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I get that sensation again. The instinct that I’m in danger. And of course I’m in danger. I’ve been goading a roomful of underworld criminals. What else did I expect? I look around the crowd again, trying to identify a new expression, a new face… And there he is. Right at the back of the room, cloaked in shadows, but I recognize that silhouette. The man who’s been stalking me all over the city. He must have only just arrived, because there’s no way I could have missed him before. The bidding continues, but it’s background noise. We might as well be alone in the room. He’s not bidding. He’s just watching. And God help me, I think I *want* him to bid. Maybe he doesn’t have the money. He’s no blue blood, that’s for sure; his clothes are expensive, but it’s the body under them, the myriad tattoos, the dead eyes, that mark him out as what he really is. A street thug who climbed the ranks. The bids surge. Three million. Three-five. Four. And the man walks forward. Not fast, not slow. Deliberate. His eyes haven’t left me once. “Five million.” The room hushes. At the front, another bidder’s face goes purple. “Five and a half.” The man doesn’t even hesitate. “Ten.” Silence follows his bid. Absolute silence. “Ten…million, sir?” the auctioneer clarifies. “You heard me.” Well. I guess he does have the money. “That is a very generous bid,” the auctioneer says at last, brows drawn with concern. “You hear any higher?” the Giuliano demands. He turns to the crowd. “Well?” No one speaks. He turns back. “Call it.” “Going once…going twice…” The auctioneer pauses, looking directly at the other bidder. He just shakes his head. The seconds stretch out so long I think time has stopped. “Sold!” I watch my stalker—now my owner—mount the stairs at the edge of the stage. The triumph on his face is barely concealed. He doesn’t stop at a respectful distance. He steps right into my space, close enough that I can smell him again, spicy and dark and dangerous. Close enough that I can see the complete absence of humanity in those dark eyes.