The Dollhouse
Adriano shoved his way through the throng of elites, ignoring their sharp looks and whispered complaints. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the soft music and clinking glasses.
“Diamond!” He hissed under his breath, scanning every table, every corner.
Nothing.
She was gone.
Alessandro caught up to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Adriano, stop.”
Adriano spun on him so fast Alessandro almost collided into him. “Don’t tell me to fucking stop!”
“Listen to me—”
“No, you listen!” Adriano snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “She was just here. Sitting right there and now she’s gone.”
Alessandro kept his tone even, though his jaw was tight. “Then we’ll find her. But if you keep stomping around like a rabid bull, everyone in this room will know something’s wrong. And you know what happens when these people smell weakness.”
Adriano ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. “You don’t get it. She’s not—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “She can’t just disappear like this.”
“She didn’t disappear,” Alessandro said sharply, stepping into his path to stop his pacing. “She wandered off. Probably to the bar. Or the bathroom. Or maybe she needed some air.”
Adriano’s eyes snapped up, wild and unamused. “You really believe that?”
Alessandro exhaled slowly. “No,” he admitted. “But I need you to calm down right now.”
Adriano let out a bitter, ugly laugh. “Calm down? In this place? Surrounded by these people?”
“Yes,” Alessandro said firmly. “Because we can’t afford to draw eyes. Not here. Not tonight. Do you understand?”
Adriano stared at him, his nostrils flaring, chest heaving. Then he muttered, “Fuck.”
He tapped his comm. “We’ve got a delay.”
Gabriele’s voice came through immediately, tense. “A delay? What kind of delay?”
Adriano clenched his jaw, forcing himself to speak evenly. “We can’t find Diamond.”
“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Gabriele’s tone rose instantly.
“Exactly what I said,” Adriano snapped. “She was sitting next to me. Then the crowd swarmed and now she’s fucking gone.”
“How long has she been missing?”
“I don’t know!” Adriano hissed, raking his fingers through his hair again. “Minutes. Maybe longer. She just—wandered off.”
“Wandered off? In a place like this?” Gabriele’s tone was sharp with disbelief and worry. “Are you out of your mind letting her—”
“Gabe,” Alessandro cut in, his voice smooth but commanding, “not helping.”
Gabriele took a breath, then said tightly, “Do you think someone took her?”
Adriano’s grip on the comm tightened until his knuckles whitened. “If they did—”
“They didn’t,” Alessandro interrupted, glancing at Adriano with a warning glare. “No one saw a struggle. No one’s panicking. This isn’t a kidnapping.”
“Then what the fuck is it, Sandro?!” Adriano barked.
Alessandro met his gaze without flinching. “She’s chasing something. Or someone. And we’ll find her.”
Adriano laughed bitterly again, shaking his head. “You sound so fucking sure.”
“I am.” Alessandro reached out, placing a hand briefly on his brother’s arm. “We’ll find her, okay? But we need to be smart about this.”
Adriano didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked. His eyes were still wild. But finally, just barely, he nodded.
Alessandro tapped his comm. “Gabriele. Tell the others to stay sharp and stay put. Eyes open. I’ve got a bad feeling things are about to go to shit.”
There was a pause before Gabriele answered, quieter this time. “…Copy that.”
Alessandro turned back to Adriano. “Now we sweep quietly. Before this gets worse.”
Adriano inhaled deeply through his nose, forcing himself to nod. “Fine.”
—
If the main ballroom had been sin, this room was blasphemy.
The East Wing felt colder, quieter, the sound of footsteps swallowed by thick velvet curtains that draped every inch of the walls. The chandeliers here were smaller, casting pools of golden light like spotlights in a theater. A long, narrow stage stretched across the front of the room, flanked by gold-trimmed cages covered in black cloth.
Diamond felt sick.
The elites—still buzzing from the earlier auction—filed in eagerly, their voices low and electric with anticipation. Waiters flowed silently between them with fresh champagne. Nobody asked what they were about to see. They all already knew.
She slipped into the back, keeping her head low.
And then Gio appeared.
Giovanni Caruso stepped onto the stage as if he were taking center spotlight on opening night, his emerald suit gleaming under the lights. He held the microphone delicately, like it was a lover’s hand.
“My darlings,” he purred, his voice soft but carrying easily across the room. “I trust the hors d'oeuvres of tonight’s auction satisfied your palates.”
A ripple of polite chuckles answered him.
“Well.” His grin sharpened. “It’s time for the main course.”
The crowd hummed with excitement.
Diamond’s stomach churned.
Gio clapped once. Attendants—masked, silent, all dressed in black—moved toward the cages and began removing the black covers.
The first one was revealed.
A girl.
She couldn’t have been older than twelve. Her dark hair was brushed to a shine, her small frame stuffed into a short, pink dress. She stood perfectly still, eyes blank, as an attendant fixed her posture like she was a mannequin.
“Lot one,” Gio announced cheerfully. “Straight from Eastern Europe. Pure, unspoiled, and—” he winked, “quite obedient. A perfect little doll for the discerning collector.”
“Collector.” The word made Diamond want to claw his face off.
The room stirred with approval.
“Starting bid,” Gio said, “two million.”
A paddle shot up instantly.
“Two point five!”
“Three!”
“Three point five!”
“Four!”
The numbers climbed with terrifying speed.
One man laughed lightly. “She’ll look just darling in Paris. My wife’s going to adore her.”
