The salon doors close behind us with finality.
The families will call.
Any second now, my phone will buzz with the wire transfer confirmation, with proof that this was all just pressure and business.
The silence stretches.
Kozlov approaches Camilla with the sharp eyes of an evil predator. "Now then, let's see what we're really purchasing."
My hand slides inside my jacket, fingertips finding the outline of the gun beneath the fabric.
The only solid thing left in a world that's quickly imploding.
Chapter 25: Camilla
The salon has been rearranged for business. The furniture pushed back, creating an open space in the center like a stage. A single chair sits in the middle—for me, obviously. Around the perimeter, leather armchairs for the buyers and Renato.
Professional lighting has been added, bright enough to show every detail but warm enough to maintain the illusion of civility.
It looks exactly like what it is: an auction floor.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Renato says, gesturing to the chairs. His voice is steady, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands aren't quite steady. The tells of his emotions I’ve learned.
The three buyers settle into their seats with the relaxed confidence of men accustomed to getting what they pay for. Renato takes a chair slightly apart from them, close enough to supervise but far enough to maintain the pretense that this is their show.
I remain standing in the center, hands clasped in front of me, the picture of elegant cooperation.
"Now then," Kozlov says, settling back with his brandy, "shall we begin with some questions? I find conversation reveals so much more than physical examination alone."
"Of course," I reply smoothly. "What would you like to know?"
"Tell me about your education. Languages, literature, the arts. I value intellectual companionship as much as... other qualities."
"I studied at university in Florence. Art history, literature, some philosophy. I speak Italian, English, French, and some German."
"Excellent. And your interests? Music, perhaps? I have a wonderful collection of rare recordings."
"I enjoy classical music. Piano, specifically. I played for several years."
"Marvelous. You could entertain guests, provide cultural conversation. Very appealing." He leans forward slightly. "And your views on... submission? On a woman's proper role in relationship to a strong man?"
The question is a test. Too independent and I lose value to traditionalists like Al-Rashid. Too submissive and Kozlov might find me boring.
"I believe in respecting strength and intelligence," I say carefully. "A wise woman recognizes when she's in the presence of a superior mind."
Kozlov smiles. "Diplomatic. I like that."
Al-Rashid speaks next. "Your family background is old, respected. You understand tradition, proper behavior. This is important in my culture."
"Yes, sir. I was raised with traditional values. Family honor, modesty, respect for authority."
"And you are... untouched?"
The blunt question hangs in the air. I feel heat rise in my cheeks—genuine embarrassment that probably helps my case.
"Yes, sir."
"This will be verified, of course."
