I followed behind them as they guided me towards a similar van, this time without any hoods or handcuffs. I felt free yet strangely trapped. The van ride this time was shorter, and the hood returned for the journey. But when they finally removed it, I almost wished they hadn’t. Somehow, we had managed to reach underground, or at least close enough. Dim chandeliers hung from a ceiling of exposed stone, casting yellow lights over rows of red velvet chairs. Men in suits filled them, glasses of whiskey balanced on knees, eyes hungry and cold.
I wasn’t new to men like these.
My brothers were always decked out in powerful suits, as were the men who often visited our house. But seeing them here, in a setting where I was clearly at a disadvantage, somehow felt wrong.
A man in a tuxedo stepped onto the platform, microphone in hand. His voice was smooth, practiced, soulless.
I needed to run. And I needed to run fast.
“Gentlemen,” he began speaking, “tonight we begin with something exceptional. Fresh blood of Russian descent. She is eloquent, educated, and untouched by our world.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd as my stomach dropped.
They were talking about me.
My chest tightened, and I wanted to scream, to fight, but two of the masked guards held me from behind, steering me towards the light, which was clearly waiting for me. I felt as if I was going to be sick, and I began to fight them. It was impossible to push them away, but I would rather die than go down without a fight. I needed to do something.
The curtain lifted, and for a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe at all.
Dozens of eyes were fixed on me, their sleazy gazes scanning and assessing every inch of my body. I tasted blood from where I had bitten my lip, the coppery feeling making my mouth go numb. I could see the hunger in the eyes of the men ahead of me, filling me with disgust. I tried to fight, but escape felt impossible.
“Item four,” the announcer said, his voice booming loudly through the well-placed speakers around the large hall. “We’ll start the bidding at fifty thousand.”
Someone whistled. Another man raised his glass. I didn’t see faces but the flashes of watches, rings, and that terrible gleam of amusement in their eyes. In that moment, the harsh reality of my situation hit me completely. A reality I could not escape from. A reality that was already knocking on my door, making me sick to my stomach.
I was being auctioned.
Chapter 2 - Avgust
They called it an auction.
I called it a gathering of cowards who paid to feel like gods over the cries of helpless women.
The ballroom was buried under the city, turning it into a place where no law could reach. But these people were strong enough to turn the law according to their will anyway. Gold chandeliers hung low, dripping light onto velvet chairs and marble floors. Places like these made me sick, but being who I was, I couldn't escape them. Men in tailored suits spoke in low voices, the air thick with whiskey and rot.
I stood among them because sometimes you had to walk into hell to recognize the devil.
“Mr. Chernykh,” a voice greeted from behind. Slavic and thin.
I turned slightly, just enough to catch the reflection of the man in the glass column beside me. He was short, had a sharp nose, and wore too much cologne. He had the kind of eyes that had seen too much but learned nothing. Much like most of the people in this room.
“Kirill,” I said, finally looking at him.
He smiled like he wanted to live. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I thought the Chernykhs kept their hands clean of such—”
“Entertainment?” I cut in. “We do.”
His throat worked, swallowing whatever else he was planning to say. Smart man. I have a reputation for being unable to tolerate bullshit, and it always works best when everyone remembers that. For me, but especially for them.
I took a slow sip of the scotch in my hand, scanning the crowd.
A dozen families were represented tonight, including many minor players, foreign investors, and the usual parasites. I recognized faces from the east side docks, a few from New York, and at least one man who’d been missing from the Italian circles for over a year. That told me enough. This wasn’t just a small auction. I had known about events like these happening once every few months, with only the best of the lot for such powerful men, but I had never attended. I hated every little thing about this.
The Morozovs wouldn’t like it. Neither would my brother, Iosif.
I caught my reflection in the mirrored pillar again, light blonde hair slicked back, the edges still damp from the rain outside. My dark burgundy eyes looked colder than the drink I was nursing, but the tailored black suit fit like a second skin. I stood taller than most men in the room, which drew even more attention towards me, but that was something I was already used to. A Chernykh never went unnoticed in whatever room they walked into. Every movement in this room was deliberate and predatory, just like my own.
I only had one reason to be here.