“Better hope she’s not too much fun,” another smirked. “Or your wife will get jealous.”
They all laughed.
Diamond dug her nails into her palm, hard enough to leave crescents. She kept her expression still. If she broke cover now, she was dead.
“Sold!” Gio declared, smacking his gavel. “To our generous Parisian at seven million! May she bring you endless joy.”
The girl was quietly led offstage like an object.
“Lot two!” Gio announced.
Another cage. Another child. A boy this time—older, maybe sixteen. Broad-shouldered but gaunt, his hair shaved close to his scalp. His expression was flat, but his fingers twitched against his side like he wanted to bolt.
“Ah,” Gio crooned, “for those who like their acquisitions with a bit more… fire. This one hasn’t quite been broken yet. A challenge.”
The room buzzed with interest.
“Starting at three million.”
“Three point five!”
“Four!”
“Four point two!”
A man in a navy suit lifted his glass. “I’ll pay extra if he’s as spirited as you say, Gio. I do enjoy a bit of taming.”
Laughter erupted across the room again.
Diamond wanted to vomit.
The boy was sold for six million.
Gio didn’t pause to let the room recover. He thrived on this.
“Lot three!”
The next cloth came off, revealing two children. Twins. A boy and girl, no older than nine. They clung to each other’s hands so tightly their knuckles were white, their tear-streaked faces buried against each other’s shoulders.
The girl was quietly sobbing.
“Oh,” Gio cooed, as though introducing a pair of kittens. “A rare treat for our collectors—a matched set. Siblings, unblemished, and exceptionally docile.”
The crowd murmured in delight.
“I’ll start us at five million for the pair,” Gio purred.
“Six!”
“Eight!”
“Ten!”
Diamond blinked, hard. Tears threatened to spill, but she forced them back.
“They’ll be fun to train,” one woman murmured.
“Double the fun, double the price,” a man chuckled. “Keep them together for now Gio, but I may have ideas for separating them later.”
The laughter that followed was jagged and cruel.
Diamond’s heart dropped into her stomach. Her throat burned.
“Sold for fourteen million!” Gio declared with a flourish, smacking his gavel.
Another child was revealed. A little boy, maybe five, wearing only a pair of shorts. His face was streaked with snot and tears, his small chest heaving with panicked breaths as he clutched the bars of his cage.
The crowd erupted in cooing.
“Oh, he’s adorable,” one man said.
“He’ll fetch attention in all the right circles,” another agreed.
“Starting bid, two million!”
Diamond could barely hear the numbers anymore. It was just a blur—voices shouting, laughing, making disgusting little comments like they weren’t talking about human beings at all.
“She looks like she’ll break easy.”
“I like the fight in his eyes—reminds me of my dogs before I break them in.”
“That one will do nicely for my summer estate.”
Every word felt like knives in her chest.
Diamond’s nails dug so deep into her palms she thought she’d bleed. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Tears blurred her vision, turning the room into a mess of gold and black and grotesque shapes.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t stay there.
The walls felt like they were closing in, the crowd pressing closer, their laughter echoing in her skull.
Diamond pushed back her chair and stood, barely noticing when someone glanced at her.
She walked quickly—too quickly—toward the nearest door.
A server passed her, and she grabbed his arm. “Bathroom?”
He blinked at her, confused for a second, then pointed down a narrow side hall. “Second door on the left, ma’am.”
She didn’t thank him. She ran.
Her heels clacked against the marble floor, the sound too loud in her ears. Her vision tunneled.
She threw open the bathroom door, rushed to the nearest stall, and dropped to her knees.
And then she vomited.
Her stomach convulsed violently, like it was trying to tear itself out. She heaved again and again until there was nothing left but acid and bile, her body shaking so hard she thought she might pass out.
When she was finally empty, she stayed there, her forehead pressed against the cool porcelain, trembling.
And then she cried.
Not the pretty kind of crying.
The ugly, broken sobs that clawed up from somewhere deep, raw and desperate. She cried for those children. For herself. For every single ounce of filth that had seeped into her life.
She had survived so much, but this—watching them sold like property—made her feel powerless in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child.
It shattered her.
Eventually, she forced herself to move. Her legs wobbled as she stood, staggering to the sink.
She turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face, rinsing the sour taste of vomit from her mouth, trying to erase the image of those children from her mind.
But it didn’t work.
She gripped the edge of the sink and stared at herself in the mirror.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks streaked with tears. She didn’t look like Andrea. She didn’t even look like Diamond.
She looked like Angela.
And Angela hated herself.
She hated that she was here, pretending to be part of this world. That she hadn’t done anything to help those children. That she couldn’t.
“You’re no different than them,” a voice in her head whispered. “You’re just standing here, dressed like them, drinking their wine, watching them sell children like they’re toys—and you’re doing nothing."
Her hands trembled against the porcelain.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to no one. “I'm so, so sorry.”
She broke into tears again, clutching her chest as ragged sobs clawed their way out of her throat.
That's when the door creaked open.
Diamond flinched, jerking her head toward the sound.
The moment her eyes locked with his, her blood went cold and her heart stopped.
Charles stood in the doorway.
He closed the door behind him…
And locked it.
The sharp click echoed through the room like a gunshot.
He didn’t speak at first. He ust stared at her. His eyes were unreadable, dark and heavy.
“What are you doing here…” He paused. Took a slow step forward, his polished shoes silent against the tile, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Angela.”