The woman I can't stop thinking about.
This was supposed to be simple. Bring in credible buyers, let them make their offers, watch Alessandro panic and finally pay what he owes me. Clean, effective pressure.
Instead, I'm about to parade Camilla in front of genuine human traffickers and pray they don't see through my bluff.
"Kozlov's arriving now, boss," Matteo reports through my earpiece. "Al-Rashid is five minutes behind."
"Remember the ground rules. Physical viewing only. No conversation beyond necessary questions, no contact. They get fifteen minutes each, then they leave."
"Understood. What if they push for more access?"
"Then they can take their money elsewhere." My voice comes out harsher than intended, but I'm barely holding it together. The thought of these men speaking to her, studying her, mentally cataloging all the ways they'd use her if this were real.
Fuck, what have I done?
"Boss? You still there?"
"I'm here. Just keep them on schedule. Fifteen minutes, not a second more."
I check my watch. Three-thirty PM. I moved the viewing up, telling both buyers that scheduling conflicts required immediate evaluation. The truth is I can't wait any longer. Every additional day of this charade is another step toward complete insanity.
Either Alessandro pays up after seeing these offers, or I'll have to figure out how to extract myself from this situation without getting us both killed.
Because after yesterday, after making her call her family and hearing them abandon her, after seeing the devastation in her eyes when I told her the viewing was in two days—I know I'm past the point of rational thinking.
The plan was always to stop this before it went too far.
The problem is, I'm no longer sure where "too far" begins.
"Boss?" Matteo's voice pulls me back. "Kozlov's at the front door."
"Bring him to the main salon. I'll get Camilla."
I climb the stairs to her room, my hands steady despite the chaos in my head. She's been quieter since I told her about moving up the timeline, more withdrawn. Part of me is relieved—it makes this easier if she's too scared to see through what I'm doing.
The other part wants to tell her the truth, promise her this is all fake, swear she'll never actually belong to these monsters.
But I can't. Not yet. Not until Alessandro pays.
I unlock her door and step inside. She's sitting by the window in the burgundy dress I selected—the one that brings out her coloring while maintaining the elegant restraint that men like Kozlov claim to appreciate.
"It's time," I say without preamble.
She turns to face me, and I see something I haven't seen before in her dark eyes.
Real fear.
Not of me. Of what's about to happen.
It’s for the best. She needs to look terrified. It makes the bluff more convincing.
Even if seeing her terror kills me.
"Time for what?" she asks.
"The viewing. Kozlov is here. Al-Rashid arrives in five minutes."
The color drains from her face. She stands slowly, her hands shaking slightly as she smooths down her dress.
