Rome — 11:58 p.m.
The city never truly sleeps. Not in the places where blood money flows like wine, and secrets are sold by the ounce.
Tonight, Rome breathed sin in every whisper.
And I was walking straight into its lungs.
I didn't belong here.
The heels I wore bit into the backs of my ankles. The dress was borrowed. My lipstick had cracked hours ago, but I'd reapplied it like armor. Red always red. A lie painted in confidence.
"Don't be afraid," I whispered to myself as I passed two men with knives tattooed on their necks and dead smiles on their faces.
But I was.
La Casa Sotto was hidden beneath a crumbling church. No signage. No lights. Just a gold ring set into the mouth of a lion carved into stone. I pulled it, and the wall groaned open.
The air inside was different. Perfumed with expensive fear and old incense. A woman with feathers sewn into her skin brushed past me, whispering in Russian.
"Devochka, turn around. Before he sees you."
Little girl, turn around.
But I couldn't. Because I wasn't here for myself.
I was here for my sister.
Amelia.
Who disappeared three nights ago with a black-eyed man who promised to "clear her debts."
She'd called me once.
Sobbing. Apologizing. Saying something about a "midnight contract."
Then silence.
So here I was holding the last valuable thing in our lives, our grandmother's antique locket. I'd planned to sell it. I'd planned to beg. I didn't plan for him.
The auction was hidden within an underground ballroom. Candlelit. Opulent. Like Versailles if it had been curated by sinners and lit by secrets.
On the stage: cages. Real ones. Some held art. Others held people. All were being sold. Bid on with languages that dripped like wine from mouths with blood-stained teeth.
The auctioneer wore a mask of bone and a voice soaked in honey.
"Lot 47 — a stolen Renoir. Lot 48 — a virgin heart, freshly weaned from love."
The crowd clapped. I tasted bile.
A woman approached me. Black veil. Satin gloves.
"You're late," she said, voice polished and venomous. "The offering is next."
"I'm not part of this," I said. "I came to speak to"
But she was already gone.
That's when the chandeliers trembled.
Like even the light feared who was coming.
The room fell silent.
And he entered.
No footsteps. Just stillness spreading outward like a ripple through water.
Tall. Elegantly terrifying. Black tailored suit. No tie. Shirt unbuttoned at the throat to reveal a sliver of bronze skin inked with a sigil I didn't recognize.
Eyes like molten obsidian.
But cold. Like they'd watched cities burn and felt nothing.
He didn't look around.
He didn't need to.
The room bowed to him with its silence.
"È lui," someone whispered in awe. "L'Oscuro Re."
The Shadow King.
And then his eyes landed on me.
Something moved inside me. Not fear. Not yet.
More like recognition. Like a memory I hadn't lived. A dream I had forgotten.
His lips curved just slightly.
He turned, whispering something to the auctioneer.
And before I could blink
"The girl in red has been claimed," the auctioneer announced. "No bids. No debate."
"What the hell?" I took a step back.
Two men approached. Matching suits. No expressions.
"Don't touch me!" I shouted, turning to run
but the crowd laughed.
Not kindly.
"She doesn't know how this works," someone purred.
"Poor little lamb," another smirked. "He never picks publicly. She should be honored."
They didn't stop me.
They didn't need to.
The moment his voice touched the air, I froze.
"Selene Rivers."
Not a question. A claim.
I turned slowly. My name in his mouth felt like a spell.
"Who are you?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
He stepped forward.
"I am the answer to the question you're too afraid to ask."
"I didn't agree to anything!"
"You came," he said simply. "You offered something. And I've taken it."
He reached out, brushing a single gloved finger against my collarbone.
I shivered.
"From this midnight to the next blood moon, you belong to me."
My vision blurred. Something sharp pricked my neck. My knees buckled
And darkness swallowed me whole.
I woke in silk.
A bedroom carved in black and gold surrounded me.
Candles flickered. A fireplace burned low. Every detail screamed old money. Dangerous wealth. Forbidden desire.
I sat up.
There was something around my throat.
I reached up, fingers trembling.
A collar.
Black. Velvet. Cool metal against my pulse.
I unclasped it. Looked inside.
"Owned by Midnight."
Beneath it, a symbol had been branded into the leather: a crescent moon biting into a bleeding sun.
The door creaked open.
Kael Draven entered.
No words. Just presence.
He studied me with unsettling calm.
"Strip," he said.
I froze.
"Excuse me?"
He tilted his head, voice like broken glass wrapped in silk.
"You'll sleep in this room. In my bed. You'll follow three rules:
One, you will not lie to me.
Two, you will not touch anything I haven't given you.
Three, you will not leave.
Break any, and the next collar will be under your skin."
I swallowed. "Why me?"
He smiled faintly.
"Because you carry the same blood as the girl who tried to burn me."
He turned and walked away. The door shut.
And I stared at the collar, heart racing, throat tight.
What had I done?