Chapter 4 : Auctioning

DAMIEN's pov

The hall was alive with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, but none of it fazed me as I stepped inside. The weight of my title, the expectations, and the sharp stares that followed me were things I'd grown used to. I walked with purpose, keeping my expression neutral, even though every pair of eyes seemed to dissect my every move.

I moved to a spot near the side of the hall, a place where I could see everything without being the center of attention. It was a habit I'd developed over the years-watch, listen, and learn. People revealed so much when they thought no one was paying attention.

And I wasn't wrong.

"Do you think he's even fit for this?" a low voice murmured to my left.

I didn't turn my head, but my ears perked up.

"I mean, an illegitimate child as the Mafia King? It's ridiculous," another voice added, dripping with disdain. "The council must've been desperate to keep it in the family."

I clenched my jaw but kept my posture relaxed. The council wasn't desperate-they were practical. My father had chosen me, and they'd respected his decision. But that didn't stop people from questioning it, from questioning my capabilities.

"Alex should've been the one," another man whispered again, and I could hear the bitterness in his tone. "He's the rightful heir. Not Damien."

I took a deep breath, letting their words wash over me without reacting. I'd heard worse before. Besides, I didn't need their approval. Respect would come in time, and if not, I'd take it by force.

My eyes scanned the room, taking in the familiar faces of businessmen, politicians, and other Mafia families. Each one had their own agenda, their own alliances, and their own opinions about me. But amidst the sea of false smiles and lingering glares, something-or rather someone-caught my eye.

She wasn't like the others.

Her posture was stiff, like she was trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable. She stood near the edge of the hall, her gaze fixed on the floor as if afraid to look up. Her dress, though neat, didn't match the elegance of the others around her. What was someone like her doing in the mist of wolves and lions.

When she finally lifted her head, our eyes met.

It was just a fleeting moment, but it felt longer than it should've. Her eyes were... striking. Not because they were beautiful, though they were, but because they held something I couldn't quite place. Fear? Resignation? Strength? Maybe all three.

I didn't realize I was staring until she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

I forced myself to focus again. The ceremony was about to start, and I didn't have time for distractions, no matter how intriguing they might be.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the ceremony master's voice boomed, silencing the crowd. "We are gathered here to crown the new king of this City, the new boss of the underworld and (GODFATHER) of all"

The crowd erupted into applause as I was summoned to the center of the hall.

The applause rang out like thunder, filling the grand hall as I stepped forward to the center stage. The Castellano crest gleamed behind me, and the weight of every eye in the room fell squarely on my shoulders. This was the moment I had been prepared for since I could walk.

A large, intricately carved chair sat in the middle of the stage-what they called Godfather's seat. It wasn't just a chair; it was a symbol, a throne that came with power, loyalty, and enemies. I climbed the three steps leading to it, each step heavy with the life I was being handed.

The ceremony master, a wiry man with a booming voice, approached with a crimson velvet box in his hands. Inside was the Mafia crown-a simple yet commanding piece, black with gold edges, engraved with symbols that represented power and dominion.

"Damien Castellano," he began, his voice echoing across the hall, "you are now the head of the Castellano family, the King of this City, the ruler and Godfather of the underworld and the bearer of burdens. Do you swear to perform all duties of this throne at all costs?"

"I swear," I said, my voice steady, even though my chest felt tight.

He nodded and carefully placed the crown on my head. I heard the faint gasp of awe ripple through the crowd, and when I turned to face them, a roar of applause followed.

Alex, on the other hand, leaned back against the wall, his eyes narrowed. He didn't even try to hide his displeasure.

I sat on the Godfather's seat, the weight of the crown pressing on my head as the crowd continued their cheers. I didn't let my face betray any emotion. This wasn't a moment for joy or pride; it was a moment for control.

As the applause died down, the ceremony master turned to the crowd again. ""we honor the royal tradition of crowning a new king by uniting the ruler of this nation with a bride chosen to stand by his side."

This part of the ritual always left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I hated this tradition.

It had ruined my mother's life-and mine, by extension.

Because of this outdated practice, my father never ended up with the woman he truly loved. Instead, he was forced to marry someone chosen for him, someone who fit the Mafia's definition of a "perfect queen." That decision had shaped everything, creating a mess that still rippled through my life today.

But I wouldn't be faced with this fate because love didn't exist for me.

The ceremony master continued, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside me. "She is the daughter of a close ally of the Castellano family, chosen to stand beside our king and strengthen the ties between the families!"

I barely heard the rest of his words. My eyes scanned the room briefly, catching glimpses of people watching eagerly, as if this was the most exciting part of the night.

The room erupted in applause as Cassandra Moretti's name was announced. My eyes found her in the crowd as she stepped forward, the room parting for her like she was already a queen.

I kept my expression neutral, nodding politely as she approached me.

When she reached me, I stood. For a moment, our eyes met, but there was no spark, no warmth-just the understanding of what this was.

She curtsied, her movements graceful and practiced. I offered her my hand because it was expected, not because I wanted to.

"Your Majesty," she murmured, her voice smooth and controlled.

"Welcome," I replied curtly. "It's an honor, Cassandra," I said, keeping my tone formal.

"The honor is mine," she replied, her voice as polished as her appearance.

As we stood side by side, greeting the guests who lined up to congratulate us, my mind drifted. This wasn't about love or choice. This was a transaction-a means to be a great leader.

And as much as I despised it, I had no choice but to endure it.

"As we celebrate the crowning of our new leader, we also uphold another tradition-the purchasing of new maids to serve the Godfather."

"This is an opportunity for all Mafias, businessmen and politicians present here today to show our new king how loyal we are by purchasing a servant for him."

Damn, when would all these fucking rituals be over? I had heard about this tradition all my life but never cared much for it. Women from various families would be auctioned off as maids to serve the new Mafia king. It was meant to signify loyalty and service to the family, but in reality, it was just another way for people to make money.

And most of all, for other Mafias to brag about their wealth and loyalty to the king.

I sat back down in the Godfather's Seat, watching with mild disinterest as the auction began.

The master of ceremonies stepped onto the stage, his voice ringing out over the murmuring crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us begin! First up, a capable cook and skilled cleaner-an excellent addition to the king's household."

A young woman stepped onto the stage, her posture straight and her expression unreadable. Her dress was simple yet neat, and she carried herself with quiet confidence, her gaze fixed somewhere above the crowd.

"We'll start the bidding at ten thousand!" the announcer declared, scanning the room for interest.

"Ten thousand," someone called almost immediately.

"Twelve thousand," another voice followed smoothly, and the bids continued climbing with ease.

"Fifteen," a man said from the front row, his tone relaxed but firm.

"Twenty thousand!"

The gavel struck the podium. "Sold for twenty thousand!

The woman nodded slightly as she was led off the stage, her composure intact even as the audience murmured in approval.

What a waste of money.....