CHAPTER 2. II MIETITORE.

“Number 15 was just sold now, Cyril. It’s her turn. The very last for tonight,” a man said, his sudden voice shattering the eerie silence.

I flinched. The room had been deathly quiet for what felt like an eternity since I was dragged in here.

Number 15? I wasn’t the only girl sold off. Were there sixteen of us? Were their parents also killed like mine?

A wave of nausea rolled over me for the hundredth time. My wrists ached from the tight metal cuffs, my skin raw from hours of struggling. The cold, damp air clung to my exposed skin, making me shiver. I could hear the distant hum of voices outside, muffled yet eager. Almost sounding hungry.

“It’s a good thing the boss decided to save the best for last. Those Lords out there will be so pissed off,” Cyril, I assumed, replied as she walked toward me.

The faint scent of her perfume—something floral yet sharp—filled my nose as she leaned in.

They had dressed me in something revealing. I couldn’t see it, but I felt the exposure, the way the air licked against my skin, the way my body stiffened with shame. Worse, I wasn’t just blindfolded this time—I was gagged too.

I flinched as her hands skimmed my skin, fingers trailing around my neck.

“The boss was right to keep her. She’ll fetch more than the other fifteen got. She’s flawless,” the man added, his tone detached.

My stomach twisted in disgust.

I had once admired art—cherished it, even. But now, I am art. An object to be evaluated, priced, and sold to the highest bidder. The thought made bile rise in my throat.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. My parents had raised me to be more than this. My mother had taught me to stand tall, my father had taught me resilience, and now… they were gone.

A sharp click pulled me from my thoughts.

Cyril clamped a thick leather collar around my throat, the pressure suffocating for a moment. I gasped through my nose, my breath shallow.

“Do you think Il Mietitore will make an appearance?” Cyril mused.

I jerked instinctively, trying to move, but she held me in place, fingers tightening on the collar until I could barely breathe. I choked, my body tensing in panic before I forced myself to go still.

Funny how I wanted death, yet I got scared when I was almost taken by it.

A weak cough slipped past my gag, my lungs burning.

“Told you to behave,” she hissed, finally releasing me. My throat throbbed where the collar pressed.

“Do you think he will come?” she asked again, this time directing her words to the other person in the room.

“He hasn’t stepped foot at the auction front in the last six months. But the boss said he’s in town, finishing some business. So maybe Moretti will be here,” he replied, adding a great deal of respect to the name.

Who the fuck are these people?

“You don’t say his name like that, Phill, if you want to live. He’s regarded with respect, whether he’s here or not, and you know that,” Cyril warned.

Something clamped around my wrists—heavy, cold, metal. Then, a sharp tug. I stumbled forward as she yanked me by the chain attached to my bonds and pushed me into something.

I felt it then—the shift in air, the confining space.

A cage.

I let out a shaky breath. Now I'm tossed into a cage like a prisoner?

Phill scoffed, though an edge of unease crept into his voice. “Well… no one will tell.”

“You still must regard Il Mietitore with respect if you want to live.”

Il Mietitore.

I studied Italian in college. By all means, I knew that phrase meant The Reaper.

Whoever this man was, he must be feared. Was he the one who ordered the killing of my parents?

“I get it. The king of all mafias must be respected!”

Mafia?

My blood turned cold. I was being auctioned to a group of mafias?

What did my family ever have to do with crime Lords? My dad was an Accountant at the most prestigious company in New York, while my mom was a seniorLecturer at Columbia University in Manhattan.

We weren’t criminals. We weren’t even remotely close to this world.

So why was I here? Why were my parents killed by them?

Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

I had lived my life looking up to my parents.

"Who do you think will buy her? Don Lucca or Lord Dexia?" Phill asked, shifting the conversation away from Il Mietitore, as if speaking his name too often might summon him.

"As long as she’s lucky enough to not get caught in the Reaper’s web, she’s lucky," Cyril replied before shoving me into the cage fully, causing me to land with a thud.

I winced, my body aching, but nothing compared to the pain in my heart. My parents were killed by mafias.

Dad had begged. He had shielded us—Mum, Celeste, and me. He had begged earnestly, saying something about him not getting involved.

My eyes burned as the door to the cage rattled, an indication that I was being locked in.

I was being sold to mafias who would possibly use me as a sex doll. Death would be far more favorable than serving my family’s killers.

I felt my body coil as the thought repulsed me. I was about to be sold. I was about to be auctioned.

“Take her now!” Cyril ordered, and after a few moments, I felt the cage leave the floor. My hands were bound together, my mouth gagged, and my face covered.

After what felt like forever, the cage was set gently on the floor. What followed was a rattle, and then a yank on the chain attached to my collar forced me forward out of the cage.

I crawled out at first, but strong arms held me up.

My legs, bare and bruised, stumbled against the uneven wooden floor. The scent of sweat, cigars, and money grew stronger with every step.

Then the strong arm holding me in place released me with one hand before moving right to the back of my head. The blindfold was suddenly ripped away.

Blinding lights hit me immediately. I winced. My vision swam, shapes shifting as my eyes struggled to adjust. But I didn’t need to see clearly to know.

I was standing on a stage.

A fucking auction stage.

And the very moment my face became bare, a loud noise erupted from everywhere.

I had been wrong to think this was some little gathering. It was a full house, with possibly over thirty people in attendance.

The room was massive, its walls lined with gold-trimmed velvet drapes. Rows of leather armchairs stretched in front of me, each occupied by men in expensive suits. Some held glasses of whiskey, others leaned back with an air of utter indifference, while most of them had one or two pretty girls kneeling right beside them, hands clad in chains and leather collars wound around their necks. Some were already doing the work they were bought to do.

Moaning from the men, cries from the girls—while the men with two girls watched in ecstasy as the girls fought for his cock.

I would soon be like them. Kneeling before one of these men, possibly having my mouth wound around his cock.

My stomach churned. This was never going to be something I would accept. I would never be in this position. My hands shook vigorously as I let my eyes adjust to every single person in the room.

Their gazes crawled over me like filthy hands. Many were already staring down at me as if I should have been down there, sucking on their disgusting balls.

No fucking way will I let that happen! Just before I could properly adjust myself to the environment, an irritating voice loomed out.

"So Dimitri had this perfect toy all along but let us waste money on worthless things before finally deciding to bring her out, huh?”

Toy?

 Toy?!