Her name was Alessia Moretti, sixteen years old, sitting beside one of the most feared men in the room—and in half the world. Her father didn’t look dangerous at first glance, not to strangers. He wore an immaculate suit, silver cufflinks, calm posture. But everyone in that auction hall knew better. When Don Moretti spoke, people listened. When he wanted something, he got it.

And when Alessia wanted something, he had never once told her no.

She sat in the velvet chair next to him, legs crossed, chin resting in her hand, eyes half-lidded with boredom. The auction droned on with expensive artifacts, weapons, information—things Alessia had been warned she’d need to understand one day. She understood enough to know she hated all of it.

Then the lights shifted.

“Next,” the auctioneer announced, voice smooth, practiced, “a… special offering.”

Two men brought him out.

Not an object. A boy.

Around her age, maybe a year older. Taller than Alessia, but so thin it looked like a strong wind could knock him over. A metal collar sat heavy against his neck, a chain dangling uselessly. His wrists were free, but it didn’t matter—he didn’t try to move. His shoulders were slumped, eyes dull, unfocused, like he’d already decided nothing good could happen anymore.

The room stirred. Interest. Murmurs.

Alessia felt something sharp twist in her chest.

She straightened immediately, eyes locked on him. He wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t even scared anymore. That was what unsettled her the most.

She nudged her father’s arm.

“Papa,” she said softly, sweetly, leaning closer like she always did when she wanted something. Her voice was gentle, almost childish. “I want him.”

Her father turned to her at once. The auction hall ceased to exist for him in that moment. He studied her face carefully, expecting a playful excuse, a passing whim.

Instead, he saw something serious in her eyes.

“You want… the boy?” he asked quietly.

She nodded once. “Yes.”

The auctioneer hesitated, then swallowed as Don Moretti raised a hand. No numbers were called. No competition followed. Everyone knew better.

“Sold,” the auctioneer said quickly.

The chain was removed. The collar stayed—for now.

When the men brought the boy closer, Alessia stood. He flinched when she stepped into his space, clearly bracing for something cruel. Instead, she reached up, undid the clasp of the collar herself, and let it fall into her hand.

“You’re coming with us,” she said calmly. Not unkind. Not commanding. Just certain.

The boy blinked, confused.

Her father watched, expression unreadable—then placed a hand on her shoulder, a rare softness in his eyes.

As they left the hall, Alessia walked beside the boy, close enough that if he stumbled, she’d catch him. And for the first time that night, the emptiness in his eyes shifted—just a little.