2. The Highest Bidder

Clara

My heart is still racing wildly as I follow the manager through the hall.

I’m still thinking about what my mother said about secrets being revealed. I have a feeling she didn’t say that just to mess with me. Why would she? No, she had to be referring to something. What that is, I have no idea.

“When you’re on stage, make sure to smile and look pleasant,” the manager says to me. “Try to wave if you can. Statistics show that the friendliest girls always get the highest offers.”

I nod but then remember that she’s staring right ahead. She isn’t looking at me. I want to tell her that I don’t care about any of that but then I will myself to calm down. There’s no use in sabotaging myself because of something my mother said. It’s not the worst thing she’s ever said to me and it won’t be the last.

It doesn’t matter, anyway.

“After the bidding, kindly take the stairs on your right and join your new family,” she informs me. “You won’t be coming back here.”

This settles heavily in my gut. I won’t be coming back. There’s a finality to it that doesn’t sit right with me. It feels like I’ll be abandoning my old life completely and get a brand new one with a new family. It’s nerve-wracking and as I near the stage, I don’t think I’m ready.

The coward inside of me wants to turn back.

My mother’s words return to me again as we stop in front of the steps that lead to the stage. Two more steps and I’ll be there, staring right at my future. I pause, though, incapable of moving forward. I glance at the manager and she tilts her head and rubs my back mechanically like she’s done this a hundred times. She probably has.

“It’ll be alright,” she assures me. “Everyone gets an offer, no matter how small. Keep that in mind and you’ll be much calmer.”

Receiving a small offer is humiliating. Your new family is supposed to show you they value you, so when the numbers are small, you know you’ll never be valuable within the family and will probably be married to the least important member.

The bid starts at a million.

A respectable offer is over twenty million.

This money goes to my biological family. It’s regarded as a gift for them for raising such a perfect and wanted daughter. Medieval, yes, but inevitable for any woman my age.

“You don’t want to be late,” she reminds me in a friendly voice that lacks warmth. If anything, it makes me hesitate more.

Regardless of my fears, I take the two little steps and find myself standing onstage. I’m still in the shadowed part but a few more steps will take me straight to the center. I can see the auctioneer standing behind the stand, gavel in hand.

I hold my breath as I step onto the stage. I don’t know what I was expecting from this but dead silence was not it. I try to keep my gaze steady. I don’t want my eyes darting around the room, searching for faces I might find familiar.

There are more people than I initially thought. Rows and rows of people are dissecting me with their eyes, perhaps trying to figure out if I’m worth twenty million.

Am I?

“Clara Morelli,” the old auctioneer says, introducing me. “Daughter of Nicolo and Natalia Morelli. Twenty-one years old. Offer starts at a million.”

I notice the bidder cards on some people’s laps. It’s absolutely nerve-wracking waiting for this cards to be raised. I forget the manager’s advice. I can’t smile when I’m this nervous. There’s always the possibility that he’ll have to reduce it in order to have bidders to begin with. I don’t think about how humiliating that’s going to be, not only for me, but for my family.

When the cards go up, there are too many to count. Behind me, the auctioneer increases the price. First two million. Then three. The cards keep going up and so do the numbers. I try not to show how excited I am. I keep my expression neutral as cards keep going up from all over.

The auctioneer starts to chant and I stop understanding what he’s saying. I just keep seeing those bright yellow cards go up. By some miracle, I catch my father’s eye in the crowd. He smiles and nods encouragingly at me. I can’t help but smile back. I’ve done my part. I’m not unwanted.

By the time the amount surpasses twenty million dollars, I feel like I’m on cloud nine. I forget all my worries and anxieties. I even forget what my mother said. The cards are less frequent now, which is usually what happens. Only three cards are up by the time he says twenty-seven, and then only one is up when he says twenty-eight.

“There it is—” he starts to say, but is interrupted by a voice in the crowd.

“Forty-five.”

