Alessia
They called it 'The Alessia Clone'.
Be for real weirdos. Rich people sure had some creepy fantasies.
I watched the auctioneer gesture toward the woman standing under the golden lights. She had my hair, my frame, even the sharpness of my cheekbones. A perfect doppelgänger. If I hadn't spent the last three years faking my own death, I might have believed it was actually me.
They were monetizing my death, or what? A slow, burning anger curled in my chest.
Elena leaned in, her breath warm against my ear.
"It's crazy how people look alike, huh?"
I nodded, but my mind was on stage as I watched the lady.
Somewhere in some part of this room, someone had planned this. Someone wanted to remind the world that Alessia was once desirable—the woman men would have killed for.
Just then, Elena spoke again.
"Did you hear about Alessia Romano?" she asked, voice casual. "The men were going crazy for her when she was alive. She nearly got married to Dante until…"
I wondered how Elena would feel if she knew the Alessia she was talking about was nobody else but me.
I turned my head sharply. "Until what?"
Elena lowered her voice. "I'm really glad she didn't get married to Dante. That man is rumored to be exactly who they say he is."
I leaned back into my seat, feigning curiosity. "And who do they say he is?"
She hesitated, then whispered, "A monster."
I let out a quiet scoff. A monster? That was an understatement.
Still, I played along.
"How?"
Elena exhaled, then smirked. "Mulch took me to the club one time after an auction. I got drunk, and while trying to steady myself, I accidentally stepped on Dante's foot." She paused for dramatic effect. "Do you know what he did?"
"What?" I humored her.
She widened her eyes. "He put a gun straight to my head."
I nearly laughed. "And?"
"And I sobered up so fast."
I shook my head, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. Elena loved to exaggerate. Sure, Dante was dangerous, but he wasn't the type to pull a gun over a misstep. Something must've have warranted him to pull such action. If he pulled a gun on you, it was because you weren't leaving the room alive.
That was exactly why I needed to bring him down.
Before I could press for more details, the bidding started again.
Men raised their paddles, their voices sharp with hunger. The price climbed, and just like that, 'the clone' was sold to the highest bidder.
I exhaled slowly.
Whoever had created her, whoever had orchestrated this nonsense had just made a very expensive mistake.
But I didn't have time to dwell on it.
The next item was rolled onto the stage. A gun.
Not just any gun. Something small, sleek, metallic, unlike guns I'd seen before. A prototype, maybe. Something illegal, definitely.
The bidding escalated fast.
Then—A hush fell over the room.
A figure emerged from the entrance, moving with slow, commanding steps.
Marco Montenegro.
Elena nudged me hard. "There he is," she murmured.
I turned, my breath catching for a second.
Damn.
I had seen him at the club area, people called him—'the phantom of the underworld' the man whose name carried more weight than the bullets he fired. But nothing had prepared me for the sight of him more clearly.
Marco was tall, not overly muscular, but with a presence that commanded attention. His long dark hair was tied back into a low ponytail, sharp jawline dusted with just enough scruff to make him look effortlessly rugged. But what really got me? The cologne.
It hit the air as he passed by, a dark, expensive scent that had no business smelling that good.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. And I didn't know why.
Marco was trouble, the kind of trouble I had no time for.
"I need to use the restroom," I muttered to Elena, standing quickly.
And that was my first mistake. All eyes turned to me the moment I moved.
Elena's brilliant idea of making me wear this ridiculous outfit—a short, body-hugging dress that left little to the imagination was paying off. And not in a way I liked.
I kept my head low and made my way toward the back of the hall, ignoring the lingering stares.
By the time I reached the restroom, my pulse was hammering. I pressed my hands against the sink, staring at my reflection.
Beneath the makeup, beneath the mask, I was still 'Her'
Alessia, the woman who once stood at Dante's side. Alessia, the woman who suddenly vanished and had built herself back from nothing.
I lifted my dress slightly, running my fingers over the small gun strapped under my thigh.
One bullet. That was all I needed.
A deep breath. Then another..
Then I turned and walked toward the door. And collided straight into a hard chest.
I stumbled back, my hand instinctively reaching for my gun. Then I looked up.
And my heart stopped. Dante? What the hell!
For a split second, I froze. He was exactly as I remembered.
Tall, sharp features, dark eyes like the kind of abyss you'd never escape from. He wore black, his presence suffocating the air around me. My heart hammered in my chest, I hope he didn't recognize, I instinctively looked away.
His lips curled slightly.
"Well," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"
I stiffened. He didn't recognize me.
I forced a smirk. "And you're in my way."
He tilted his head, amusement forming across his face.
"Feisty. I like that."
I moved to step around him, but he blocked me effortlessly.
"How much?" he asked.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
His gaze dragged over me, slow, annoying.
"For the night. Name your price."
My jaw clenched. You've got to be kidding me.
I kept my expression neutral. "Not for sale."
His smirk widened. "Everything is for sale, sweetheart."
The urge to put a bullet between his ribs was almost unbearable.
I stepped closer, until we were inches apart. His cologne was overwhelming, a mix of oud and danger wrapped in an expensive taste.
"I don't think you can afford me," I said, voice like venom.
Dante chuckled, low and rich. "Try me."
I leaned up slightly, bringing my lips close to his ear.
"A hundred million dollars."
He let out an amused breath. "That's a steep price."
I shrugged. "Like I said, you can't afford me."
His fingers grazed my wrist, that same touch that always send a chill through me.
Something showed in his expression, a brief moment of interest. But then he let go.
"For now," he said smoothly.
I turned on my heel, pushing past him before I do something reckless. Like shoot him in his balls.