11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Emilia
T he rest of the wake drags by, but eventually the last guest leaves.
After thanking Alister for all of his hard work, Silas takes me back to his hotel, and as promised, he runs me a bath and orders one of everything off the room service menu.
I feel the tension slowly leaving my body as I close my eyes and lay back to soak, a glass of sparkling rosé dangles precariously from my hand that hangs out of the tub.
I finally take my first full breath of the day.
A soft knock on the bathroom door draws my attention sometime later, I guess I must have dozed off; the water now cooler and the wine in the glass, is now warm in my hand.
“Foods here, cher,” Silas calls through the door before he cracks it open slightly to speak to me. “Use the robe on the back of the door and come join me before it gets cold.”
“Coming,” I respond with a sigh.
I’m slow to get up and out of the bath, not bothering to wrap a towel around the wet ends of my hair before I slip on the robe that Silas pointed out.
I cinch the belt tight around my waist and pad my way out of the second bedroom.
I pause for a moment when I get to the living area in the middle of the suite and look around in confusion for the food and my friend.
A waft of something delicious tickles my nose, and I follow it into the master suite on the other side of the open plan living area.
Standing in the doorway, I find Silas has removed his jacket, tie, and shoes, and is propped up on a small mountain of pillows on one side of the enormous bed.
There are at least a dozen cloche covered dishes settled between him and the empty side of the bed.
I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms carefully, so I don’t spill the still partially filled glass in my hand, and smile for the first time in what feels like days.
Silas’ eyes light up when he sees me, a big smile blooms across his dark mocha skin.
He really is ridiculously handsome. It’s just a shame that we never felt that spark that could’ve changed our friendship into something more.
But I’m also grateful, because he quickly grew to be my safe place instead.
“Grab yourself a refill and come get settled in,” he says, nodding at the open bottle in a chiller on the cart by the bed. “I didn’t know what you would feel like, so I ordered one of everythin’, just in case.”
“I can see that,” I laugh and grab the chiller.
Once I am settled against my own equally high pile of pillows, I fill my new glass. “I hope there is more of this,” I say, holding up the bottle and raising a brow in question. With a smile he holds out his own used but now empty glass, holding it steady as I pour a refill for him as well.
“What do you take me for? There is a whole case on the bottom of the cart,” he retorts knowingly. He takes the bottle from my hand and puts it in the second chiller that I didn't see between us.
We both sip on our wines and lift the cloches off the plates.
We don’t bother to serve ourselves onto actual plates.
Instead, we just pick at the food with forks to eat our fill in companionable silence, until there are far more empty plates between us than full ones, and the second bottle of bubbles is half empty.
With a contented sigh, I lean back against the pillow mountain behind me and reach over to grab the remote from the bedside table, then flick through the channels hunting for something to watch while Si clears the plates from between us.
He removes the case of wine from the serving cart, placing it on the floor next to the tv unit before wheeling the serving cart out into the main living area near the entry.
When he comes back, Silas sits on my side of the bed curling his leg so he can face me, removing the remote from my hand with a grave look.
“I don’t like that face, Si,” I say
“I know, cher. There are a couple of really important things we have to talk about, but I wanted you to relax and eat a little first.”
A pit opens up in my stomach. This isn’t good.
“Firstly, I need you to know that I wish I didn’t have to push you right now, Emmy. I really do. But our business is not one you can just take some compassionate leave from and there’s someone else who will be there to pick up the slack.”
“I know that, Silas. I know you have been taking the heat for the delays on the Monet, and I am really grateful. I will make it up to you, I swear,” I say, taking his hand in mine.
The contrast between his deep chocolate skin and my pale skin draws my eyes down to our joined hands.
“I’ll get onto it as soon as we get home.
I won’t sleep until it’s done…” the rest of my promises fall away as I look back up to his carefully neutral face, as realisation dawns that this isn’t the bad part yet.