Everyone turns to look. Even I strain my neck to see who it is. It appears to be someone sitting on the very last row and oddly enough I can’t see his face because he’s wearing a hat.

“Can you repeat that?”

“Forty-five million for Clara Morelli,” the man repeats.

I look back at the auctioneer. His bushy brows are practically touching his hairline. He says, “Forty-five going once. Going twice.” The gavel hits wood. “Sold.”

The buzz of conversation doesn’t die down, especially once the man stands. I still can’t see his face. The manager appears by my side and says, “Congratulations. Kindly step off the stage and meet your new family.”

There is a wide space between the two rows of seats. I start toward the edge of the stage, where there are a few steps to reach the bottom. I’m still trying to see who it is.

Behind me, the auctioneer leans forward and then looks down at some papers in front of him. Then, he says, “Sold to?”

The man stops walking and raises his chin. “The Makárov family.”

Gasps and screams fill the room. Even I take a step back. Makárov? But…they’re not even Italian.

I catch my father’s eyes again. His face is red and he’s waving me over. I’m torn. I don’t know what to do. Surely there’s been a mistake. Aren’t the Makárovs that notorious Russian crime family?

What’s happening here?

I start to cross the room to reach my father. All around me, there’s a growing clamor. People are outraged. I’m about to reach my father when a hand closes around around my upper arm. I look up and see the man with the hat. The eyes under the brim are a sparkling green framed by dark lashes. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I frown and shake his grip off, only it’s unrelenting. “Let go of me!”

“Clara!” my father calls out. He finally reaches us. The man forces me to his side, ignoring my command. My father glares at him and asks in a voice I’ve never heard him use before, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Anyone can attend an auction,” he answers mildly. “I was in the neighborhood and gave in to my curiosity.”

My father’s finger shakes as he points it at him. “You will file for a revocation and unhand my daughter at once!”

“I’ll do no such thing,” he answers, his voice lowering an octave. “If you don’t want your daughters ending up in the wrong hands, maybe you shouldn’t sell them like sheep.”

My father loses his patience and grabs my other arm. He pulls at me but the man doesn’t release me. In fact, his expression darkens and he steps closer to my father. “I’ll pay forty-five million for her. That makes her my property now. I can have your hand cut for touching what’s mine. You know the rules.”

“Damn the rules!” my father exclaims angrily. My brother Miano steps between them and tries to grab at my father. Beto does the same. He struggles against them, fuming. He demands them to release him but they keep him back. Their glares drill holes right through me.

Carmelo Giovanni steps forward, buttoning his coat. He’s the leader of all the seven families. “Igor Makárov, you’re making a grave mistake. The agreement between us was no contact. Your behavior tonight breaks the treaty between us. You’ve proven your point. Hand her over, leave, and we’ll forget about this.”

“You’re smarter than that, Carmelo,” he answers, to my dismay. “I’m a busy man. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t intend on making a purchase. She belongs to my family now.”

Carmelo’s eyes flash. “Is that your final word?”

“Of course.”

“And you know what this means?”

“I do,” he says calmly. I look up at him in horror. What does this mean? What is he doing? Why is he doing this? These questions are racing through my mind, begging to be answered.

The room becomes oddly still. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. Carmelo glances at me and then back at this man. This Igor. His voice is calm as he says, “So be it.”

My father exclaims again but my brothers are taking him further away from me. The man starts to drag me but I stomp on his foot as hard as I can and push him away with my hand. “I said leave me alone!”

Completely unbothered, he gestures at the men behind him. I didn’t notice they were even there. They grab me before I can reach my father, ignoring my kicks and screams.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Clara!” my father calls my name.

Tears well in my eyes. I’m being dragged away without being able to do a thing to stop them. Eyes follow me. Some are filled with sympathy. Others not so much. I blush with shame. This can’t be happening to me.

Out of all the girls, why me?

What does this man want from me?