3. Signed in Blood

Clara

I’m nestled between the two men who practically shoved me into this car and I’m still in disbelief.

Tonight was supposed to be a successful night for all of us. Usually, auction night ends with a glamorous party where all the families celebrate together. It’s a beautiful event and I’ve been looking forward to it for years. I couldn’t wait to be one of the beautiful women who would join their new families and live happily ever after.

Somehow, I doubt there will be a celebration this time around.

Things were going remarkably well for me before that…I don’t have enough insulting words in my vocabulary for him. That piece of filth ruined everything for me. Being the highest bidder gives him rights over me. He’s not one of us, so he doesn’t understand that I’m not some woman he bought at an auction. I’m supposed to be a connection between two influential families. My children would carry two surnames.

What becomes of me now?

I’ve never been this terrified before in my life. I’m without support. I’ve been sold to a ruthless family that has no positive relations with my family. I’ve heard rumors about them. The Makárovs. The problem is that I can’t remember exactly what I heard. I only know that they have a bad reputation.

And now, I’m their property, as that man said.

My fists are balled on my lap. I want to cry but I bite my bottom lip until I taste blood instead. I won’t cry in front of these people. I am a Morelli. I don’t show weakness.

I’m hoping deep inside of me that this can be reversed somehow. This has to be some kind of practical joke. My father won’t allow this. I’m sure he’s going to do something to put an end to this madness and bring me home, where I should be. Once things get back to normal, it’ll be easier to perform another auction. Maybe I’ll be included in the next one.

Things will be resolved quickly when I get home.

Through the tinted windows, I see the city I live in a blur. I don’t know where they’re taking me exactly but the more distance they put between my family and me, the more anxious I get. I can’t help but wonder how my mother is acting. Is she worried about me? Is she happy that I’ve finally been whisked away? It’s hard to say.

Maybe she’s glad this happened to me. It’s a disheartening thought.

Before I realize it, they’re driving into an underground garage. I stare out the window and take not of the numerous cars. There’s barely any parking space left. The driver parks the car close to the wall either way, and then the men on either side of me exit the vehicle.

They stand by each door, waiting for me to get out. I’ll admit that I don’t have the strength to do that.

They don’t say a word to me. They don’t command me to get out. They’re just standing there. It’s unnerving.

I’m starting to contemplate staying in the car until all of this blows over. It would be a good plan. I don’t want to go up there to face God-knows-what.

I put my head in my hands and steel myself for what’s to come. Despite my wishes, I know I can’t avoid this situation forever. Someone will come for me eventually and then it’ll be more humiliating.

So I get out of the car.

We walk straight toward the elevator. There are two security guards wearing dark sunglasses by the elevator. They press the button for us as we approach and then the doors open, reminding me of how the jaw of a predator would open. I step right into it, a man on either side of me.

They press the button to the very last floor. The music in the elevator is calm and relaxing, a sharp contrast to the emotions raging inside of me. Waiting to reach the designated floor is almost torturous. I keep trying to imagine what will await me there but my imagination fails me. I close my eyes, wishing for it all to be over.

The doors open. The men step out and I have no choice but to follow them into an enormous living room. What catches my attention isn’t the decor—I’ve seen many penthouses before and they all look like this. It’s the fact that it’s empty.

Another man in a black suit approaches us. He says to me in a steady voice, “Mr. Makárov is ready to receive you, Miss Morelli.”

I almost scoff in disbelief. He’s ready to see me? He’s acting like I’m paying him a visit or something. My anger knows no bounds. I follow this new man all the way to the second floor of the penthouse and then down a spacious corridor.

His room is right at the end.

The guard is ahead of me. Once he reaches the door, he opens it and gestures for me to walk inside. I hesitate. I wish I hadn’t, but I do. The man who bought me is in there and I’ll be coming face-to-face with him. He’s probably going to explain to me exactly what happened tonight and why he did such a thing. I’m hoping he’ll tell me that it was a misunderstanding and that I can expect to be home by tomorrow morning. That’s what I’m hoping for.

I start walking toward the open door, my head held high. As soon I step into the room, the door closes behind me.

My buyer, who was standing by the fireplace with a drink in hand, turns his head to look at me. Without the hat on, it’s clearer to make out his face. His eyes are spectacularly green, even from a distance. His hair is raven black and brushed back neatly. All in all, taking into account the fact that he’s dressed like a gentleman, he doesn’t look as bad as I thought he’d be. He looks to me like someone who can be reasoned with.

“Ah,” he says, taking a huge gulp of his drink. “You’re here. Finally.”

“Listen,” I say, stepping forward. He moves from the fireplace, leaving his glass behind, and moves behind the huge Parnian desk. I know it’s Parnian because my father has the same one. He starts paging through a file and I’m momentarily at a loss for words before he shoots me a question look.

“This is a mistake,” I say clearly. “I don’t know if you understand the significance of auction night for someone like me—”

“I do,” he answers briefly.

“Then you understand that this can’t be happening?” I ask, a slight edge to my voice. I’m trying to remain calm but his nonchalance infuriates me. “You understand that you’re making a grave mistake?”

“I don’t make mistakes,” he says, finally looking up at me. “This right here, isn’t a mistake. I bought you at that auction for a very specific reason, and you will be a doll and do as you’re told.”

I scoff with indignation. “Excuse me?”

He takes a stack of papers stapled together from the file he was paging through and puts it in front of me. I try to read the front page but it’s in Russian. I don’t speak a word of Russian.

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“Our marital agreement,” he says in that same calm tone. “You’re supposed to sign it.”

It takes me a full minute to recover from this. I step away from his desk. “Are you crazy? You do realize that you sound like a lunatic, don’t you?”

“I bought you for the same reason an Italian would buy you,” he tells me. “I want you to be a part of my family. You will be a good girl and sign the contract for me.”

“I can’t even read it!” I argue, even though it’s not the only reason that would impede me from signing a contract with him. “I’m not marrying you. That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s not about what you want. It’s about doing as you’re told.”

“You can’t make me sign that!” I exclaim. I’m standing nearer to the door now. I start to shake my head. “You weren’t even supposed to be there!”

“I had an invitation, so I had every right to be there.”

“You’re a liar.”

“How do you think I got through the front door?” is his question. “You really have to start paying attention. Now, you can sign this document willingly, or unwillingly. Either way, it doesn’t matter. By the end of this night, this document will be signed. The state you’ll be in is entirely up to you.”

“I won’t sign it.”

“Sergei, Misha,” he says loudly. The door behind me opens and the two guards from earlier walk into the office. I try to run but fail. They catch me before I even take a step. They effortlessly carry me back to the desk, where he pages to the very last page.

“You can’t do this!” I yell.

He ignores me and opens a drawer, retrieving a sharp looking blade from within. My eyes bulge when he tells them to hold my hand still. I can’t even flex my fingers. I can’t do a thing to stop them.

He drags the blade across my thumb and I bite my lip so I don’t cry. They then bring my hand down and press my bleeding thumb to the little square box right underneath.

“There we go,” he says, a darkness descending upon his face. “Welcome to my family, Clara Morelli.”