The Auction
1141 Words
Upon arrival, she was pulled out of the car instantly. Then came a man whose presence bowed the air, in dark suit, black gloves, ice-flashing eyes. He drew near very gradually. Others bowed down, moved aside.
Elena’s breath caught.
She didn’t know his name yet. She was not aware that he was the devil himself in the underworld in Milan.
But she immediately had a feeling of it—the danger, and the power. Her fate had walked in and there was no getting out this time.
Dante Marino gave the signal, and this is where the nightmare of Elena starts. The arrival of Dante Marino. He had not said anything to her—just looked. A chilly examination that left her naked. Two masked guards lifted her now. Her wrists were restrained with heavy chains in a shameful way.
“Where are you taking me?” Her voice had broken but she struggled to control it.
The guard on her left smirked beneath his mask. “To market.”
Market.
The word stung worse than a slap.
She was pushed down a hallway of smoke and fine perfume. There was a faint sound, which Elena could hear—laughter, clinking glass, the low hum of music.
Her heart thrashed. “No. No, you can’t—”
When they jerked chains they silenced her and clothed her in a silk dress. It wasn’t hers. It was chosen for effect. Pale and shiny and made too low and too short. She was naked like never before.
The hallway led into an after-castle hall. She froze.
Women were lined up against the wall all dressed like dolls. None of them spoke. Their eyes were open, depressed and awaiting.
Elena’s stomach turned. She whispered, “Oh God…”
One girl stared at her with trembling lips. Her eyes flicked off. The noise was louder now. She was able to read words, bidding, numbers, applause.
Her breath caught. She was the prey and the wolves were on alert. The curtain snapped back. Light blinded her. Its stage was broad, and hung in red velvet. Men sat, row after row in their leather chairs, half-masked, half-unmasked, as it were, but never half-unmasked in their greed. Smoke cigar and money were the order of the day.
The guards pushed her forward and Elena had stumbled. Her chains rattled and resounded.
The announcer’s voice boomed. “Gentlemen, your next treasure, pure and untouched. A gem of the Rossi family.
At the name a wave of laughter ran through the crowd.
Elena’s face burned. She would have liked to spit at them, but her mouth was so dry her throat aching.
The announcer grinned. “Shall we begin the bidding?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
“Two fifty.”
“Three hundred.”
There was overlap of voices, hungry, impatient. Elena shuddered by each figure. They were not talking art or cars. They were buying her.
“Three fifty!”
“Half a million!”
The audience shouted with applause. Glasses clinked. The knees of Elena would have been weak. She tightened the chains still further around her wrists to be able to remain upright.
She looked about her, in vain seeking a familiar face, her father, her brother, someone—but instead she was faced by the eyes of strangers.
And then silence.
A shift in the air.
One-thousand and one of the crowd swung its attention.
Dante Marino had entered.
He didn’t rush. His presence stronger than any weapon. Black, tailored suit, tall, and the gleaming of his gloves on glass he carried. He strolled down to the row in the middle, sat on it, with one leg over the other.
No one spoke. No one dared.
The announcer cleared his throat with nervousness. “We are at half a million. Do I hear—”
Dante lifted his hand.
“One million.”
The room froze.
The announcer stuttered. “O-One million. Do we have—”
No one answered. No one blinked.
The eyes of Dante met hers on the stage. Cold, unhurried, claiming.
The voice of the announcer shuddered. “Sold.”
The chains of Elena clinked in as her knees collapsed. The crowd grumbled a little.... She was no longer Rossi’s daughter. And now no more a prize to be contested.
She was his.
In the backstage, she was not able to breathe. The guards pulled her into a dressing-room, where she banged against the guards, panic-stricken
“Let me go! Please—please!
A guard laughed. “Anything comes later. For now, you belong to him.”
Her head threw back and down, the hair tumbling around her shoulders. “No. Not him. Not anyone!”
The second guard pulled her chains tighter. “Careful, Elena. He doesn’t like damaged goods.”
Elena froze. The threat cut clear.
Her voice dropped, “Why him? Why no one else—”
“The world closes”, said the guard, and dragged her off to the next corridor, “because when Dante Marino orders, the world closes.”
There was no sound, except the rattle of chains and the wheels. She was trying not to see the man across her.
But Dante could not be neglected.
His eyes were as a predator looking at prey. Since the auction he had said nothing, nor needed to. It was more like silence was words.
Finally, Elena cracked. “Why me?” Her voice was high, wretched. “Why did you buy me?”
Dante traced his glass, his lips smiled, not quite a smile. “No one deserved you, therefore.”
Her breath delayed. She was frightened with anger. “I’m not a thing to be deserved.”
His eyes tightened and his objection was unstoppable. “You’re wrong.”
The words had been mute, yet closing.
Elena turned her head away and struggled with the burning shame and anger. The chains were held in her fists.
She swore she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of the devil himself.
After a long ride, guards dragged her to the outdoors that night when the car had stopped. This mansion, the mansion of Dante, actually was another world. Iron gates, marble steps, firelight in tall windows. A castle in the form of a palace.
They pulled her up the stairs, she stumbled.
“Elena.” She stiffened as his deep steady voice spoke.
She dared to meet his eyes.
“You belong to me now,” he said. “You will see to-morrow what that is.”
The door was closed behind her.
Elena is on the front door of the mansion of Dante Marino, where the chains are tearing her body and he is promising her in her ears. The next day her captivity and his possession will really start
- Writer
