"Of course," I say. "I'm ready to meet your expectations."
Kozlov's eyes light up with anticipation. Al-Rashid nods approvingly at my submissive response. Torretti finally looks directly at me, and his gaze is calculating and cold.
Renato stands as well, his face carefully neutral but his hands clenched at his sides. "The salon will provide privacy for your evaluations."
As we move toward the salon, I feel the weight of the pen against my ribs, ready for the moment I might need it.
Time to show these men exactly what kind of merchandise they're dealing with.
Time to remind them that sometimes, the prey fights back.
And time to find out what Renato Vitiello is really made of when the moment of truth arrives.
Chapter 24: Renato
Dinner was a goddamn nightmare.
Two hours of watching three buyers evaluate Camilla across crystal and candlelight. Kozlov testing her intellect with philosophical questions. Al-Rashid assessing her modesty and breeding. Torretti studying her like a brood mare, barely speaking, just calculating.
She played her role flawlessly, charming for Kozlov, deferential for Al-Rashid, poised for Torretti. Every response perfectly calibrated to appeal to each man's preferences.
It made me want to put a bullet through their heads.
And through it all, my phone stayed silent.
No desperate calls from Alessandro. No frantic wire transfers from Colombo.
Just three men growing more eager with each course, more confident in their potential acquisition, discussing her breeding and bloodlines.
I checked my phone obsessively. Under the table during the main course. In my lap during dessert. Every few minutes,convinced I'd somehow missed the vibration, the notification, the call that should have come hours ago.
Nothing.
My hand unconsciously moved to touch the gun inside my jacket more than once during dinner. The familiar weight of it against my ribs, cold and solid. Reassuring in a way nothing else was anymore.
Alessandro is supposed to be panicking. He’s supposed to be calling.
This is the moment when the pressure breaks them all. When they realize I'm actually going through with this and they finally pay the fucking money.
"Shall we proceed to the more detailed assessment?" Kozlov suggests as the dessert plates are cleared, his pale eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The salon. The evaluation.
The moment when civilized pretense ends and these men put their hands on her body.
The moment when everything I've arranged becomes horrifyingly real.
I watch Camilla stand gracefully, every inch the cooperative product.
"Of course," she says with a smile. "I'm ready to meet your expectations."
We move to the salon in procession, three buyers eager for their evaluation, one woman walking to her fate with perfect composure, and me checking my phone one more time as we cross the threshold.
Fuck.
Still nothing.
Goddammit!
