The Auction

 Present Day

ELENA

The heavy iron chains clanked against the polished marble floor, announcing my arrival. I refused to let them see the fear that gnawed at my stomach as they led me towards the stage. My wrists were raw and sore from the rope binding them, but I held my head high. They could take everything else from me, but not my pride.

As I was shoved onto the stage, a blinding spotlight hit me like a blow. It illuminated every inch of the flimsy, lacey fabric draping over my body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The wolves in the audience snickered and hooted, their cruel laughter ringing through the vast room.

But I stood tall and defiant, letting them look all they wanted. Deep down, I promised myself that one day, I would make each and every one of them pay for this humiliation.

“Gentlemen, feast your eyes on the rarest of treasures!” the auctioneer announced, 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.”

The room stirred with interest, and my nails dug into my palms as humiliation flared hot in my chest. I scanned the sea of faces but found no sympathy—only greed.

“The doctors have confirmed her virginity,” the auctioneer added. “So, gentlemen, let’s start the bidding at one million.”

“One million!”

“Two!”

“Three point five!”

“Four!”

“Five million!”

The words were spoken with a calm and deliberate tone that carried the weight of a thunderclap.

The crowd immediately fell silent, as if they recognized the roar of their king. My eyes scanned the back of the room, where shadows concealed the edges of the hall. I squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had spoken.

Murmurs rippled 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 shifted, casting its beam towards the back of the room.

And there he was.

Adrian Costa.

The ruthless Mafia King.

God of the Underworld.

Even while seated, he commanded attention and respect from everyone in the room. His dark hair was neatly slicked back, his sharp jaw set with an air of authority. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the armrest and the other holding a glass of whiskey. He didn't look at the auctioneer or acknowledge the crowd. His cold and calculating gaze was solely fixed on me. Whispers of Adrian Costa's name circulated like a chilling wave throughout the room. Everyone knew him - The King who ruled over international waters. The man whose mere name struck fear into rival gangs and silenced rooms like this one.

No one dared to counter his offer. If they did, it would seal their death.

The auctioneer hesitated briefly, his excitement dampened by the intense presence of Adrian.

"Five million... going once... going twice..." The sound of the hammer striking down echoed through the room. "Sold! To Mr. Adrian Costa."

“Bring her to me.”

One of his men, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, rose from a seat near the back and climbed the steps to the stage. He unlocked the chains on my ankle.

I stumbled, my legs weak, but he kept me upright with a firm grip.

“Careful,” he muttered under his breath. “He doesn’t like when things get messy.”

My glare burned into him. “You’re all disgusting.”

As he led me through the aisle, just as I neared the middle of the room, a hand shot out from one of the seated men.

Then it happened.

He slapped my backside with a meaty hand. The sting of it seared on my exposed ass, and my breath hitched. My face flushed with rage and humiliation. The man—a gray-haired, heavyset figure with a smug grin—laughed, lounging back in his chair.

“That’s a rare one, Costa,” he said, 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 faltered as Adrian took a single step toward him. The calm in his expression was more terrifying than any outburst.

“Which hand?”

The old man paled. “Wh-what?”

“Which hand did you use to touch her?”

The old man held up his hands defensively. “Come on, Costa, she is just a slut—”

Adrian’s boot connected with his chest, the impact sending him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, clutching his chest as he groaned in pain.

Adrian stood over him, his voice like ice.

“I don’t like repeating myself.”

“R-Right.”

Adrian straightened, “Matteo, cut it off.”

A gasp rippled through the crowd, but no one dared to intervene. Matteo didn’t hesitate, pulling a dagger from his belt.

“Costa, please!” the man begged, crawling backward. “It was just a joke! Mercy—”

Adrian crouched. “Either lose the hand, or I’ll have my men butcher you. Slowly. Day by day. Starting with your little dick.”

The man sobbed, clutching his right hand as Matteo grabbed it and pinned it to the ground.

Adrian turned to me, rubbing my cheek with his thumb. “Turn around.”

The blade gleamed in the dim light, and I turned away, bile rising in my throat as the man’s screams filled the air.

“No one touches what’s mine,” Adrian said simply, his voice calm as he motioned for me to follow. “Let’s go.”

I obeyed, my back to the scene as the man’s screams filled the air.

I hesitated, my legs trembling. “You… you didn’t have to—”

“Don’t mistake this for kindness. It’s not. You belong to me, Elena. And no one damages my property.”

“I’m not property.”

Adrian smirked. “You’ll learn.”

I glanced at him, my heart pounding. He’d severed a man’s hand without hesitation, all for touching me. I didn’t know whether to feel protected… or utterly trapped.

Freedom had been so close, just within reach. And now, I was being dragged deeper into this world—a world of brutality, wolves, and Adrian Costa.

Whatever he thought he’d bought, I wouldn’t make it easy for him.

******

The car ride was suffocatingly silent. I sat stiffly in the backseat. Matteo drove while Adrian sat beside me, his presence overwhelming without him saying a single word.

When we finally pulled into the estate—a sprawling, fortress-like mansion surrounded by high walls, guarded gates, and endless garden—my chest tightened. The sight was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. It wasn’t just a home; it was a statement of absolute power.

As we walked toward the main entrance, Adrian’s men flanked us, silent and disciplined. The massive iron doors opened, revealing an opulent yet intimidating interior. Marble floors gleamed under dim, golden lights. The walls were adorned with dark artwork and animal heads, and everything screamed wealth and danger.

“Welcome to your new home,” Adrian said casually, his voice breaking the silence.

“You mean my prison.”

Adrian stopped mid-step and turned to face me. The corner of his mouth quirked into a faint, humorless smile. “Angry bird huh.”

In the center of the grand foyer, Adrian gestured for Matteo to leave us alone. I tensed as he took out a dagger from his jacket and stepped closer.

“Give me your hands,” he ordered.