Page 30 of Auctioned Innocence (Bonds of Betrayal #3)

Her thighs squeeze and she throws her head back, her mouth open in ecstasy.

“Do you want to come, principessa ?” I ask hoarsely.

“God, yes .”

I lean forward, listening to the sound of her wet fingers moving inside her. “It’s me touching you, Sofia,” I say. She gasps. “I’m pushing against your clit, and you’re riding my hand, and you’re beautiful.”

Sofia’s hips jerk against the table and the furniture scrapes against the floor. “Don’t you stop, Sofia,” I growl.

She cries out.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop. I want you to push harder. It’s my tongue against you now.”

“Oh, god. Oh god !” She moves her foot up, somehow opening herself wider.

“You like that? You like my tongue?”

Her only response is another moan, and it takes me another second to realize I’m stroking myself through my pants. I watch as she changes directions inside her underwear. Her hips slow down, but then she picks up the pace again. She’s panting now, her ass hitting the table so hard it’s squeaking.

“Oh, Dante— Dante !”

Her body vibrates as she comes, her fingers—slick with her release—still plunging in and out of her. I bark out a curse as I finish in my pants—fucking god dammit .

Sofia collapses against the table, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she comes down from her high. She pushes herself up onto her elbows to look at me and I’m already hard again at how goddamn beautiful she looks.

The soft chime of the security system makes us both freeze—someone using the proper access codes. We’re dressed, armed and in defensive positions before the sound fades, days of paranoia overriding hours of relative safety.

“It’s me,” Mario’s voice calls through the reinforced door. “Don’t shoot.”

I check the security monitors, confirming it’s really Mario and that he’s alone, before disengaging the locks. He steps inside, takes one look around the penthouse, and stops dead.

His nose wrinkles slightly as he glances between Sofia and me, taking in our appearances, the rumpled clothing, the general air of…well, exactly what we’ve been doing.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, setting down his briefcase. “Smells like a fucking brothel in here.”

Sofia’s face goes nuclear red, and she suddenly finds the floor very interesting. I meet Mario’s gaze directly, chin raised, ready for whatever lecture or threat is coming.

Instead, he holds up a hand. “Look, what you two do is between you and your consciences. I’m no snitch—I’m sure as hell not telling Marco shit about his sister’s love life.”

Mario looks like he’s aged a decade in the past week. His usually immaculate appearance is wrinkled, stress lines etched deep around his eyes.

“Elena? Stella?” Sofia asks immediately, and I’m reminded again why I fell for her. Even in the middle of our own crisis, she thinks of others first.

“Safe. Hidden. Moving every few hours, but safe.” Mario’s gaze flicks between Sofia and me, taking in our defensive positions, the weapons still within easy reach. Something that might be approval crosses his features, but he doesn’t comment. “Good reflexes. You’ll need them.”

I relax only slightly. “Somehow I don’t think you’re here for a social call.”

“You would be correct. We need to talk,” he says, settling into the living room. “All of it. The full scope of what we’re facing.”

I pour coffee while Sofia secures the windows—an unconscious division of labor that speaks to how naturally we work together now. Whatever Mario’s brought, it’s serious enough that he risked coming here in person.

“I’ve got new intelligence,” Mario starts without preamble, opening his briefcase to reveal files that look like they came from very official sources. “And it’s worse than we thought.”

He spreads documents across the coffee table—financial records, communication intercepts, surveillance photos. The kind of material that costs lives to obtain.

“Viktor’s network isn’t just about human trafficking,” he continues, his voice grim. “It’s about complete restructuring of how our families operate. He’s been working with the Calabreses to destabilize the entire Council system.”

I lean forward, studying the documents with interest. “Dominic Calabrese is involved in this?”

“Up to his neck. Viktor approached him right after Anthony’s conviction—offered him revenge against all the families that helped bring his brother down, plus a piece of the new power structure.

” Mario points to financial records showing massive transfers between shell companies.

“Dominic’s been funding the operation, but Viktor’s been the strategic mastermind. ”

“Creating chaos,” Sofia says, understanding immediately.

