconds ago leaned back in their chairs, conceding the prize to the fat monster in the front row.

My heart plummeted straight into an icy abyss. My breath hitched in my throat. This was it. My fate was sealed. I was going to be handed over to a beast who would crush the life out of me before the night was over.

Greco turned around to face the crowd, laughing with arrogant delight. "None of you broke bastards can match that! Silvano's little brat belongs to me!"

Marcello grinned ear to ear. He raised the wooden gavel high above his head, ready to bring it down against the block to seal the deal.

Then, a voice drifted out from the far corner of the underground club.

The sound was low, calm, and as smooth as velvet, carrying a lethal weight that cut through the silence like a razor blade.

"Five million dollars."

The entire room turned to ice.

Every breath caught in every throat. Men froze mid-motion, glasses suspended halfway to their lips, eyes bulging in utter disbelief. The armed guards stationed along the perimeter shifted their weight, their fingers tightening nervously around the grips of their weapons.

Marcello’s gavel remained suspended in mid-air. His mouth hung open, his eyes widening into round saucers as he stared into the shadows at the back of the room.

My brain struggled to process the sheer scale of the number. Five million dollars.

Twenty percent of five million was one million dollars in cash.

A full million. That amount of money meant true freedom. It was enough to buy passage across the ocean, purchase a house under a clean name, and ensure Aunt Vittoria and I would never have to run or hide ever again. But who would pay such an impossible sum just to spend a night with me?

Marcello recovered his wits, a wild, greedy grin splitting his face from ear to ear.

He slammed the gavel down against the brass plate with a loud, resounding crack. "Sold to Rocco De Santis!"

The name hit my ears like a bolt of lightning.

Rocco De Santis.

A violent shudder ripped through my core, freezing the blood in my veins. That name was familiar. It carried an echo of horror, something dark and buried deep within the worst nightmare of my life.

I raised my hand against the blinding glare of the spotlights, squinting into the gloom of the auction hall. I needed to see him. I had to know what kind of man had just spent a king's ransom to claim possession of me.

My eyes swept past the stunned faces at the cocktail tables, searching through the smoke until they locked onto the farthest, darkest corner of the private lounge.

He sat alone in the deep shadows, untouched by the glare of the stage lights.

He did not look like the other men in the room. There was no drink in his hand, no triumphant grin on his lips, and no ounce of drunken excitement in his posture. He sat with an aura of quiet, deadly authority that made the air around him feel thin. His broad shoulders filled out the frame of a charcoal suit cut to perfection. His jawline was sharp and severe, looking as though it had been carved from black marble.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised his chin.

His gaze met mine across the smoky distance.

His eyes were the color of winter storm clouds—cold, intense, and devoid of mercy.

A memory struck me with the force of a freight train, knocking the wind straight out of my lungs.

The rainy night of my twenty-second birthday. The smell of copper and spent gunpowder flooding the corridors of my father's estate. The sound of wood splintering as the study doors were kicked off their hinges. My father falling to his knees on the Persian rug, clutching his chest while blood pooled between his fingers.

And standing over him in the darkness, lowering a smoking pistol without a shred of emotion, was the man with the gray eyes.

My knees gave out, and I had to catch myself on the edge of the podium to keep from falling.

It was him.

The executioner from my father's study.

The cold-blooded monster who had pulled the trigger and ended Silvano Marchetti's life.

Rocco De Santis.

The man who had destroyed my entire world was now the man who owned me.