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The man who is battling with me isn’t the one who will be taking her home, that’s for sure. That’s why that phone is pressed to his ear like a fucking lifeline. He’s doing someone’s dirty work, and the more he raises the bid, the more I want to know who’s trying to move in on my territory.
Because that’s what Evelina Greco is, after all.
My fucking territory.
Mine.Period.
She may not know it yet, but she’ll learn.
I make a quick decision just because I’m a nosy bastard, and I need to know what this guy’s endgame is.
“One hundred thousand dollars, final bid,” I say.
There’s not a chance some random fuck off the street who I’ve never seen is hitting six figures.
I look over at Evelina, willing her to look back. The entire time she’s been up there, she’s just stared blankly into the crowd as if she could murder each of us with just her penetrating stare alone. She refuses to give me the satisfaction I crave.
This one stole my attention from the first moment I laid eyes on her.
It’s hard to impress men like me because we’ve seen it all.
We’vehadit all, for fuck’s sake.
Women throw themselves at us because they think it’ll be in their best interest to be under us rather than in a body bag because of us.
But…she is a different fucking game entirely.
I swear I can feel the stale air in the club shift as the other bidder stands, phone still pressed tightly to his ear.
“One hundred fifty thousand.”
Fuck.
I hope he knows he’s just royally fucked himself and whoever he’s working with. I suppose I asked for this by capping my bid. I just can’t say no to a good time.
And I already know that this will be a fun game for me. It’s not like I need excitement, but I’m not one to shy away from a little cat and mouse either.
The auctioneer declares the man in a discount store suit the highest bidder and instructs him on how to claim his prize—Evelina. Little does the bastard know, he just signed his fucking death certificate.
The hunt is fucking on.
23
NICCOLÒ
I secure my cell in my pocket and quickly slide into the passenger seat of Dom’s slow-rolling, blacked-out Bugatti, and he takes off after the vehicle Evelina’s been escorted into. I called for his reinforcements after the bastard bought out Evelina from under me.
“Black Rolls Royce, two o’clock. Go!” I urge him while hitting the dash.
“Sit back and get your hands off my fucking dash, Nicco,” Dom grits out as he shoots daggers in my direction before focusing intently back on the fucker in front of us. “And put your belt on. I got a feeling we’re in for a ride with this one.”
Dom and his gut feelings.
He always knows when something isn’t right.
Anger flames in my veins. The same anger that’s been stoking to life since the bastard bought Evelina out from under me. I shouldn’t have been a cocky bastard. Shouldn’t have capped my bid.
The Royce doesn’t know we’re onto him yet as he coasts west down Lakeshore. Dom stays three cars back, enough to give us eyes on him at all times, but not close enough to cause suspicion.
