Sold to a billionaire

I’ll vigneron Salvatore

I gazed up in awe at the grandeur of the mansion's high ceiling, adorned with intricate artistic drawings that spanned its width. The sight took me by surprise, as I had always associated such ceiling art with the solemnity of churches and temples. My limited imagination could only conjure up images of Jesus in a diaper, wielding a bow and arrow or was it Cupid? I could never quite grasp the reasoning behind such peculiar depictions.

As I wandered through the empty halls and ventured down the corridors, my eyes fell upon indoor plants arranged in vases, a sight that seemed out of place. I couldn't help but think they belonged outside, basking in the warm embrace of sunlight. Golden candle holders, shimmering against the walls, and a series of meticulously hung paintings beckoned my attention near the staircase leading upstairs. The vineyard villa had sparked a growing curiosity within me, and for a fleeting moment, I dared to imagine what it would be like to be a lady of such a house. But I swiftly dismissed the thought as an impossible dream, far beyond the realms of reality.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, I ascended the staircase, my eyes transfixed on the procession of pictures that adorned the walls. Each portrait seemed to transcend time, depicting the passage of generations. I marveled at the evolving quality of the paintings, as the brushstrokes became lighter and more refined with each passing era, adorned with a richer array of colors. Though I refrained from touching the frames, I couldn't help but notice the increasing superiority of the materials used in their construction.

A tiny inscription caught my eye at the bottom right of each picture, revealing the names of the vintners and the years of their reign. To my surprise, the portraits predominantly featured men, each assuming a similar pose beside the fireplace, with one hand holding an illuminating object. The object itself was portrayed with delicate strokes, its outline becoming more visible in the newer generations—a mesmerizing peach-colored diamond.

However, my attention was abruptly captured by the first depiction of a woman I encountered after losing count of the male vintners. It stood as the final portrait on the wall, radiating elegance and grace. The woman sat at the center of the fireplace, adorned in an 18th-century petticoat gown that threatened to engulf the entire picture with its voluminous width. Though unfamiliar to me, I couldn't help but speculate that she might be Alessandro's mother, the vintner preceding him. But why was there no portrait of Alessandro himself?

Just as I pondered this, a peculiar sound reached my ears, emanating from behind the staircase. The mysterious voices grew louder as I descended, returning to the front of the house as instructed, anxiety gripping my heart. The sounds were a cacophony of two voices—a deep, baritone groan intertwined with softer, indiscernible murmurs. Their familiarity struck me, reminiscent of a distant memory I wished to forget. It reminded me of the haunting echoes that had filled the air near the brothel I had passed years ago.

Perhaps I should have heeded my instincts and ceased my pursuit of the enigmatic sounds. But a part of me yearned to ensure that no one was in danger, as the indistinct voices sent mixed signals. My eyes widened as I stumbled upon a shocking sight. The woman I had seen in the portrait had bent over at the waist, gripping the wall for support, while a man held her waist and pulled her closer at intervals. Her unrecognizable sounds filled the air, reaching their crescendo as their bodies locked together. It appeared as though they were bound by an invisible tether, sharing a connection at the waist. I couldn't discern whether she was receiving pleasure or being purnished.

Crackling the dry leaf beneath my foot, I inadvertently announced my presence to the couple engaged in their clandestine activities. Panic surged through me, and I immediately turned to flee. The baritone voice thundered, commanding me to stop, and I froze in my tracks, hands instinctively rising to rest on my head. I couldn't bear the thought of getting shot—whether or not he possessed a firearm remained uncertain.

Covered in perspiration, the man hastily fastened his trousers and approached me. His white shirt hung open, revealing a glistening chest. With my eyes tightly shut, I mustered the courage to speak. "My name is Josephine. I was asked to wait at the front but stumbled my way into the house. I am not a thief, and I mean no harm," I stammered, fear gripping my soul.

"You are one of the slaves Alessandro purchased," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Worker," I corrected, my voice tinged with defiance.

"This one has a sharp tongue," he remarked, glancing at the lady who had emerged from behind the pillar. She struggled to button her dress, her ample bosom providing resistance. The man's statement revealed two things—one, he was not Mr. Alessandro, which brought a wave of relief, and two, he was intimately acquainted with him, addressing him so familiarly. It was evident that he did not belong to the staff. His handcrafted clothing boasted an air of authenticity, despite its slightly worn appearance. The woman's attire was equally captivating, raising questions as to why she would willingly tarnish it with whatever act they had been engaged in.

