Chapter 14 Lester appeared, red-faced and panicked, dragging Edmund back. "Dad. Not here. We're here for the Rossini alliance. Not for her circus." Rossini alliance? I almost burst out laughing. Then he looked at me. That same boyish face, now molded into cruelty. He gave me that once-familiar, disgusted glance. The kind men reserve for rotting fruit or women who outgrew them. "You ran away to be a mistress," Lester said. "That's all you'll ever be, huh?" He took a step forward.

"No wonder Dad hated you since I was six. You were always cheap." I said nothing. Lucien started, "She's not just anyone. She's-" I touched his arm. Gently. Silencing him. I turned back to Edmund and Lester, smiling just enough to frighten. "Believe what you want. Mistress. Whore. Vanishing ghost." I shrugged, sipping again. "I don't care what name you give me." I leaned closer.

"You'll find out soon enough." The orchestra began to breathe again, soft music floating through the aftermath like perfume over blood. I turned, walked back to my seat beside Lucien. Sat like nothing happened. Matteo met my eyes, nodding once. Enzo's smirk said, We're ready. Let the auction begin. Let the games burn. "Tonight, you bid not only with money," the auctioneer croons, voice smooth and sharp, "but with legacy." He looks right at me. Not past me. Not through me. At me.

And I don't blink. Lucien doesn't move either. Matteo, Enzo, even old Don Angelo across the room-they're all watching me now. "Let them bid. Let them sweat. I'm not here to play their game. I'm here to flip the damn board." I memorize every face that raises a hand. The ones who stay still. The ones who whisper behind their wives' fans. Every flicker, every signal. They speak in money, but I speak in memory-and revenge. Then a new painting comes up next. Venetian oil.

Old as sin and twice as twisted. I feel it before I see her-Elizabeth. Her perfume stabs first, something sour disguised as floral. She raises her paddle. 1 smile And raise mine. She stares at me, eyes wild and fake-calm. She bids again. I go higher. No words. Just a glance. The crowd's murmuring now. The Morocco floor scrubber bidding like old blood royalty. What a scene . Elizabeth tries one last desperate bid. I lift one finger. Just one. Sold. 5:18 am Applause breaks out. Polite. Confused.

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