“Exactly. The auction house was just the beginning—they’ve been orchestrating ‘incidents’ across multiple territories.

Making it look like family conflicts are escalating, that the current peace is breaking down.

” Mario points to a timeline that makes my blood run cold.

“Car bombings in Boston blamed on Irish-Italian tensions. Drug shipments hijacked and blamed on territorial disputes. Three family representatives’ daughters kidnapped in the past six months. ”

Sofia stares at photos of young women—all around her age, all from prominent families. “I didn’t see these girls at the auction…”

“That’s because there are multiple of them across the country.

Dominic’s been systematically targeting family connections as revenge for Anthony’s downfall—the Renaldis, the DeLucas, the Irish families that helped bring his brother down.

But Viktor’s convinced him this is bigger than just revenge.

” Mario’s expression darkens. “The goal is to convince the Council that the current system is failing, that stronger centralized control is needed.”

“With Viktor in charge,” I finish, understanding immediately. It’s brilliant in its simplicity. Use Dominic’s thirst for revenge to create the problem, then offer himself as the solution.

“Exactly. Viktor’s positioning himself as the solution to the chaos he and Dominic are creating.

And he’s got allies—family representatives who think centralized power would benefit them, politicians who want to control organized crime through one point of contact instead of dealing with multiple autonomous families. ”

The scope of it is staggering. Not just revenge for his brother, but a complete takeover of the criminal underworld’s power structure.

“There’s more,” Mario continues, pulling out communication intercepts. “He’s got someone inside our security network. High-level access. Someone who’s been feeding him locations, protocols, timing for the past six months.”

Fear licks through my insides. “Someone close.”

“Has to be. Look at this pattern.” Mario spreads out a map showing compromised safe houses, failed operations, narrow escapes.

“They knew exactly when and where to hit us. Knew our backup protocols. Even knew about some of our emergency procedures that only a handful of people should have access to.”

I study the intelligence with growing anger. Someone we trust, someone with access to our most sensitive information, has been selling us out. The betrayal runs deeper than Viktor and Dominic’s network—it’s personal.

“Any idea who?” Sofia asks.

“Working on it. But in the meantime, nowhere is completely safe. Which is why you need to keep moving.” Mario pulls out new phones, fresh identification, emergency cash. “Tonight.”

“Where to?” I ask, though part of me already knows we’re running out of places to hide.

“A warehouse in Queens I’ve kept off all the books.

Should buy us time to plan our counterattack.

” Mario meets my eyes, and I see the same determination that’s kept him alive through decades in this business.

“Because that’s what this is now. Not hiding, not running.

We’re going to expose the entire goddamn conspiracy and bring down the entire network. ”

“What do you need from us?” Sofia asks.

Mario turns to her, his eyes studying her.

“I need you to survive long enough to gather the evidence we need to prove Viktor and Dominic are behind all of this.” Mario’s smile is sharp as a blade.

“And I need you both to remember that you’re not just fighting for yourselves anymore.

You’re fighting for every girl they’ve taken, every family they’ve destroyed, every life they’re going to ruin if we don’t stop him. ”

We spend the next few hours planning, mapping Viktor and Dominic’s networks, identifying targets and potential allies.

The conspiracy runs deeper than any of us imagined, but there are weaknesses.

Rivalries between their allies. Evidence trails they can’t completely erase.

People who might turn if presented with the right leverage.

“The key is proving Viktor and Dominic orchestrated the other incidents,” Mario explains, pointing to financial records. “If we can connect them both to the Boston bombing, the kidnappings, the hijacked shipments—we can show the Council that they’ve been manipulating everyone from the beginning.”

“And if we can’t?” Sofia asks softly, voicing the one question that’s been on my mind.

“Then the Renaldis become the scapegoat for everything, and Viktor gets exactly what he wants—chaos followed by his consolidation of power, with Dominic’s revenge as the perfect cover story,” Mario says coolly.

As afternoon shifts toward evening, Mario prepares to leave. He’s got his own network to coordinate, his own part of the war to fight.

