CHAPTER 4. DON'T THANK ME!

My blood turned to ice, my breath hitching in my throat as the words echoed through the auction hall.

"Sold to Il Mietitore!"

The name alone sent a violent tremor down my spine. Il Mietitore. The Reaper. The very man Cyril had talked about. The one they all dared. And I had begged him to buy me.

I just sold myself to the devil. What the hell have I done?

Panic clawed at my chest, but I forced myself to keep my head up. 

Breathe, Eva. Stay calm. 

But how could I, when the air around me had thickened with his presence? He stood in the center of the room, tall and imposing, commanding attention without even asking for it. His gaze swept over me effortlessly, as if stripping me bare with just a glance.

A shudder rolled through me, unbidden. My breath hitched. The urge to look anywhere but at him eats me up. But I couldn't.

“Come here.”

The voice was quiet, yet it cut through my very body like a knife. Low, smooth, and laced with quiet authority. I flinched before I could stop myself.

Slowly, I lifted my head, my eyes locking onto his once more. Amber. Piercing. A shade so warm, yet so unnervingly cold at the same time. This was a man who knew the power of silence—who spoke little but commanded everything.

Don’t look at him, Eva. Just move.

But my body betrayed me. Even as I took slow, hesitant steps toward him—my wrists chained, my mouth gagged—I couldn't stop my gaze from drinking him in.

Why do devils always look so devastatingly beautiful?

My stomach tightened as my eyes traced his features. He didn’t just hold eye contact—he demanded it. And I knew what he expected. He wanted me to cower, to tremble beneath his gaze. Maybe I should. Maybe I have to, if I want to survive him.

He had the kind of face that made you stare a second too long. The sharpest jawline I'd ever seen. Cheekbones carved like they belonged in an artist’s sculpture. Even without speaking, he radiated an unmistakable, unapologetic Italian dominance.

And his lips—

No, don’t look at that…

But it was too late. His lips were everything. Red and alluring. The kind that made you crave red wine just by looking at them.

His nose wasn’t in perfect shape. A small flaw. A thin plaster ran across the bridge, hinting at a recent injury. It did nothing to diminish his presence—it only made him look more dangerous.

I finally halted, just a few steps away from the man who looked like nothing but sin.

His lips stretched slightly. His hands remained dipped in his pockets.

Unlike the others in the room, who stood motionless in their suits, waiting for his command, he was different. He wore a white shirt that clung to his body like a second skin, accentuating an extremely broad chest. Only two buttons were undone, a mercy to save us from having an eyeful.

If he weren’t so obviously deadly, I might have—No. Shut up.

This man is not a fantasy. He is not a distraction. He is the kind of man who decides your fate with a nod.

He lifted his eyes for the first time, then nodded slightly at someone behind me.

In seconds, the man who had yanked my collar earlier moved swiftly to my side, grabbed my hands, and shoved me forward.

I barely managed to steady myself, my body bracing just in time to avoid crashing into the reaper's body.

Rage flared in my chest. He could have simply told me to step closer. But no. He had to have me thrown at him like some damn offering.

 He nodded again, just once, and a lady stepped forward. In one swift motion, she loosened the gag tied around my mouth, finally granting me the liberty to speak.

“He didn’t have to push—”

The words died on my lips as his hand, the one tucked in his pocket, shot out with effortless speed. Fingers brushed against my skin—light, deliberate. Possessive.

Then, with the same eerie gentleness, he tilted my chin upward, forcing my gaze into his.

“Sinclair had a daughter… interesting.”

The words unraveled from his lips like silk, yet they cut like steel. My stomach twisted. How the hell does he know my father? Fuck it, they all knew my Dad.

More importantly, why did he even think my father had only one daughter?

I parted my lips to say something. But before I could, a deafening gunshot shattered the room.

A scream tore from my throat as instinct took over. I flinched violently, my body colliding into his chest.

He didn’t move. He didn’t even push me away.

Realization dawned like ice water over my skin. I pushed away instantly, muttering a shaky “Sorry.”

Forcing myself to turn, my gaze landed on the lifeless body sprawled on the floor. The man who had yanked my collar and shoved me forward lay still, his vacant eyes staring into nothingness. Blood pooled beneath his head, dark and glistening.

No one reacted.

No gasps. Just tiny female screams.

As I scanned the room, the only people who showed any fear were the other girls being auctioned. Like me, they had flinched. Like me, they had cowered.

“He touched you.”

The cold, detached voice of the Mafia pulled me back to him.

And that was when I saw the gun in his hand.

A chill slithered down my spine.

He had killed that man—for me.

I swallowed hard, my mind struggling to process the emotions warring inside me. Horror. Disbelief. Gratitude.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I should have been terrified. I should have felt disgusted.

But instead, there was something disturbingly satisfying about the way he had pulled the trigger without hesitation.

I pressed my lips together, my eyes drifting from the gun back to his face. And that was when I saw it—the slight smirk curving his lips. Sinister dark smirk.

"Nicholas will finish the payment," he said smoothly before turning on his heel.

I stood frozen, my legs refusing to move.

"Yes, sir," the auctioneer responded immediately.

The Mafia reached the door, pausing just enough to glance over his shoulder.

“Walk over here now, or I’ll have my man throw you over his shoulder.”

And then, without another word, he walked out. Every man in the room bowed as he passed.

Who the hell have I just been sold to? I had actually expected him to have me pulled by the chains. Have me carried out. But he gave me the liberty to walk on my own.

“You better do the former,” the lady, red haired with a striking face, the one who had removed my gag, muttered before turning away. “The latter won’t be pleasant.”

I swallowed hard.

Despite being sore and barefoot, I managed to catch up with the woman. The Mafia was several steps ahead, walking like he owned the world.

"Dante doesn’t buy people," the woman said the moment I reached her. "He owns them with a snap of his fingers."

Her words made me realize I had forgotten something important—the one thing I should have done the moment I was close enough to him.

"Showing appreciation for even the smallest kindness, especially when help arrives in your darkest moments, is what makes you human. Not just any human—an exceptional one."

My father’s words echoed in my mind.

And the Mafia had already done two things for me. One I had asked for. The other… I had only dared to wish for.

I quickened my pace, probably surprising the woman beside me, alongside myself until I was walking right next to the emotionless man who had just saved me from a worse fate.

"Tha…thank you," I stammered. My body trembled as the chains around my wrists rattled with every step. My heart pounded so loudly, I was afraid he could hear it.

Funny how he easily get under my skin.

I lifted my gaze, hoping for a reaction. But nothing. Just the same frigid coldness in his expression—the kind that could freeze even the hottest flames.

But just as I was about to give up and slow down pace, he tilted his head slightly, his amber eyes locking onto mine. That smirk ghosted across his lips.

"What’s your name?"

His voice caught me off guard. The sound of it alone made my pulse stutter, sharp and commanding. If I had been shaking before, now I am trembling. Not to mention I hadn't expected him to asked my name.

"Evadne Sinclair," I whispered.

"Good, Evadne." His voice was like ice—deadly, final. And yet, the way he said my name sent a strange, sinful pleasure through me. "Don't thank me."

I frowned, unsettled.

Then, the smirk vanished. In its place, something more sinister flickered across his face. Something wicked.

"Because two hours from now, dear, you will regret ever begging me to buy you.”