[Alfio's Pov]
The auction began with a hush so thick, even my heartbeat felt like it might offend someone.
Men in tailored suits sat like wolves in velvet chairs, their polished shoes planted like they owned the world—or at least rented death by the hour. The lights dimmed further, and the stage lit up in a slow, dramatic flare of gold. The first item was wheeled out like it was royalty.
A marble sculpture.
How poetic.
A naked man carved from stone, worth more than my soul.
The crowd murmured, a few people lifted their paddles, and the auctioneer began in a language older than law and soaked in sin—money.
Beside me, Salvo was quiet.
Too quiet.
His fingers tapped against the armrest in a rhythm I didn't recognize. Not casual. Not impatient.
Calculated.
Like a metronome counting down to a kill.
More objects came—rare weapons, jewels stolen from some dead heiress, a painting that supposedly once hung in the Vatican, and a caged white hawk wearing a golden chain.