“Stay sharp,” he tells us at the door, pressing additional weapons into our hands. “Trust no one completely. And remember—this ends with Viktor and Dominic dead, their networks in ashes.”

After he leaves, Sofia and I continue our preparations. Weapons, ammunition, emergency supplies, the new identities Mario provided. We’ve become expert at this—the rapid packing of lives that exist in the spaces between official recognition.

“Ready?” I ask as the sun sets over the city.

“Almost.” Sofia checks her weapon one final time, her movements clinical. “Just?—”

The building’s power cuts out.

Complete darkness. Not even emergency lighting.

Every instinct I have screams danger. This isn’t a power failure—this is tactical.

“Down!” I shout, tackling Sofia behind the kitchen island just as the windows explode inward in a shower of glass and twisted metal.

Flash-bang grenades turn the world into chaos—white light, deafening noise, disorientation that makes thinking impossible. But my body remembers what to do even when my mind can’t process the input.

I roll from cover, putting three bullets into the first figure through the window. My shots are instinctive, trained, finding their mark despite the ringing in my ears. Sofia’s beside me, her movements fluid and deadly as she engages multiple targets.

“East stairwell!” I call out, spotting more figures in the hallway. “They’re coming up both sides!”

We move. I cover Sofia’s advance while she clears corners that makes me proud and terrified in equal measure. She’s not the girl I used to protect—she’s the woman fighting beside me.

These aren’t the same people who took us from the cabin. This is a larger team, better equipped, more coordinated. They know the building layout, know our likely defensive positions.

“They’re trying to corner us in the main room!” Sofia calls out, recognizing the pattern. “Push us into a kill zone!”

“Service areas,” I respond, already moving toward the building’s utility corridors. “We can reach the garage level.”

Sofia provides covering fire as we fall back, her shots keeping the advancing team honest. One tries to flank through the bedroom—she drops him so quickly that would make Marco weep with pride.

But there are too many. They’re disciplined, working in coordinated teams. And the way they move through the penthouse suggests they’ve studied the layout, planned for this exact scenario.

“How did they find us?” Sofia gasps as we reach the service corridor.

“The leak,” I say grimly. “Mario was right—someone with access sold us out.”

The service elevator is a death trap—they’ll have teams waiting at every level. But the maintenance shaft beside it offers possibilities.

“Can you fit?” Sofia asks, noting my broader shoulders as she pries open the access panel.

“I’ll make it work,” I grimace.

She slides down the maintenance shaft first, the metal tearing at her clothes but delivering her to the garage level mostly intact. I follow, barely squeezing through the narrow opening, my shoulders screaming in protest.

The garage is darker than the penthouse, emergency lighting casting strange shadows between concrete pillars. Sofia’s already moving toward the back wall where Mario had mentioned keeping emergency transportation.

Hidden behind a support pillar sits a motorcycle—sleek, powerful, ready for exactly this kind of emergency.

“You driving?” I ask, tossing her the keys. After seeing her handle the Harley at the cabin, I trust her completely.

“Always.” She swings onto the bike, and I feel it roar to life beneath us. “Hold tight.”

We burst from the garage just as black SUVs converge on the building’s entrance. Sofia guns the engine, weaving between them before they can coordinate their response. I look back to see more teams pouring into the building—fuck, this is overwhelming.

“Mario got out before this started,” I say against Sofia’s ear, reading her thoughts. “He’ll be fine.”

She nods, leaning into the next turn as pursuit vehicles appear behind us. But she’s gotten good at this—the evasion, the split-second decisions, the controlled recklessness that keeps us alive.

The city blurs past as we race through empty streets, and I realize something that should terrify me but doesn’t: I trust Sofia completely. With my life, with our mission, with everything that matters.

“Where to?” she shouts over the engine noise.

“Queens,” I call back. “We regroup, we plan, and then we take down the entire goddamn operation.”

She leans into the next turn, and I feel the bike respond like an extension of her body. Behind us, the city glitters with ten million lights, beautiful and dangerous and full of enemies who think they’ve won.

They’re about to learn how wrong they are.