chapter 2
1713 Words
Alessandro Moretti POV
The auction house never felt like a place for emotion.
That was why I preferred it.
Emotion made people weak. Predictable. Expensive in the wrong way.
And in my world, everything had a price but only a few things were worth paying for.
The hall smelled faintly of polished wood, expensive perfumed, and money desperate to look respectable.
I stepped out of the black car without rushing. The door was opened before I reached for it – as always.
Merill was already there.
Of course she was.
“You’re early,” she said.
“I’m on time,” I corrected without looking at her.
A pause.
Then, lightly, “Everyone else is early then.”
I didn’t respond.
That was usually how our conversations ended — with her talking slightly more than necessary, and me deciding which parts of her words deserved acknowledgment.
Merill had been my assistant for four years.
Long enough to understand my schedule.
Long enough to anticipate my silence.
Long enough to believe that meant she understood me.
A dangerous assumption.
She walked beside me as we entered the building, heels clicking softly against polished marble.
She matched my pace without effort.
She always did.
“I confirmed your seating position,” she said. “Front row, center. As requested.”
“I didn’t request it,” I replied.
“I know,” she said smoothly. “You never do.”
That was true.
And yet it was always there.
Prepared.
Waiting.
Like everything else in my life.
The auction hall opened in front of us — a wide space dressed in expensive restraint. Chandeliers hung like frozen light. Rows of seats curved toward the stage where deals would be disguised as bidding.
People were already seated.
Whispers followed me the moment I stepped in.
I didn’t acknowledge them.
I took my seat.
Merill remained standing slightly behind and to the right — the position she had assigned herself years ago without needing permission.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Always present.
“Tonight’s item list has been updated,” she said quietly, sliding a thin folder forward.
I didn’t open it immediately.
“I already reviewed it,” I said.
“I know,” she replied. “You still like seeing it in print.”
That wasn’t wrong.
I preferred control in physical form.
Digital things changed too easily.
Pages didn’t.
I opened the folder.
Property listings.
Private holdings.
One corporate liquidation deal buried beneath layers of legal translation.
Nothing interesting.
Until it was.
My eyes paused briefly on one line.
it was incomplete.
I closed the folder.
“Something is missing,” I said.
Merill didn’t hesitate.
“I noticed that too.”
Of course she did.
She always noticed things.
That was why she was still here.
“And?” I asked.
“The seller is withholding details until bidding begins.
I leaned back slightly in my seat.
“So they want unpredictability,” I said.
“Yes.”
A faint shift in my expression — not emotion, just recognition.
Unpredictability was not a risk I enjoyed.
But it was one I understood.
The lights dimmed slightly.
The auction was beginning.
Merill stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“You have two dinner invitations tonight as well,” she added.
“I’m not attending,” I said immediately.
“I assumed,” she replied.
She assumed correctly too often.
It made her useful.
It also made her dangerous in a different way.
The auctioneer stepped onto the stage.
The room quieted instantly.
People always pretended they were calm in spaces like this.
They weren’t.
They were calculating.
Like everyone else.
Lot one was introduced.
Numbers. Descriptions. Value projections.
I stopped listening after the first sentence.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I already knew how this worked.
Everything in this room was either undervalued or overpriced depending on who spoke first.
Merill leaned slightly closer.
“You’ve been impossible all day”.Merill muttered, flipping through her tablet .
“I'm always impossible”
“Tonight feels competitive”
“I’ve been thinking,” I replied.
“As opposed to what?” she asked lightly.
“Listening to unnecessary noise.”
She didn’t react.
She rarely did when I dismissed things indirectly.
That was another reason she lasted.
The bidding began.
Hands rose.
Numbers climbed.
Interest increased.
Desire disguised itself as strategy.
I watched it all without expression.
Until my phone vibrated once.
Not loudly.
Not urgently.
Just enough to interrupt the rhythm.
I looked at it.
Caller ID: Private.
I answered.
“Speak.”
A pause.
Then a voice — older, familiar, sharp in a way that didn’t soften with age.
“You’re at the auction.”
It wasn’t a question.
“It’s where I said I would be,” I replied.
A faint sigh on the other end.
“You always are where you say you’ll be.”
“And yet you still call.”
Another pause.
Then, “I want to see you this week.”
“No.”
Simple.
Direct.
Expected.
The silence that followed wasn’t surprise.
“You’ve been avoiding coming home,” she said.
“I haven’t been avoiding anything,” I replied calmly. “I’ve been working.”
