Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
My studio was sacred to me. It was my sanctuary, and I rarely invited others to step inside. Which meant there was no need for me to hide anything away…unless I intended to have a visitor who wasn’t allowed to see most of its contents.
I met his gaze. “Is this your way of asking if I plan to bring her here? I’ll save you the time. The answer is yes.”
He raised a brow, his penetrating stare once again boring into me. “Do you think that’s wise, considering her obsession with proving that Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence is a forgery?”
Again, I wasn’t fazed by how much he knew about Kerrigan, but it didn’t stop it from pissing me the fuck off.
After a tense silence, I sighed. “I’ve been careful. But…” I shrugged. “No matter how many times I tell myself to do it, I haven’t been able to distance myself from her.”
Rafa nodded slowly. “I understand. There’s no universe where I could’ve walked away from Vivienne.”
“You didn’t tell her about The Family right away,” I reminded him.
“Vero,” he agreed with a sharp nod. “But I always knew I would because I wasn’t willing to lose her.”
Nor was I willing to let Kerrigan go. But I worried that bringing her into my dark world would destroy her light. Or send her running.
Rafa seemed to read my thoughts. “It’s not an easy choice. But you’re walking a fine line, fratello. One wrong step, and she might learn something that gets her killed.”
My jaw tightened, fists clenching. Before I could speak, Rafa held up a hand.
“Rilassati, Aston. I’m not threatening her. Not yet. But if she learns too much, the situation changes. You were born into The Family. You knew the risk the moment you gave her your name.”
Merde.
He was right. I fucking hated that he was right.
It was why I’d gone to such lengths to keep Kerrigan in the dark. To distract her from the truth about Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence.
“I know,” I said through gritted teeth.
Rafa’s expression remained impassive, his voice devoid of emotion.
Not being able to get a read on him was always frustrating as fuck.
“Every time you reveal something to her, you put her in more danger. Not just from us. Eventually, our enemies will notice her. Even if she knows nothing, they might not believe it. They’ll see her as leverage.”
I inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, trying to calm the fury burning beneath my skin.
“If it comes to that, I’ll make sure she has protection. Like Vivienne and Gabbi.”
“And what will you tell her when she asks why she needs guards?”
I raked a hand through my hair and paced. “I haven’t figured all this shit out yet.”
Rafa pushed off the wall and stepped in front of me, planting his feet and crossing his arms.
“The time will come—and I suspect it will be sooner than you think—when you’ll have to choose. Protect her by walking away or bring her into the shadows.”
I nodded. Sometimes, I wanted to deck the salaud for being so damn logical. But it would just make me the bastard, especially when Rafa wasn’t smug about it.
He turned to leave, then paused at the door, looking back at me over his shoulder. “If you choose the latter, you better be fucking sure she can be trusted. Because if she can’t... it won’t just be her life on the line.”
Then he was gone.
“Franco,” I greeted Rafa’s executive assistant as I approached.
“Bonjour,” he replied with a crooked smile.
Complete opposites, it amazed me that Franco and Rafa worked so well together. Where Rafa was stoic and impossible to read, Franco wore his emotions on his sleeve.
He was like a little brother to me, but his cheery disposition could sometimes grate on my nerves. However, seeing as how I was not a ray of fucking sunshine, that was more my issue than his.
“Was there a problem with the paperwork?”
Franco’s expression fell, and he sighed. “The auction house swapped out one of the paintings at the last minute.”
I frowned, taking the papers he held out to me. “Putain de merde,” I growled when I saw the name of the new addition. Chez Tortoni by Édouard Manet. “Is this real?”
“As far as we know. Charles inspected the painting before it boarded the ship. He said the only person who could have done a forgery that good was you.”
Chez Tortoni had been stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum thirty-five years ago. There was even a ten-million-dollar reward offered for its return.
My reputation, as well as the gallery’s and the museum’s, were spotless, but rumors still swirled constantly. Whispers of possible ties to organized crime.
If the painting turned up in the possession of the Belladonna Gallery or Vellum & Vine, it would likely catch the notice of the authorities. And the insurance investigators. Which could lead to further scrutiny of any other lost works of art we “recovered.”