Page 7 of Auctioned Innocence (Bonds of Betrayal #3)

Pride and rage war in my chest as they lead her onto the platform.

Madame Rouge circles her like a shark, one red-tipped finger occasionally adjusting Sofia’s hair or the fall of her dress, each touch a deliberate violation.

“Impeccable breeding, as you can see,” Madame continues, her voice taking on the cadence of an auctioneer.

“Educated at New York’s finest schools. Fluent in Italian and English, with working knowledge of Spanish.

Computer expertise that could prove quite…

valuable for those with specific business interests. ”

She stops behind Sofia, hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

Sofia doesn’t flinch, though I see the cost of that control in the tightness around her eyes.

“And of course, the connection to certain influential families makes her particularly…valuable. Imagine the uses for a girl with such intimate knowledge of one of New York’s most prominent business dynasties.”

I force myself to look at her the way the others do.

To nod appreciatively at the right moments.

To make notes in my leather portfolio while my heart screams.

Every instinct demands I tear through the room, grab her, and shoot anyone who tries to stop us.

But that would get us both killed and leave the other girls to their fate.

Patience, I remind myself. Calculation. Precision. The very skills that make me effective at my job are the ones I need now.

“Turn, my dear,” Madame Rouge instructs, and Sofia obeys, rotating slowly as if on display at a pageant.

The dress is backless, exposing the delicate line of her spine. I see a small bruise at the base of her neck—someone handled her roughly during the abduction—and the pen in my hand snaps in two.

Then Sofia completes her turn, and her eyes meet mine across the room.

For one heartbeat, recognition flares in those dark depths.

I see her pupils dilate, her lips part slightly on an indrawn breath.

A flush of color rises to her cheeks, hope breaking through the mask of compliance.

She sees me—not Dmitri Volkov with his gray temples and cold smile, but me . Dante.

The man who promised to protect her and failed.

I give the smallest shake of my head, a warning only she would recognize.

She starts to move—an aborted step forward, hand lifting as if to reach for me—then catches herself.

Her recovery is flawless.

If I hadn’t been watching so intently, I might have missed it.

The emotion vanishes behind the same blank mask she wore before, her eyes sliding past me as if I’m just another buyer, another threat.

Clever girl.

But that moment of eye contact nearly breaks me.

In that split second of recognition, I see everything she’s trying to hide.

The fear.

The trust.

The silent plea.

The stubborn determination that makes her Sofia, makes her the woman who’s occupied my thoughts for longer than I care to admit.

She’s holding on.

Fighting in her own way.

Waiting for a chance.

And she knows she’s not alone anymore.

I want to tear the room apart.

Want to put a bullet in every person who dares look at her.

Want to burn the whole place down with Madame Rouge inside it.

I need to carry Sofia away from this nightmare and never let her out of my sight again.

Instead, I make another note in my portfolio, the replacement pen moving across paper with perfect control while chaos rages inside me. I raise an eyebrow at my neighbor’s whispered comment about “young Italian beauty.” Force my features to stay arranged in Dmitri’s mask of cold interest.

“The bidding will begin at five million,” Madame Rouge announces, one hand resting possessively on Sofia’s shoulder. “Though we expect the final price to be…significantly higher. This one has particular value to certain parties, as I’m sure you understand.”

I allow myself a small smile.

Oh, there won’t be any bidding, I think, watching Sofia being led away.

She glances back once, just before reaching the door, her eyes finding mine with unerring clarity.

In that look is something I’ve never seen from her before—not just trust or hope, but absolute certainty.

She believes I’ll save her.

Believes it completely.

Because this whole place will be ashes before that auction begins.

“Impressive specimen,” the Saudi prince murmurs to me in Russian as we watch the door close behind her.

“ Da ,” I reply, my accent perfect even as bile rises in my throat. “Worth watching, that one.”

Worth burning the world for , I don’t say.

Later, in my assigned guest suite, I send a coded message to Marco: In position. She’s alive. 36 hours until execution.

The response comes quickly: End them all.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror—the gray at my temples, the subtle changes that make me Dmitri Volkov, Russian oligarch, and human trafficker.

The stranger looking back at me is a man I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding becoming.

Soon I’ll wash away this mask and become something else.

Something lethal.

Something that deals in death rather than purchase.

I’ve always been a weapon, but at least I’ve been pointed at those who deserve it.

At least I’ve killed to protect, not to possess.

But for now, I straighten my tie and practice Dmitri’s cold smile, preparing to watch Sofia paraded out twice more before the night ends.

I check my weapons—the ceramic knife hidden in my belt buckle, the garrote wire concealed in my watch, the poison pills sewn into my jacket lining.

Small tools, easily missed, but deadly in the right hands.

In my hands.

I think of Sofia’s eyes finding mine across the room.

The hope that flared there.

The trust I haven’t earned but desperately want to deserve.

I can maintain control that long. Can play this role without breaking character, without giving us away, without compromising the mission.

I have to.

For her.