“Work is not an excuse for absence.”
I leaned back slightly in my seat.
“That depends on what you define as absence.”
A faint exhale.
“You sound like your father” My jaw tightened before I could stop it.
Merill probably didn't notice,I hope she didn't.
“I have an auction,” I said.
“So do I,” she replied immediately.
Then I ended the call.
No further discussion was necessary.
Merill didn’t ask who it was.
She already knew.
“Your aunt?” she said anyway.
I slid the phone back into my pocket.
“Unfortunately”.
One corner of her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but thought better of it.
“She doesn’t enjoy being ignored.”
“Neither do most people with power”.
A brief silence.
Then she added carefully, “She’s been asking about your attendance at family events again.”
“I don’t attend family events.”
“I know.”
That was the end of that topic.
The auction continued.
Lot after lot.
Numbers shifting like controlled chaos.
Then something changed.
Not in the room.
In tone.
The auctioneer hesitated slightly before announcing the next item.
That was unusual.
I noticed immediately.
Merill did too.
Her posture shifted subtly.
“That wasn’t on the list,” she murmured.
“I know,” I said.
The item was brought forward.
Not visible yet.
Covered.
Delayed.
A tactic.
Interesting.
The auctioneer cleared his throat.
“Due to late submission, this item was added under expedited listing.”
That was not standard procedure.
Which meant desperation.
Or manipulation.
Both were acceptable in business.
I leaned forward slightly for the first time.
Merill noticed.
Of course she did.
“You’re interested,” she said quietly.
“I’m observing,” I corrected.
The cover was removed.
Documents.
Not physical property.
Legal assets.
Corporate restructuring rights tied to an estate being liquidated under undisclosed pressure.
Now that was interesting.
The room shifted.
I felt it before I saw it.
Attention.
People leaned forward.
Calculated quickly.
Numbers began forming in minds before bidding even started.
Merill’s voice dropped lower.
“That’s unstable,” she said.
“Yes,” I replied.
“And you still want it?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because want wasn’t the correct word.
Understanding was.
The auction began.
Faster than the previous ones.
Aggressive.
Competitive.
Predictable escalation.
Merill stayed quiet now.
She knew better than to interrupt when my focus shifted like this.
Bidding rose quickly.
Then slowed.
Then rose again.
Pressure built.
Like all markets did when uncertainty became valuable.
I raised my hand once.
The room noticed.
It always did.
Silence tightened slightly.
Another bidder followed.
I raised again.
No hesitation.
No expression.
Just decision.
The counterbid came.
Faster.
Rougher.
I tilted my head slightly.
Interesting.
I raised again.
This time, the room hesitated.
Merill leaned closer.
“Alessandro,” she said quietly, “you’re pushing them too fast.”
“They’re already behind,” I replied.
And I raised my hand again.
Then—
The auctioneer paused.
Waiting.
The other bidder did not respond immediately.
They were thinking.
That meant they were already losing.
Finally, the gavel struck.
Sold.
The room exhaled collectively.
I didn’t.
Merill did something she rarely did.
She smiled slightly.
“You didn’t even change your expression,” she said.
“I didn’t need to.”
A pause.
Then she added, “You enjoy this too much.”
I stood.
“If I enjoyed it,I'd retire.”
That was the end of it.
The auction continued behind us, but I was already moving.
Merill followed instantly.
Outside, the air was colder.
Cleaner.
She opened the car door for me before I reached it.
“I’ll prepare the documents tonight,” she said.
“You should do,” I replied.
She hesitated slightly.
Then, “Dinner invitation from your aunt is still active.”
I paused before getting in.
“No.”
One word.
Final.
She nodded once.
“As expected.”
I got into the car.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
But not peace.
Just controlled distance from the noise.
As the car pulled away, I looked out the window.
City lights blurred past like they were rushing somewhere they didn’t belong.
Merill’s voice came through the intercom.
“You know she won’t stop trying,” she said.
“I know.”
Another pause.
Then softer, “You could make it easier.”
I turned my head slightly.
“That’s not my job.”
The car moved through traffic smoothly.
And for a moment — just a moment — I thought about nothing at all.
Which, for me, was rare.
Then my phone vibrated again.
Unknown number.
I didn’t answer.
Not yet.
The number looked familiar
Not enough to recognize
Just enough to brother me
And I don’t ignore patterns.
Not when they repeat.
Not when they arrive too precisely.
The city kept moving outside the window.
And I stayed still inside it.
Waiting.
Without knowing for what.
- Writer
