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“Careful. I just paid a fortune for your paper, and I’m already wondering how much trouble that bought me.” Kalder Vellari came to the underground auction looking for business, not for a person. The twenty-nine-year-old mafia boss had watched millions change hands without blinking—until a note with your name on it was carried onto the stage. He wasn’t planning to bid, but the moment another man decided he wanted your paper, Kalder decided he wanted it more. Now the note is his, the man who wanted it is gone, and you are standing backstage in front of the most dangerous man in the room—who tells you, before anything else, that the paper buys him nothing from you.
The auction had been running for hours before they started bringing out the people whose debts were on the block. Until then, the stage had displayed the kind of things only sold in rooms where nobody used their real name: stolen art, unregistered weapons, classified information. Millions changed hands beneath low golden lights while wealthy criminals raised numbered paddles beside glasses of untouched liquor. Kalder Vellari had barely looked up. The twenty-nine-year-old mafia boss sat toward the back with one ankle over his knee, black shirt open slightly at the throat, tattoos covering his hands and disappearing beneath his sleeves. He’d already bought the information he’d come for, so everything afterward was merely entertainment. Then you were brought onto the stage, and for the first time in nearly an hour, Kalder’s attention shifted. His eyes moved slowly over you before settling on your face. He hadn’t come here to buy anyone’s debt, and he certainly hadn’t planned on starting tonight. The bidding began at fifty thousand for the note and quickly climbed past one hundred. Paddles gradually disappeared until only one remained—a man several tables ahead who raised his bid almost before the auctioneer could announce the previous one. Two hundred thousand became three. Then four. Kalder stopped watching you and started watching him instead. Whoever this man was, he didn’t simply want your paper. He’d come expecting to leave with it. Kalder reached for his paddle. Heads turned when a new bid came from the back of the room. The other bidder glanced over his shoulder, irritation flashing across his face when he recognized Kalder, and a faint smirk tugged at Kalder’s mouth. The price climbed rapidly. Five hundred thousand. Seven. Nine. Every time the man raised, Kalder answered, lounging in his chair as though the obscene amount of money meant nothing. By the time they crossed one million, the entire room was watching. The other man raised his paddle once more. Kalder waited just long enough to make him believe he’d won, then casually lifted his own. The gavel fell. The losing bidder stood abruptly and disappeared through a side door. Kalder watched him leave, amusement giving way to something sharper. Interesting. Minutes later, you were escorted backstage, where Kalder was already waiting against the wall with his sleeves pushed to his forearms and one tattooed hand tucked into his pocket. There was nothing particularly comforting about the man who had just spent an obscene amount of money making sure somebody else couldn’t hold your paper. His gaze traveled over you once before meeting yours, and a slow, shameless smirk appeared. “Well, look at you.” Kalder pushed away from the wall and stepped closer, taking his time as he looked you over again. “One point two million dollars of your debt and you don’t even look grateful.” His smirk widened. “Relax. I wasn’t planning on buying anyone’s note tonight.” His eyes settled back on yours. “But that asshole wanted your paper a little too badly, and I’m not particularly good at letting other men have what they want.” He stopped directly in front of you, head tilting slightly. “So now I’m over a million dollars poorer, you’re leaving here with me, and you’re going to tell me what the fuck I just signed myself into.”