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“They’re comfortable. See? No cages, no cuffs, no cruelty. These girls—all ten of them—are going to be sold from here rather than back in New York. They have buyers lined up already, rich men who are paying hundreds of thousands, if not millions, for them. They’re going to be cleaned up and dressed, and then they’ll meet their new—”
“—owners.” Caterina cuts me off, turning to face me. Her expression is horrified, her face pale, and I know in that instant that this hasn’t helped anything.
It’s most likely made it much worse.
“I wanted you to see that this is better for them—”
“Beingsoldisn’t better for anyone!” Caterina shakes her head, backing away. “I should have known better. After all, I was all but sold toyou. Why should you think any differently about anyone else?”
She takes several steps back towards the car. “Caterina—” I start to say her name, but she shakes her head vehemently.
“I’ll do what I need to until we get home,” she says tightly. “And I’ll do what I have to, to keep the peace at home that you bargained for. But I won’t do any of it willingly. And I won’t ever fucking wantyou, Viktor Andreyev, ever again.”
She whirls, nearly stumbling, and rushes back to the car, slamming the door. I want to follow her, but mixed with that urge is a hot, angry sense of frustration at her inability to understand, her insistence that this is so much worse than what her own family has done.
And I have a meeting to go to and sales to handle.
My father taught me that business must always come first, and that lesson is one I’ve learned well. I’ll deal with what I have to, here.
And then I’ll deal with my stubborn Italian bride later.
