They opened the basement door the next morning. Elle was shivering in my arms, her lips. cracked, cheeks pale. I was barely conscious, running on nothing but instinct and the will to protect what little I had left.
Two bodyguards stood at the door. One of them spoke without emotion. “Boss says next time you won’t leave with your legs still attached.”
I said nothing. Just clutched Elle tighter and helped her up the stairs, one shaky step at a time. My limbs felt like iron. My mouth was dry. My pride was ash. But Elle was alive. That was all
that mattered.
We reached our room. I wrapped her in every blanket I could find, holding her close while tears slipped silently down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, over and over. “Mama’s so sorry, baby.. She looked up at me, eyes dull but brave. I kissed her forehead, pressing promises into her skin. “I’ll fix this. I swear to you. Just a few more days, okay? Just a few more.” She nodded. That broke me all over again.
By that afternoon, I made arrangements. I sent her to stay with Dr. Mel Reyes–a friend from my university days, one of the few people I still trusted. She had kids, a safe house outside city borders, and the kind of warmth Elle hadn’t felt in a long time. Elle didn’t want to leave me at first. But when I told her it was just for a little while, that we’d meet again soon, she finally agreed. She hugged me so tight I could barely breathe. And when she let go, I felt like a part of my soul left with her.
That night, Niccolo summoned me. Taylor delivered a dress. Blood–red velvet, low back, diamond straps. Along with it came a note in Niccolo’s handwriting:
“Auction. Mafia–only. Don’t embarrass me.”
That was it. No apology. No mention of locking his daughter in a basement. Just a command. I showed up.
The event was held in one of Niccolo’s luxury hotels–top floor, secured by at least thirty men in black, all armed and silent. Every face inside belonged to someone who had blood on their hands and power stitched into their veins. I walked in wearing his name like a chain around my neck.
And then I saw her. Margot. Wearing haute couture and smugness like perfume. Her makeup soft, her curls perfect, and around her neck was my necklace. Yhe one Niccolo once bid eight figures for, said he wanted our daughter to inherit someday. She wore it like she owned him.
I stopped just short of entering the ballroom. Niccolo stood beside her, hands in his pockets, suit crisp and dark. The second he saw me, his lips curled into that cold smirk he always wore when he thought he had control.
“She’s here too,” I said, my voice steady. “So what the hell do you need me for?” He glanced at Margot, then back at me with that gravel–deep voice of his. “Didn’t plan on bringing her. But she wanted to come. She begged. What was I supposed to do? Say no?” He stepped closer, lowering his tone just enough for me to hear. “Geneva, don’t be fuckin‘ petty. This ain’t the time.” My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. Petty? I was standing in a room full of murderers and traffickers, being paraded beside my husband while his mistress flaunted my life
in front of the entire undanworld and In
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12:46 pm p ppp.
in front of the entire underworld and I was petty?
Margot gave a soft giggle, linking her arm with Niccolo’s like she was born there. The whispers started before I even made it ten steps.
“Isn’t that Niccolo’s wife? Then who’s that beside him?”
“Oh, that’s the mistress. They say he treats her like royalty. Heard the wife got kicked out of his bed months ago.”
Someone turned and smiled awkwardly at me. “Sorry. I thought she was Mrs. Salvacion… I mean, she’s wearing the real diamonds.”
I said nothing. Just walked to my seat like I couldn’t hear a thing. But inside? I was collecting every word. Every look. Every breath.
The auction began. I raised my paddle a few times… for antiques, small treasures, nothing too flashy. But every damn time, Margot lifted her paddle too, raising my bid by a single dollar. Over And over.
People started laughing. “First time I’ve seen a mistress bully a wife in public…” I didn’t even blink.
Then I raised my hand again. “Open bid,” I told the auctioneer. The entire room stilled. Margot’s smile faltered.
“Niccolo…” she whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “I really want that piece…”
Niccolo looked at me. His jaw ticked. “Geneva,” he growled, “just let her have it.’
I looked straight at him, my voice sharp but calm. “She can’t open–bid. I can. Because I’m your wife. We share assets.” Then I turned to Margot. “No matter how much he gives you, sweetheart, you’ll never be me.”
Her eyes flared with red, but she stood quickly and covered her face. “I get it,” she sobbed. “You’re the wife, I’m just some shameful secret. I never should’ve come. I just wanted to feel… loved.” She turned and ran, dramatic and fragile and fake to her core.
Niccolo glared at me and grabbed my wrist so hard I swore I heard something crack. “You just couldn’t fucking help yourself, huh?” he hissed. “I told you this thing with her would pass but now you’ve gone and pushed her away.”
I yanked my wrist back. “Whether she stays or leaves… what’s that got to do with me?” His eyes darkened. A storm without mercy.
Then he turned and stormed out after her, leaving me in the center of a room filled with mockery
and knives behind smiles.
The sharp buzz of my phone jolted me awake.
A breaking news alert flashed across the screen–bold, vulgar, and soul–crushing.
BREAKING: “299 PRIVATE PHOTOS OF SALVACION CEO’S MOTHER–IN–LAW TO BE AUCTIONED
TONIGHT!”
For a few seconds, I couldn’t move. The breath caught in my throat. My fingers went numb. My vision blurred. Only one word repeated in my mind–Mom.
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12:46 pm Pppp.
With trembling hands, I called Niccolo. It rang once. Twice. Then he answered, voice casual, cold, bored.
“Already awake? That was fast.”
I didn’t even greet him. “Did you do this?” My voice cracked. “Those photos… they’re of my mom.”
He laughed.
“Didn’t you enjoy that last auction so much?” his oice laced with cruel amusement. “Thought I’d give you something more meaningful to bid on this time.”
My stomach twisted. I could barely stand.
“They were taken years ago,” I whispered. “She was working in a club… she got pregnant with me and quit. She raised me alone. She worked three fucking jobs just to keep me alive-!”
“And now she’s dead,” he cut in coolly. “She won’t mind. Besides, the crowd loves vintage.”
Then came her voice.
Margot’s fake, breathy sweetness oozed into the call.
