The bidding continued. I watched Matteo watch Stefan. Watched the predatory focus. The absolute attention. This wasn't casual interest. This was fixation.
I'd seen Sandro look at me like that once. In the beginning. When he was deciding whether to pursue me or let me go. That same intensity. That same possessive calculation.
Nothing good had come from Sandro's fixation on me—or nothing traditionally good, anyway. We'd destroyed professional boundaries and ethical guidelines and probably several laws. We'd corrupted each other in ways that couldn't be undone.
And now I was watching Matteo develop the exact same obsession with a man being sold on a stage.
"One hundred seventy-five thousand," a woman called out.
Matteo's jaw clenched. His hands tightened on the armrests.
Don't bid, I thought. Don't do this to yourself. To him.
But I already knew it was too late. The decision was made. I could see it in Matteo's eyes. He was going to have Stefan Romano. One way or another.
"Two hundred thousand." A man in the front row. Confident. Final.
The auctioneer smiled. "Two hundred thousand. Going once—"
"Two hundred fifty thousand."
"Two hundred fifty thousand," the auctioneer repeated. "An excellent bid. Going once—"
I felt Matteo tense beside Sandro. Saw his hands grip the armrests until his knuckles went white.
Sandro's hand moved to Matteo's wrist. A warning. A restraint.
Matteo didn't move. Didn't bid. Just stared at Stefan with an intensity that made the air feel electric.
"Going twice—"
Stefan's eyes found Matteo's in the crowd. Held his gaze. Something passed between them. A challenge. A recognition. A moment of connection that felt far too intimate for a room full of strangers.
"Sold!" the auctioneer announced. "To Mr. Nicholas for two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Congratulations, sir."
An investment banker I recognized from the financial pages stood and acknowledged the win with a satisfied nod. He looked pleased. Like he'd just purchased a valuable asset instead of a human being.
Stefan's expression went carefully blank. The defiance that had flashed in his eyes when he looked at Matteo disappeared behind a professional mask. He was led off the stage by an attendant, walking with his head high despite the degrading circumstances.
But I saw the way his hands clenched at his sides. The only sign this was affecting him at all.
Matteo tracked Stefan's movement through the crowd. Watched him disappear into a private room with the banker who'd bought him. His entire body was coiled. Predatory. Like he was calculating. Planning. Deciding when to hunt.
The auction continued with a few more items. Luxury cars. Rare wines. Things designed to let the wealthy attendees feel like they were part of an exclusive club instead of criminals buying stolen goods and human beings.
I sat through it in numb silence. Processing what I'd witnessed. The casual cruelty. The sophisticated veneer over something fundamentally ugly.
When it finally ended, people stood and mingled. Networking. Making connections. Acting like this was a normal society event instead of something that should've resulted in arrests.
Sandro stood. "We should leave."
I followed him gratefully. Ready to escape this place. But Matteo wasn't with us. I looked back and saw him in a corner talking on his phone. His expression was dark. Focused.
Sandro saw it too. "Wait here," he said quietly.
He walked over to Matteo. Pulled him aside into a quieter corner. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I saw Sandro's serious expression. Saw Matteo's defiant one. Saw the tension between them.
After a few minutes, Sandro returned. Matteo followed but split off toward the exit without a word.