Apologetically, another man entered the scene, announcing his intent to remove me from the mansion. He grasped my hand forcefully, dragging me out like a common thief. However, before they could cast me aside, Lorenzo, as I later learned he was called, intervened.

"Wait," Lorenzo commanded, stepping toward me. Leaning closer, his face inches from mine, he cupped my cheeks in his hand, locking his eyes with mine. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down my spine as he posed his question, "What did you see?"

Confusion overwhelmed me, as I had witnessed nothing comprehensible, or at least I couldn't put it into words. However, the intimidating glare in his eyes made it clear that I had stumbled upon their illicit activities. "Nothing!" I blurted out, my voice quivering. With that, Lorenzo released his grip on my cheeks, setting me free to go.

In that moment, I unwittingly made my first enemy in the vineyard. It wasn't Lorenzo, with his piercing gaze, but Arianna, who despised the fact that he had shared even a fleeting moment with me. The rough handling I endured was just the beginning. The man who had forcefully expelled me from the villa threw me to the ground outside the door, but fortunately, my bag provided some cushioning against the unforgiving surface.

He bellowed at me, his words laced with spit that landed on my cheek. I discreetly wiped it away, waiting for him to avert his gaze. Mr. Thomas, as I had come to know him, was strict and uncompromising, but he maintained an honesty and fairness in his treatment of the workers. Unlike other vineyard overseers who coerced girls into their beds, he ensured we received just treatment. If anyone dared refuse their advances, they were subjected to arduous labor, toiling in the soil until their hands were blistered.

I was escorted to the workers' quarters, where I encountered Madam Lucia. As she led me into the dimly lit quarters, her eyes scanned my every movement, her lips barely parting to release a few calculated words. The sharpness of her gaze contrasted with her short, round figure, giving her the perplexing appearance of both a menacing overseer and a cheerful mother. It was a juxtaposition that left me uncertain of what to expect.

Inside the room, a single oil lamp flickered, casting dancing shadows on the worn wooden floor. The air hung heavy with the scent of old linen and the musty remnants of previous occupants. Lucia gestured toward a modest bed, its sheets worn but clean, and motioned for me to place my bag underneath it.

Pausing for a moment, her gaze shifted to my bag, and a glint of curiosity sparked in her eyes. "You have nothing of value in there, do you?" she inquired, her voice tinged with suspicion. "No money or jewelry hidden away?"

I had entrusted all the money I possessed to Sofia, ensuring she had enough to sustain herself for the coming months. My bag held nothing but a few personal belongings, dear to me but of little monetary worth. "Nothing of value, madam," I replied honestly, wondering why such a question had arisen.

A chilling smile crept across Lucia's face, revealing a glimpse of her true nature. "Good," she said, her tone laced with a hint of malice. "Because I do not intervene in cases of theft in the servant quarters."

Her words struck me like a blow, a harsh reminder of the cruel realities that existed within the confines of this seemingly idyllic vineyard. We were all servants, living and working together, yet her statement implied a lack of trust and a cold indifference to the struggles that might befall us. It left me pondering the depths of desperation or greed that could drive someone to steal from their fellow workers. What was there to steal in this modest place? And who among us would dare commit such an act?

The atmosphere in the quarters grew heavy with unspoken tension, the room seeming to close in around me. As I settled onto the bed, my mind raced with thoughts of survival in this unforgiving environment, where every move was scrutinized and trust was a fragile commodity. The vineyard held both beauty and darkness, and I had yet to uncover its deepest secrets.

As the door creaked open, revealing the room where I would spend my nights, I felt a surge of anxiety. Voices floated through the air, and I braced myself to meet my roommates, aware of the potential for their cruelty. Having endured the harsh treatment of girls my age at the match factory, I had become well-acquainted with their mean-spirited ways.

"You must be the new girl joining us," a voice chimed from behind, accompanied by a gentle push that propelled me into the room. Bianca stood before me, exuding a sense of warmth and familiarity. "I am Bianca, your new best friend and tour guide in Ll Vigneron Salvatore. Ask me for whatever you need."

