Sold To The Bratva Boss - Flora Ferrari Page 0,1

of his cane. “How wonderful that you are here. I was starting to get worried, you know. I was just saying to my men here, Jesus, I hope he gets here on time. He wouldn’t want to miss the fun. And of course, there’s business to be discussed, after the festivities.”

“Festivities,” I repeat, staring down at his hand.

It would be so easy to lash my hand out and squeeze onto him, to crush and feel all the small bones crumple like paper.

I feel Gavrie at my side, my always-loyal second, the man who has stopped me from making more business blunders than I can count. He’s the cool head, and people tell me that cooler heads often prevail.

I don’t let my mind stray to those darkened hallways, the little boy hiding in the shadows, the fear lancing up his spine every time a metal door whined on rusty hinges.

I shake Emilio’s hand quickly and we all sit down.

Emilio nods his head and one of his men starts pouring us all whiskey. I let them pour, though I won’t reach for my drink, won’t sip it. I don’t drink. I’ve never drunk. I’ve seen what it can do to people, how it can unlock the demons inside of them, give them room to explore their evil nature.

“Are you thinking of bidding tonight?” Emilio asks, rubbing his hands together, hands that are decked out with too many rings they make clinking noises as he rubs. “Just in case you are, it’s very simple. You just lift up your little sign there, and the auctioneer will take your bid. Easy. Some of these girls, Artem, they’re proper—”

“I’m not bidding,” I snap.

I feel Gavrie tense beside me, and then take a sip of his whiskey, as if that will smooth over the rage I feel at the sight of this man. But his territory is dangerously close to mine and if I were to instigate war with him, not only would money be lost, but lives as well.

Better the devil you know.

“Why not?” Emilio says, as though I’ve personally offended him. “You never know. You might find the woman of your dreams here. Imagine that, eh? The Bratva queen just waiting to be purchased. It’s the stuff Hollywood movies are made of, my friend.”

His men laugh and Gavrie chuckles, though I know he doesn’t find it funny. I manage a smirk and then, a few minutes later, a man in an absurd purple suit comes swaggering out on the dance floor below, microphone in hand. We all watch from the balconies as the spotlight shines on him.

“Esteemed gentleman,” he says, his actor white teeth flashing in the light. “We are gathered here today to conduct that most noble endeavor. Business. But what is business without a little pleasure? What is love without a little hate? Sunshine without a little rain to make us appreciate it more? Love, pleasure, sunshine, that’s the name of the game with the beauties we have on display this fine evening. Your wildest dreams? Yes, they can make those come true. Your most twisted fantasies? Yes, they might be able to help there, too. Want somebody to clean your sports car, and look damn fine while doing it? We’ve got you covered. So sit back, relax, and happy bidding.”

I feel something like sickness stirring in my belly.

Violent images stab into my mind, like leaping off the balcony and landing on this man, raining down punches until his face is a red mess with bits of bone glinting through.

I feel the beast side of myself, the animal side ready to do some serious damage.

The auction begins.

The women have clearly been coached beforehand, perhaps threatened if they don’t behave as the auctioneer wish them to. They don’t come out in chains, and they don’t walk out bruised or scared looking. They strut out in six inch heels, their bodies dehydrated to highlight their thinness, a quality that has never appealed to me. They twist this way and that.

Putting themselves on display.

I watch, feeling nothing, not even a note of desire as woman after woman swaggers out and bends over for our pleasure. At one point, one of the Yakuza asks what the woman sounds like when she’s being fucked, and she starts to moan, her moans rising into the air.

I glance at Emilio and see that he’s leering at her, beads of sweat sliding down his face.

I just watch, feeling myself mentally distance myself from what’s happening, and yet there’s this flame