Vicious Minds: Part 3 (Children of Vice 6)

I was human.

I was put on this earth to fight it out to get to the top, against other humans, so I would not feel ashamed. I would not regret it. I would not even wash the blood off my hands. Yes, this was me. And no matter how evil, cruel, or ruthless anyone thought me to be…they were still going to turn their head and give me respect. Because they knew, deep down, what kind of person you were didn’t matter so long as you were at the top.

“Over the last year, she took the reins and has proven herself to be a guiding light, an unmovable force of change and good. Providing us with so many unique and creative ideas, such as the one we are all here to partake in today. She has donated her time to uplifting women and children, as well as created over two hundred new opportunities for orphan teens across the state, allowing them not just to see, but to be a part of fine arts. Ladies and gentlemen, I have the distinct honor and privilege of introducing one of the kindest and most charitable women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, Chairwoman of the Chicago Women’s Association of Fine Art, Calliope Orsini Callahan, please help me welcome her to the stage,” announced Fatimah Gupta, the wife of the former mayor of Chicago, the man Ethan had killed and hung from a bridge. She turned to welcome me up onto the stage with the fakest smile on her face.

Ethan, always the public gentleman, gave me his arm to help me stand from the table. I could see the amusement in his eyes at her introduction. But I ignored him, and I walked forward and took the stage’s stairs as everyone else applauded. There, Fatimah held open her arms to me and me to her. We kissed each other’s cheek, and it almost reminded me of Judas as he kissed Jesus. Not that I was Jesus. But Fatimah had made a lot of silver on the death of her husband over the last year, milking every eye for sympathy, support, and power. Playing the grieving widow despite the fact that she’d been in a very serious affair and was even pregnant with her lover’s child, to which she passed on as her dead husband’s. And knowing that made her tolerable.

“Thank you, thank you,” I smiled, nodding as the applause died down. “To say that I am grateful to the Chicago Women’s Association of Fine Arts, for making me their Chairwoman, would be a lie. When they asked, I did not think I was qualified, especially after being a member for such a short time. But after seeing the amount of paperwork, I now understand why they gave it to the new girl.”

Few chuckled while others just grinned at me.

“When we announced an auction of women for this year’s fundraiser, I was lambasted by women’s rights groups and other female empowerment leaders for creating an atmosphere of sexism—words of one, Molly Wright, on Twitter this morning. Another said it was archaic and downright unoriginal.”

“Boo…”

“No, don’t boo.” I shook my head. “I do not believe in booing; I believe in money. And if they could pay a figure large enough not to hold this event, an amount that provided hundreds of services which promoted and uplifted artists, managers, curators—both male and female—all over this city, I would have taken that offer. But they did not. So here we are. Women of free minds and free will…” I grinned, glancing over at Ethan, “seeing how much our spouses are willing to pour out for us. I’ve already informed mine to call the bank and give them a forewarning.”

That got more laughter. A few men even lifted their glasses to Ethan as he shook his head. Finally, he just nodded, a small smirk on his lips.

“But in all seriousness,” I spoke, drawing their attention back to me. “Fine arts, in fact, all art, I would argue, has always been centered around one thing…beauty. The appreciation of beauty in our humanity. From Sandro Botticelli’s Birth of Venus to Johannes Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring to Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Artists have looked upon women in the flesh and said this beauty must be remembered for all time. The beauties here today for this auction may be forever cemented in history. The top three givers, will painted and displayed in the Chicago Museum of Fine Arts by the world-renowned painter, Antonello Torre Di Bello, who is here today.”

I motioned to him, and he rose from his seat to a round of applause.

“So, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, please open your wallets and let us begin. Fatimah.” I stepped aside so she could start.

She moved forward, but before I could walk down the stairs, she said, “Mrs. Callahan, where do you think you’re going? You’re obviously our first contestant.”

I shook my head. “My husband has a tendency to go overboard. I wouldn’t want to make anyone else feel uncomfortable right at the beginning—”

“One dollar!”

I turned to see Ethan holding an auction paddle in the air with a full grin on his stupid mouth for that embarrassing offer. I cracked my jaw to the side, my eyes narrowing on him. Looking back to Fatimah, I smiled and nodded. “I guess I’m first, and the starting bid is one dollar. Obviously, I’m unloved.”

“Very well. Two dollars!” Ethan yelled.

I was going to kill him later.

If he wanted to play like that. So, would I.

I glanced down over at Dino, who stood behind him, toward the corner of the room. However, he would not look at me—the traitor.

“Mr. Callahan, apparently you are blind to your blessing,” Antonello Torre Di Bello said, lifting his paddle. His blue eyes glowed like a superhero. “Twenty thousand for the beauty with the gray eyes.”

At that, I winked. Because that took balls. Normally, no one else would bid against a Callahan, especially Ethan Callahan, to his face…over his woman. But since he did, everyone else no longer felt afraid to.

“25,000.”

“25,000 to the man in a gray suit.” Fatimah finally remembered to do her job.

“50,000.”

“50,000 to the man on the right.”

I stopped listening, quite frankly, all of these numbers were far too low, and I was very annoyed Ethan had put me on this fucking path. I did not like standing up here for any longer than a second. I had told him that in the car. Which was why he was supposed to start at two million, and then I’d giggle and walk off as he settled on five.

And here we were just getting to $200,000. Ethan did not raise his paddle. Instead, he was scrolling through his phone. The son of a bitch was doing this just to piss me off. Oh, I was going to most definitely hold another one of these and let him be bought by some unattractive woman with frog lips.

“We have $350,000—”