"Your mother's condition is stable, Micah, but we haven't seen any significant cognitive improvement," the doctor said, his voice flat and clinical. He gave my shoulder a brief, sympathetic squeeze. "I know this isn't the news you wanted, but we are doing everything we can to keep her comfortable."
"Thank you, Doctor," I whispered.
I waited until his footsteps faded down the sterile hospital corridor before I turned back to the bed.
My mother looked so small beneath the white sheets. A clear plastic mask covered her nose and mouth, fogging up with every shallow breath she took. Thin tubes ran from the machine keeping her alive, and a cold IV line was taped to the back of her pale hand.
I reached out, gently wrapping my fingers around hers. "Mom," I choked out.
My eyes stung with hot tears. It had been three years. Three years since the day she found out about what my father’s associate had done to me. The shock and distraction of it had caused her to lose control of the car. Her injuries were severe, and the doctors had quietly given up hope. But I hadn't.
I remembered her radiant smile, her warmth, and the way she used to hold me. She was the only person who had ever truly loved me. Now, she was just a fragile shell.
I'll do whatever it takes, I thought, wiping a stray tear from my cheek.
I’ll sleep with every wealthy bastard from New York to Europe if it keeps your machines running.
I pressed a soft kiss to her cool forehead, turned on my heel, and walked out of the ICU.
"Micah!" Ricky called out, jogging up to meet me in the lobby.
"Yo. What's up?" I forced a lazy, confident smile onto my face, slipping my armor back on.
"Are you really going to Sicily? At a moment's notice like this?" Ricky's brow was furrowed with genuine worry.
"Bro, chill," I said, walking out into the humid New York air toward my car. "It's just a two-month gig."
My father had made that much clear last night. He told me it was a quick, temporary contract, and as usual, I didn't have a choice but to obey.
"What about Adam?" Ricky asked as I unlocked the car’s door.
"Let him know I’m gone," I said, starting the engine. "Who knows? Maybe I’ll find a solid plug out there and start moving weight in Europe."
I threw the car into drive and sped off into the city, refusing to look back.
•
Ten hours later, the flight attendant's voice over the intercom announced our descent into Sicily.
I dragged my suitcase through the terminal, stepping out of the airport into the crisp Italian dawn.
I heaved out a sigh as I scanned the crowd of travelers and drivers holding up signs, entirely unsure of what—or who I was supposed to be looking for.
"Miss Taylor?"
I paused, turning toward a sharp-dressed Italian man with cold, calculating eyes.
"Yes. And you are?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Welcome to Sicily," the man said.
Before I could reply, he gave a subtle nod. Instantly, three massive, broad-shouldered men dressed in black suits stepped out of nowhere, surrounding me.
My heart did a violent flip as I took a step back, my fingers tightening on the handle of my suitcase. "What the hell is this?" I hissed, my defensive instincts kicking in. "Who are you guys?"
"Weren't you informed?" The leader asked, his voice entirely devoid of emotion.
"Informed about what?" I demanded, glare narrowing.
"You were auctioned off by Mr. Taylor," he replied smoothly. "And we won the bid."
For a second, the world went completely silent, and my brain scrambled to process the words.
Like… sold, and won the bid?
"Auctioned off?" I repeated, a cold dread pooling in my stomach. I tried to force a breathless laugh, stepping back again. A fake smile written heavily on my face.
"Right. Okay. You definitely have the wrong girl. Look at me—I’m not Micah Taylor. I’m an imposter. A decoy. You guys got scammed."
I spun around to run back toward the safety of the terminal, but I didn't even make it two steps when the voice called out.
"Grab her!” The leader commanded.
Before I could scream, a pair of massive, tree-trunk arms wrapped around my waist. I was hoisted off my feet, my stomach slamming hard against a burly guard's shoulder.
"Put me down! Let me go, you piece of shit!" I yelled, throwing wild punches and kicks against his back, but it was like hitting a brick wall. "Help! Kidnapping! Somebody help me!"
The travelers outside the airport froze, but nobody moved a finger. As though the presence of the men in black made it clear to everyone that interfering meant death.
The guard carried me straight to a sleek, blacked-out luxury SUV waiting at the curb. He yanked the door open and shoved me brutally into the leather backseat.
I scrambled to the opposite door, clawing at the handle, but the heavy metallic click of the electronic child locks echoed through the cabin.
I was trapped.
I slammed my fists against the tinted glass, screaming for help until my throat burned, but the engine roared to life, and the SUV swept into the Sicilian traffic.
As the airport faded into the distance, the horrific truth finally settled over me.
My father hadn't sent me here for a temporary job.
He had sold me.
And as the tears finally spilled over my eyelashes, I knew I was completely at the mercy of whoever had bought me.