Relieved by her friendly demeanor, I managed a small smile. Bianca seemed eager to extend her support, and I hoped that her kindness would overshadow any potential animosity from the others. However, Elena, another roommate, wasted no time delving into personal matters. "Are you paying off a debt or a loan?" she inquired, her tone laced with curiosity.

I felt a twinge of defensiveness rise within me. "A debt, but not one that is solely mine," I clarified, hoping to avoid any misconceptions. However, Isabella interjected, her voice dripping with disdain. "No one cares if it's your debt or not. You're a servant now. Just let that sink in," she retorted, her words laden with a bitterness that sent a shiver down my spine.

While the truth in Isabella's statement stung, her harshness only served to reinforce the bleak reality of my new life. We were all servants, bound by our obligations and tasked with working off debts or loans. The weight of our circumstances hung heavily in the air, casting a shadow over the room and amplifying the tensions between us.

Despite the initial coldness displayed by Isabella, Bianca's presence offered a glimmer of hope. She possessed a youthful spirit, and her willingness to extend a hand of friendship provided a much-needed respite from the harsh realities of our shared predicament. In this unfamiliar place, navigating the intricacies of servitude, I clung to the belief that perhaps, through the bond we formed, we could find solace and support amidst the trials that lay ahead.

Bianca had roused me from my slumber before the c***k of dawn, urging me to prepare for the day ahead. We hurriedly bathed and tidied up the quarters, aware of the wrath that awaited us if we left any mess behind. The chilly morning air wrapped around us like a cold embrace as we gathered with the other workers in a vast field at the front of the villa. The wind whispered through the lush green landscape, carrying with it a biting cold that seeped into my bones.

As we waited for the morning address from our superiors, my teeth chattered uncontrollably. Unable to hide my discomfort, I turned to Bianca, my breath visible in the frigid air. "Do we get addressed like this every day?" I asked, my voice quivering with cold.

Bianca, accustomed to the early morning routine, replied with a sympathetic smile. "Not every day, but most of the time. Mr. Thomas usually lets us know the day before if there won't be an address, so we can go straight to work in the morning. Those are the days when the bosses indulge in parties and drown themselves in wine."

A few figures emerged on the corridor above us, drawing my attention. I recognized the face of the magnificent woman from the painting, though she appeared slightly older now. The man who had intimidated me the previous day stood nearby, and to my surprise, Mr. Thomas, our strict but fair overseer, was also present. However, my heart skipped a beat as I laid eyes on another familiar face. A surge of warmth coursed through my body, causing me to forget the cold and tremors that had plagued me moments ago.

Unbeknownst to me, my expression must have given away my sudden captivation, as Bianca's voice cut through my trance. "Stop what you're doing; it's embarrassing," she whispered, her eyes fixed on me intently. Could she see the desires that had momentarily consumed me?

Startled, I quickly regained composure, pretending ignorance. "Stop what?"

"Stop staring at Mr. Alessandro like a piece of meat you could devour," she admonished, her tone a mix of concern and amusement.

Mr. Alessandro. The name resonated within me, striking a chord of resentment and longing. I had conditioned myself to despise him, to harbor resentment towards everything and everyone associated with him. Yet, the more I looked at him, the more I became aware of the surging blood in my veins, the heat radiating through my body. A strange and unfamiliar sensation stirred within me, and unwittingly, I bit my lip to quell the overwhelming sensations that coursed through me.

Bianca's words brought me back to reality. "That is Mr. Alessandro?" I asked, shocked by the revelation. I had convinced myself to hate him, to reject any connection to the family he ruled over. But as I gazed upon him, the truth of my desires became undeniable. I was a slave, sold to the very family he would soon marry into.

"Yes, and the woman beside him is his fiancée. They're getting married in just a month," Bianca revealed, her words punctuating the reality of the situation.

The pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place. The half-naked lady I had glimpsed with Lorenzo the previous day at the villa was none other than Alessandro's fiancée. The forbidden act I had inadvertently stumbled upon now made sense, and a new wave of emotions washed over me, intertwining desire, resentment, and an understanding that my fate was irrevocably tied to theirs.