“You know you don’t have to work yourself to the bone to make it up to me, girl,” he says, and I nod slowly. “But the buyers are just done being patient. They have demanded the work be completed and delivered in the next week.”
“A week?” I blow out a breath. Silas only lifts his brows in response, as if I shouldn’t be surprised by their demands. I take a fortifying breath, nodding again slowly. “It will be tight, and not my best work, but I can do it.”
“You’ll have to, Emmy. Because if you don’t, they have made some pretty creative threats against both you, and me.”
“Jesus, Si. What kind of threats? I know you warned me off taking this contract, but I didn’t think I would be taking a job from the mob or something.
” Silas’ wince at my choice of words makes my blood run cold.
“Silas! Did you bring me a contract from the fucking mob?” I practically screech at him in disbelief.
“No, no, no! The Monet contract is not from the mob. Although, if the rumours are true then these people are probably not much better than the mob, and that is on me. I should have vetted them better before bringing you the offer.”
Confusion wrinkles my brow. If the Monet contract isn’t from the mob, then why did he react that way when I joked about it.
It’s Silas’ turn to take a deep breath, which doesn’t settle my nerves any.
“Cher, the other thin’ I have to talk to you about tonight is the gallery.”
“What has that got to do with the mob?” I ask, feeling even more confused.
“I did some diggin’ into your father’s business dealin’s.
Just to see if there were any possible links between his death and how rapidly the police dropped the investigation.
You had your hands full, and I didn’t think it would lead anywhere, so I didn’t say anythin’ about it. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
He pauses, looking down at where our hands are joined, “And…” I urge him to continue.
His eyes lift to mine again after a few moments.
Like he is weighing his next words carefully.
The pit in my stomach only grows deeper when he stands abruptly and starts pacing the room.
“You’re scaring me, Silas. What did you find? Spit it out!”
“Your father was up to his eyebrows in debt until a couple of weeks ago. Just days before his death, the whole lot was paid out. In full. So, of course I looked into it. Follow the money, and all that. There were about six layers of shell companies and fronts. Anyone else would have been lost after the first few. But I knew I had to keep chasin’ for you.
” His pacing increases with the erratic speed the words fall from his lips.
“So, I followed the money, and it led me back to Rossi Enterprises.” My blank faced response clearly shows all the encouragement he needs to explain further. “As in, Vincenzo Rossi.”
“Who?”
“The hottie from the funeral today.”
“Silas, you really need to give me more to go on here. I don’t think I am getting what the big deal about Mr Rossi making large payments to dad is.
I did a clean-up of the office, and I know Rossi Enterprises made some big purchases not too long before he died.
The invoices and shipping manifests were all in order. ”
“You really don’t know who they are?”
“Silas!” I shout in exasperation.
He sits beside me once more with a sympathy in his eyes that I just don’t understand. “Cher, they are the mob. Rossi Enterprises is the legit front for the Rossi family. One of the oldest and most powerful factions of the old Italian mafia based here in Australia.”
“Okay,” I say, still obviously not grasping the gravity of the situation Silas is trying to convey.
“So, the Italian mob bought paintings from my father. I don’t get what the issue is.
From what Vincenzo said today, it seems they are interested in purchasing the galley.
I mean, it wouldn’t be my favourite thing to sell to them, but when I decided to sell the business, I knew that I would have to come to terms with the fact that I’d have no control over what it would become.
Sure, they may run it as a front. But laundering money through a fine art gallery is hardly a groundbreaking business strategy, Si.
I don’t get your issue with them. At least we know they are good for the money, and it will likely be a quick cash sale.
That will get us out of here and back home to deal with the Monet asap. I don’t see a downside?”
“That’s not my issue, girl. If it was just that I would be the first one poppin’ the bubbles to celebrate with you.”
“Then what is it, Silas? Seriously? I’m clearly missing something, so just spit it out.”
Silas drops his eyes to our hands again, unable to look me in the eye as he drops his bombshell. “Because I think they may have killed your father.”