I don’t know if that’s actually true. I haven’t measured myself in ages, I could be over six foot. But that’s not ladylike, so my father gave the tallest permissible height. He’s always torn between convention and his desire to boast.

“Shall we start the bidding at the standard two thousand?” Cross says.

I’m almost afraid to look at the crowd to see if anyone raises their bidding paddle. To my immense relief, five or six paddles immediately shoot into the air. Not Sebastian’s, however.

“Three thousand?” Cross says. “Four thousand?”

There’s no reduction in the number of bidders. In fact, the obvious eagerness of a few of the men seems to be spurring others into action. Now there’s seven or eight people bidding as Cross says, “How about an even five thousand? Six?”

I’m not really paying attention to the other men. My eyes are flitting over to Sebastian, to see if he’ll raise his paddle. It lays stubbornly flat on the table in front of him. I doubt he’s touched it all night.

The dark-haired girl sitting next to Sebastian leans over and murmurs something to him. He gives one quick shake of his head. I don’t know if they’re talking about me, but it makes my heart race all the faster.

“Seven thousand? Eight? What about nine?” Cross says.

The bidding hasn’t slowed at all. As it crosses ten thousand, a couple of the men drop out, but those remaining raise their paddles faster and faster to secure their bids.

“Twelve,” Cross says. “What about thirteen? That’s to you, Mr. Englewood. Fourteen now? And fifteen.”

The bidding is mostly concentrated between the man apparently called Englewood, who looks to be about forty years old, with thick black hair and beard, and a handsome younger man in a flashy suit, who looks like a finance type. He’s sitting at a whole table of men who look just like him, and they’re egging him on. The third bidder is a much older man who might be Persian or Arabic.

“Sixteen?” Cross says. “Seventeen?”

Suddenly, impulsively, Sebastian snatches up his paddle. He calls out, “Twenty thousand!”

Even the woman and the man sitting at his own table look startled. The dark-haired girl mouths something that looks like, “What the fuck?” and then she peers up at me, grinning.

My eyes meet Sebastian’s for one swift moment. I have to look down again, because my face is burning.

I don’t have to look over at my father. I can feel the triumph radiating off of him.

The Persian man drops out of the bidding, but the other two are still in.

“Twenty-one!” Englewood calls, raising his paddle.

“How about twenty-two?” Cross says.

After a moment’s hesitation—with his friends nudging him on—the finance guy bids again.

I look at Sebastian. My face is still—no smile. Definitely no blowing kisses. Just my eyes looking into his, asking him . . . what exactly? I’m supposed to lure him to bid on me. But do I actually want him to?

I like Sebastian. I can admit it to myself now. I was disappointed when he didn’t call me. A tiny, secret part of myself wanted to see him again.

But that’s all the more reason to tell him not to bid. I could frown or shake my head at him. I could warn him off. Maybe my father would see it, but probably not.

That’s what I should do. I should warn him away.

Instead, I just stare at him. I’m afraid my eyes are showing the anxiousness and longing in my chest.

“Twenty-five thousand,” Sebastian calls out.

A quiet falls over the room. That’s the highest bid of the night so far.

“We’ve got tough competition for the new girl in town, our beautiful blonde Russian,” Cross says, barely able to contain his glee. “How about it, gentleman? Can anyone beat the youngest Gallo brother? Does anyone want to bid twenty-six?”

He glances over at the table of financiers. The young guy in the flashy suit looks like he wants to raise his paddle. Instead, he tosses it down on the table in irritation. I guess we’ve come to the end of his bankroll.

Englewood hasn’t given up. He raises his paddle once more. “Thirty,” he says, coolly.

He looks over at Sebastian, his dark eyes glowering beneath thick brows. I don’t know if these two know each other, or I’m just witnessing a territorial display between two powerful men. Either way, the tension is palpable.

Sebastian ignores Englewood and gazes up at me instead. I’m illuminated by the burning hot stage lights, my red dress aflame all around me.

Staring right at me, Sebastian says, “Fifty thousand.”

Cross tries to quiet the roar that erupts from every table. “We’ve got a bid of fifty-thousand!” he says. “That’s a new record, ladies and gentlemen, and remember it’s all for a great cause! Mr. Englewood . . . do you care to match it?”

Englewood’s lips tighten beneath his dark mustache. He gives one jerking shake of his head, and Cross says, “Sold! Ms. Yenina will be going on a date with Sebastian Gallo.”

I don’t know if it’s fear or relief that floods over me. All I know is that I’m suddenly cold, even under the hot lights. Cross has to take me by the arm and point me to the stairs leading down off the stage.

I stumble over to my father’s table. He lays a heavy hand on my shoulder and mutters in my ear, “Well done. He’s invested now.”

Yes, Sebastian is invested. To the tune of fifty thousand dollars.

5

Sebastian

I think Aida dragged me along to the charity auction because she’s under the impression that I’m depressed. Her efforts to engage me in social and family events have been ramping up by the week, including several unsolicited blind dates. I didn’t agree to take any of the girls out. I told Aida I was enjoying being single.

I only went to the auction because Cal, Aida, and I had some business to discuss. Specifically, Cal’s upcoming mayoral campaign. The Griffins intend to go 100 percent legitimate. That means divesting themselves of any remaining illegal business operations and making sure that any bodies they’ve buried stay buried. And that’s not a euphemism—the most recent body was Cal’s own uncle, Oran Griffin, who currently lies beneath the foundation of one of the South Shore office towers.

While the Gallo family is turning our attention to large-scale real estate, I don’t think we’re ready to wash our hands clean just yet. The Griffins exiting the mafia sphere leaves a huge power vacuum. Somebody needs to fill it. The question is, who?

I suppose Mikolaj Wilk and the Polish Mafia will step up. We’re on reasonably good terms with Mikolaj, but I can’t say we’re best friends. There’s a certain uneasiness that occurs when someone kidnaps the youngest daughter of your ally, and then frames your brother for murder.

Mikolaj did marry the captive Nessa Griffin, and Riona Griffin sprang Dante out of jail. But let’s just say Mikolaj and I aren’t exactly exchanging Christmas cards.

It’s a prickly situation, especially with the Russians beaten back but not subdued. Whenever you shift the pillars of a power structure, there’s a chance the whole thing could come crashing down.

Maybe that’s why Papa has been so paranoid lately. He can feel the uncertainty in the air.