By the time we get to the tenth or eleventh girl, I’m starting to yawn. I stayed up too late last night. Too late every night this week, actually. The champagne is getting to me.

That is, until I hear the name “Yelena Yenina.”

My head jerks up. I watch my Valkyrie stride across the stage.

Fucking hell. I already forgot how gorgeous she is. She’s wearing a red dress that clings to her every curve. From this angle her legs look about ten miles long. She’s so stunning that an actual hush falls over the crowd. All the girls were pretty, but Yelena isn’t pretty. She’s a fucking enchantress.

I can’t believe she’s here. That’s twice in just over a week. If I believed in signs, I’d think this was an obvious miracle.

I’m staring at her with my mouth hanging open when she turns and looks right at me. She goes still, an electric jolt passing between us.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by my sister, of course. Nothing does.

Aida leans over to whisper, “Do you know her?”

I give a quick shake of my head. “No,” I lie.

“It looks like you know her,” Aida mutters.

The bidding already started.

Every man present wants her. The price is increasing by the second. I look around at the men bidding, wanting to rip the head off every last one of them. How dare those fucking sleazeballs try and buy a night with her, like they have a chance with a goddess like that?

I don’t like the look of any of them. Actually, I fucking hate them. Especially Carl Englewood. He’s an arrogant shithead my brothers butted heads with a few years back when he tried to block our permits for the Oak Street Tower. He’s a real-estate developer, and just as cutthroat as any mafioso. Plus he collects cars, watches, and women like playing cards. I bet he’d fucking love to get his hands on Yelena.

Why is she even up there? I glance around the tables, searching for her father.

I know what Alexei Yenin looks like. I haven’t actually met him, but Nero showed me a grainy photograph when he first replaced Kristoff as the head of the Chicago Bratva. It was an old photo from his days in the KGB—when he was young and slim, with a carefully-trimmed mustache.

I spot him on the opposite side of the room. He looks much the same as the photograph, only dressed in a tux instead of a military uniform—a little thicker in the chest and shoulders, with a full beard now. He’s smirking up at Yelena, pleased that she’s stirring up this kind of interest.

I hate him, too. I don’t know what his purpose is in putting his daughter up for sale, but I don’t like it.

I watch the bidding war bounce back and forth between a man who’s way too old to even consider putting his wrinkly hands on Yelena, a cocky frat-boy type who’s practically drooling on the table, and that covetous fuck Englewood.

I don’t want any of them to take her out.

If anyone’s going to take her on a date, it should be me.

Without thinking, without even considering what I’m about to say, I snatch up my paddle and shout, “Twenty thousand!”

Callum looks at me like I’ve just grown a second head. Aida is equally shocked, then gleeful.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she chortles.

The frat boy can’t keep pace with that—he has to drop out. But Englewood fixes me with a stubborn glare. We’ve had words before. Now he’s thrilled to have a chance to stick it to me in a public setting where I can’t knock his fucking teeth in afterward.

The bidding goes back and forth between us, jumping from twenty to twenty-six thousand.

Englewood looks pissed, partly because I’m sure he thought he was taking Yelena home for a certainty, and also because I’ve aroused his competitive fire. His pride is on the line, and he doesn’t want to back down.

I guess you could say the same about me. But I don’t give a fuck what these other people think. I’m bidding for one reason only: because I want to see Yelena again. If her father agreed to put her up on stage for this date auction, he’s obviously alright with somebody winning a night with her. Why shouldn’t it be me?

This could be my one and only chance to take her out with his blessing. My chance to see her without sparking a war between our families.

“Thirty-thousand,” Englewood says, throwing me a triumphant look, like there’s no way I’m gonna top that.

It’s a ludicrous amount to pay for a date.

I don’t care. How the fuck else should I spend my money?

I look up at Yelena. I’m trying to read her face. Does she want me to keep going? Does she want to see me again?

It’s so hard to read her. I don’t expect her to do anything as commonplace as actually smile at me. She’s Russian—they don’t do “friendly.”

But I look at those brilliant violet-colored eyes, big and wide and shining like stars, and I’m almost certain that she wants this, too.

“Fifty thousand,” I say.

That’s it for Englewood. With a sneer of frustration, he tosses down his paddle.

Yelena is mine. If only for a night.

I feel a swoop of elation stronger than anything I’ve felt in months. Finally, a win.

“You’re out of your mind,” Callum chuckles.

“If you’re going to blow all your money on a girl, at least you picked the hottest one.” Aida grins. “Oh my god, think how tall your kids would be . . . you could make an entire NBA team!”

She winces as Callum steps on her foot under the table.

“Ow! Why did you—oh, sorry, Seb. Didn’t mean to bring up . . . you know.”

“You can talk about basketball. It’s not Voldemort.”

“I know,” she says. “Just trying to be sensitive.”

“Well, don’t,” I say. “It’s weird, and you suck at it.”

I’m giving Aida a hard time, but I really don’t care. For once, the mention of my former dream hardly stings at all. I’m too distracted with thoughts of what I should do with Yelena, on the world’s most expensive date. Now that I’ve already spent 50K, I might as well go all-out.

“You paid fifty thousand dollars. You can make her do anything you want . . .” Aida says in an awed tone. “You could make her play Call of Duty with you. Or listen to John Mayer. Or go to that shitty diner on Broadway that you love so much . . .”

“Don’t take suggestions from Aida,” Cal tells me. “She thinks raiding the Wrigleyville merch shop is the ultimate date.”

“Uh, it is,” Aida says with absolute conviction. “I got us matching Cubbies pajamas. And fuzzy slippers! You love those slippers, don’t try to act cool in front of Seb.”

“They’re so soft,” Cal admits.

I shake my head at the pair of them, my chest feeling strangely light.

I think my luck is finally changing.

I didn’t get a chance to speak to Yelena in person after the auction—she went over to her father’s table on the opposite side of the room, and they left almost immediately.

I’m hoping that wasn’t an indication that Alexei was pissed that I bought the date with his daughter. After all, he allowed her to participate, knowing the outcome was up in the air.

My hefty donation to the charity almost clears out my checking account, but it doesn’t matter—I’ve got a fuck of a lot more cash stashed elsewhere. Each of us Gallo siblings takes a yearly “allowance” from the family funds, and we can get more if we need it. I’ve been living cheap, sharing that apartment with Jace. Fifty thousand isn’t exactly pocket change, but I’m happy to pay it.