Present Day
ELENA POV
It hurts.
My wrists are raw and sore from the rope binding them, my bleeding feet ache with every step I take, but I hold my head high. They can take everything else from me, but not my pride.
As I am shoved onto the stage, a blinding spotlight hits me like a blow. It illuminates every inch of the flimsy, lacey fabric draping over my body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The wolves in the audience snicker and hoot, their cruel laughter ringing through the vast room.
But I stand tall and defiant, letting them look all they want. Deep down, I promise myself that one day, I will make every one of them pay for this humiliation.
"Gentlemen, feast your eyes on the rare treasure!" the auctioneer announces, his voice oily and theatrical. "Elena De Luca—daughter of the infamous Lorenzo De Luca. A feisty virgin. A perfect prize for the discerning collector to add to his harem. Perfect genes to breed beautiful babies."
The room stirs with interest, and my nails dig into my palms as humiliation flares hot in my chest. I scan the sea of faces but find no sympathy—only greed.
"The in-house doctors have confirmed her virginity," the auctioneer adds. "So, gentlemen, let's start the bidding at one million."
"One million!"
"Two!"
"Three point five!"
"Four!"
"Five million!"
The words are spoken with a calm tone that carries the weight of a thunderclap.
The crowd immediately falls silent, as if they recognize the roar of their king. My eyes scan the back of the room, where shadows conceal the edges of the hall. I squint, trying to catch a glimpse of the man.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, filled with hushed and anxious tones.
"Is that...?"
"It can't be."
"Costa?"
"But why is he here at Zeus's auction? They are each other's nemesis."
The spotlight shifts, casting its beam towards the back of the room.
And there he is.
Adrian Costa.
The ruthless Mafia King.
The head of Cosa Nostra.
Even while seated, he commands attention and respect from everyone in the room. His dark hair is neatly slicked back, his sharp jaw set with an air of authority. He leans back in his chair, one hand resting on the armrest and the other holding a glass of whiskey. He doesn't look at the auctioneer or acknowledge the crowd. His cold and calculating gaze is solely fixed on me. Whispers of Adrian Costa's name circulate like a chilling wave throughout the room. Everyone knows him—the King who rules over international waters. The man whose mere name strikes fear into rival gangs and silences rooms like this one.
No one dares to counter his offer. If they do, it will seal their death. At least he stops the bidding.
The auctioneer hesitates briefly, his excitement dampened by the intense presence of Adrian.
"Five million... going once... going twice..." The sound of the hammer striking down echoes through the room. "Sold! To Mr. Adrian Costa."
"Bring her to me."
One of his men, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, rises from a seat near the back and climbs the steps to the stage. He unlocks the chains on my ankle.
I stumble but he keeps me upright with a firm grip.
"Careful," he mutters under his breath. "He doesn't like when things get messy."
My glare burns into him. "You're all disgusting."
As he leads me through the aisle, just as I near the middle of the room, a hand shoots out from one of the seated men.
He slaps my backside with a meaty hand. The sting of it sears on my exposed ass, and my breath hitches. My face flushes with rage and humiliation. The man—a gray-haired, heavyset figure with a smug grin—laughs, lounging back in his chair.
"That's a rare one, Costa," he says, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "A juicy catch. A virgin, no less. When you're bored of her, send her my way—I'll gladly add her to my collection."
The old man's grin falters as Adrian takes a single step toward him. The calm in his expression is more terrifying than any outburst.
"Which hand?"
The old man pales. "Wh-what?"
"Which hand did you used to touch her?"
The old man holds up his hands defensively. "Come on, Costa, she's just a slut—"
Adrian's boot connects with his chest, the impact sending him flying backward. He hits the ground hard, clutching his chest as he groans in pain.
Adrian stands over him, his voice like ice.
"I don't like repeating myself."
"R-Right."
"Matteo, cut it off."
A gasp ripples through the crowd, but no one dares to intervene. Matteo doesn't hesitate, pulling a dagger from his belt.
"Costa, please!" the man begs, crawling backward. "It was just a joke! Mercy—"
"Either lose the hand, or I'll have my men butcher you. Slowly. Day by day. Starting with your little dick."
The man sobs, clutching his right hand as Matteo grabs it and pins it to the ground.
Adrian turns to me, rubbing my cheek with his thumb. "Turn around."
The blade gleams in the dim light, and I turn away, bile rising in my throat as the man's screams fill the air.
"No one touches what's mine. You all have five minutes to vacate this place before I blow it up."
I feel his hand on the low of my back, steering me to move. I obey, my back to the scene as everyone makes a run for the exit.
"You… you didn't have to—"
"Don't mistake this for kindness. It's not. You belong to me. And no one damages my property."
"I'm not your property."
The corner of his lips lifts. "We'll see."
We'll see? Is that all he has to say?
He's severed a man's hand without hesitation, all for touching me. I don't know whether to feel protected… or utterly trapped. I grit my teeth, not wanting to show I'm more scared now than when I was on stage.
Barely three days ago, freedom had been so close, just within reach. And now, I'm being dragged deeper into this world—a world of brutality, where humans are more monsters, and Adrian Costa.
Dear God.
Shit.
How am I to escape him?
When I look behind at the building out of curiosity, I see his men installing bombs on the walls.
My eyes are locked on the building when someone pushes me inside the car towards the backseat. Adrian cups the back of my hand as if to make sure I don't hurt myself, which is weird and out of character considering he's going to kill me sooner or later. He throws a warning glare at Matteo.
"Sorry Ady, gotta hurry. Only thirty seconds left." Matteo gives him a protective ear cover and jumps into the driver's seat.
My body bucks tight. I shuffle back, pasting myself to the window when Adrian put it on my ear, his breath fanning my face.
As the car leaves the vicinity, the building blows up, shaking the ground. And me. And my soul. And my life...
The car ride is suffocatingly silent. I sit stiffly, shaking for god knows how many hours while Matteo drives, while Adrian sits beside me without saying a single word. He doesn't even bother to open the ropes around my wrist.
When we finally pull into the estate—a sprawling, fortress-like mansion surrounded by high walls, guarded gates, and an endless garden—my chest tightens. The sight is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. It isn't just a home; it's a statement of absolute power.
And he's going to trap me here.
As we walk toward the main entrance, Adrian's men flank us, silent and disciplined. The massive iron doors open, revealing an opulent yet intimidating interior. Marble floors gleam under dim, golden lights. The walls are adorned with dark artwork and animal heads, and everything screams wealth and danger.
"Welcome to your new home," Adrian says casually, his voice breaking the silence.
"Fuck you."
Adrian stops mid-step and turns to face me. The corner of his mouth quirks into a faint, humorless smile. "Angry bird, huh."
In the center of the grand foyer, Adrian gestures for Matteo to leave us alone. I tense as he takes out a dagger from his jacket and steps closer.
"Give me your hands," he orders.