Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva) Nicole Fox (most popular novels TXT) 📖

Then came the voice. “Sold!” the auctioneer screamed out. And just like that, it was over.

My thoughts are panicked and confused now. What am I going to do? What are they going to do to me? My breaths become shallow and I know I’m about to panic again, but I don’t know what to do. I’m lost.

“Who ... who won?” The words leave my lips in barely a whisper.

The auctioneer turns to me with a smile that’s all business as he points to the man in the back.

“You’re his now.”

The crowd claps—hesitant and uncertain, I notice—and the entire demeanor of the room is different than when I first walked in. I glance to the man in the back one more time. He’s just sitting there, straight-faced. But the way everyone is reacting must mean he’s someone important.

And in this world, that makes him someone to be feared.

The auctioneer and the man holding the chain attached to my collar start shoving me off the stage and into the back. My skin breaks out into goose bumps from equal parts cold air and panic.

“Please help me. Let me go. I don’t belong here,” I plead. I turn and look the auctioneer right in the eye. “They kidnapped me. Please let me go. I beg you.”

But he just uses his forearm to move me out of the way and walks down the hallway and out of my sight. I grab hold of a railing as the goon tries to drag me and hold on for dear life. “Let me go! I swear, I won’t tell anyone anything.”

No one responds. No one shows any interest, much less any sympathy, though the goon and another man definitely are starting to appear frustrated. The one guy walks over and starts to pry my fingers from the railing. He doesn’t say a word to me nor does he look at me. Truth be told, it’s as if he’s doing his best to avoid looking at any part of me, like I’m firmly off-limits even to his gaze.

Who the hell is the man who purchased me?

When I’m no longer gripping the railing, the goon holding the chain yanks me and I fly forward, landing on my knees. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I gingerly push to my feet, my knees aching from colliding with the cement floor. A trickle of blood travels down the length of my calf. I glance around, hoping to find Augustin. Not that the jerk will help, but at least I pray he will give me some answers. Like, why the hell did he pick me? But he’s nowhere to be found.

The goon stops when we’re a few feet from the back door and turns to the guy behind me. “Give her your jacket. Don’t want the boss gettin’ mad with her being all exposed.”

The man grunts and shrugs off the black jacket and drapes it around me. While I hate to admit it, the jacket offers some warmth and I slink my arms into the sleeves. This is the first kindness I’ve received all night.

“Thank you,” I mutter automatically. Neither man responds.

The goon jerks the chain once more and we head out the door into an alleyway. A lamppost provides a dim light to illuminate the eerily quiet area. Dumpsters line the sides of the small road and most of the windows of the buildings are boarded up. I don’t recognize the area, not that I’ve spent much time exploring.

The frigid air bites at my skin and I shift from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. “I’m begging you, let me go. I don’t belong here. I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

Again, neither man replies. The one who gave me his jacket taps his phone screen and huffs. Moments later, an all-black Bentley Continental pulls into the alleyway and stops in front of us. The man behind me opens the door while the goon shoves me into the back and slams the door shut.

He walks toward the passenger side and nods at the driver before turning around to reenter the building. I pull the coat tight against me and press back into the leather seat, curling my legs up until I’m a tight ball. The car is warm and, while this entire experience is terrifying, the quiet hum of the motor relaxes me.

A click from the door grabs my attention and I realize the car has just been locked. Wait a second. Where the hell are the door handles? I whip my head to the other side of the car and notice that neither door has a handle. Tears stream down my face as the car starts to move. These men are professionals. They know exactly what they’re doing, how to keep me trapped in here.

And I’m utterly, helplessly theirs.

The driver pulls out onto a main road. In a couple of minutes, we’re on the on-ramp of a highway. One that I know. Okay, time to pay attention. Maybe I can figure out where I am. We pass exits I’m not familiar with, but the numbers are getting smaller so we’re definitely heading closer to the city.

I decide to try my luck with the driver. “Sir, I really don’t belong here. I’m a college student. I’m begging you, can you just let me out? I won’t say anything,” I promise.

The man doesn’t even turn his head.

“I don’t have a lot of money but I’ll give you whatever I have in the ATM.”

He still says nothing. He just stares out the windshield and keeps driving deeper into the city.

I sigh and rest my head against the cool window. My eyes drift up to the skyscrapers, all lit up. The city is beautiful at night. And this could be the last time I get to see it. How could one night of fun end up so bad? Why did this have to happen to me? I’ve suffered enough. And now I’m going to vanish. I’m