If I'm going to play this game, I need to understand all the players.
But as I work, methodically cataloguing each photograph, part of my mind is occupied with a different kind of planning. Not how to appeal to potential buyers, but how to make one particular man realize that some things are worth more than money. His weakness is his appreciation for beauty, for quality, for things that can't be easily replaced.
I need to become something to him besides a business transaction.
Something he might not be willing to sell.
I set down the last photograph and lie back on the bed, staring up at the ornate plasterwork on the ceiling, cherubs and clouds and classical scenes rendered in white and gold. The evening light has turned everything amber and rose, warm colors that belie the coldness of my situation.
I allow myself to smile for a brief moment. Because I'm starting to think Renato Vitiello doesn't really want to auction me at all.
He just doesn't know it yet.
Chapter 10: Renato
Merchandise.
The word echoes in my head long after I leave Camilla's room, following me down the hallway like an accusation. I pour myself a scotch in my study and try to focus on the portfolio spread across my desk—shipping manifests, investment reports, the mundane details of running a criminal empire.
But all I can think about is the way she looked at me when she asked if I could find a better solution.
My phone buzzes. Matteo.
"Boss? Kozlov's people called back. He wants to move up the timeline. Apparently, he's heard rumors about Italian merchandise and he's very interested."
"What kind of timeline?"
"He's flying in from Moscow this weekend. Wants a preliminary viewing."
"This weekend? That's four days."
"I know it's fast, but he's offering serious money just for the viewing. Says if she's everything we promised, he'll make an offer that clears fifteen million euros."
Fifteen million fucking euros for Camilla.
"What did you tell him?"
"That I'd get back to him. But boss, if we're going to do this, we need to start preparation immediately. She'll need proper clothing, training on protocol, maybe some conditioning to ensure she's receptive to buyers."
Conditioning.
The polite, clinical term used for breaking down resistance, for turning strong-willed women into compliant merchandise.
The thought of anyone conditioning Camilla—of deliberately breaking that sharp intelligence, that defiant spark—makes my hands clench.
"No conditioning," I hear myself say. "Not that kind."
"Boss?"
"She's already compliant enough. Breaking her spirit would reduce her value to men like Kozlov." The lie comes easily. "They want challenge, not a broken doll."
"If you say so. But the timeline sucks. Four days isn't much time to prepare her for a viewing of this magnitude. Also, what are the trial period terms?" Matteo continues. "Kozlov's people mentioned he might want a few weeks with her before committing to full purchase. Standard practice for his acquisitions, apparently. He’ll pay well for that, of course. It’s not a freebie."
"Trial period? What the fuck is that about?"
"Apparently he likes to test the merchandise thoroughly. Make sure the training holds up under real-world conditions." Matteo's voice is carefully neutral. "His reputation with acquisitions isn't great. High turnover rate, if you know what I mean. And the women who do survive don't last long in good condition."
Weeks of Camilla in Kozlov's control. Weeks of not knowing what he's doing to her, what games he's playing, whether she's surviving them intact.
