Chapter Eight
Lucian
My father is a fucking asshole…
Anger swirls in my gut at the thought of him. Now that I know what Elena witnessed, it’s no wonder he wanted her dead. She saw him commit a murder, so she has to go.
Just like my mother…
There has to be something incriminating in the painting that Warren gave to Elena, something big enough to have him murdered.
My feet pad softly on the plush carpet of my office as I walk inside. It’s the one place in my home that’s slightly more decorated and lived-in, simply because I spent the majority of my time in my office before Elena’s arrival. Now I look forward to seeing how she will make the rest of the house a home, since I’ve given her free rein to decorate as she pleases.
At the thought of Elena, my mouth goes sour with self-blame. I don’t feel good, knowing that I’m keeping things from her. The moment she identified Warren’s killer I should have told her the truth—my father and Senator Walter are one and the same. But I need to tie up a few loose ends first.
I’ve already gotten the ball rolling by sending all the evidence to bring him down to my FBI contact. And now that I have evidence that ties him to Warren’s death, it’s even better. This way, I’ll find a way to keep him from Elena for good.
I slide into the seat behind my huge desk and dial Roman West’s number. He’s an art dealer like me, and last I heard, he was engaged to Warren’s daughter, Bella Flint. If anyone should know about the content of the painting Warren left with Elena, it would be him. My gaze slides to the clock hanging on the wall. It’s just past seven pm.
Not too late, thankfully.
Just when I start to think he won’t pick up, his gravelly voice cuts through the phone to my ears.
“This better be urgent, Lucian,” he barks in a disgruntled tone.
A humorless smile curls on my lips. Roman is someone I would almost consider a friend. We have a lot in common. “Hello to you too,” I drawl.
“As much as I’d like to shoot the breeze with you,” he says in a voice that suggests otherwise, “my woman is waiting on me and I’m feeling impatient.”
The image of a distressed Elena rises in my mind, and I realize that I echo Roman’s sentiment. I don’t like leaving her alone in the room either. Especially now that she’s gotten back her memories. She needs me by her side more than ever.
Yet, I can’t take a chance on her life. Ever since my father’s threat to her life, I’ve been hard-pressed to find his reason. And now that I have everything I need on a platter, I know I have to take action as soon as possible.
“Do you have any leads on Warren’s murder and the stolen artwork?” I ask.
“How did you know I was investigating that case?” His voice is suspicious, and I can imagine his scowling features.
“Don’t insult me, Roman. Anyone who knew Warren is aware that he wasn’t in danger of killing himself. And I know how you feel for his daughter—if it’s anything like what I feel for my Elena, I know you’ll leave no stone unturned until you find her father’s murderer.” I’m extending an olive branch by making my vulnerability for Elena known.
“Besides,” I add, “I respect Donovan as an artist. I don’t want his legacy tainted by a lie. So I contacted my informant and he told me the crime scene didn’t look like Warren committed suicide. The theory is that he was murdered in a different place and then dumped in his cabin where the killer staged the suicide.” Elena’s testimony has confirmed that this is more than a theory, but I don’t intend to let Roman in on that. She has to be protected at all costs. When it comes to her, I trust no one.
“When did you realize Bella is Warren’s daughter?” Roman asks.
“The moment she infiltrated the auction house acting as the auctioneer,” I reply. My voice is as impassive as they come.
“Fucking bastard,” he declares without heat, making me smile. “You knew she was his daughter from the beginning. That’s why you didn’t alert security.”
“She has his eyes. If you paid attention, you would have noticed. But you were too busy falling into her clutches,” I drawl.
“The same way your Elena fell into your arms,” he declares. “Don’t test me, I have my own reach too.” He sounds casual, but I hear the subtle warning in his words.
A dark chuckle leaves my lips. “I knew I liked you.”
“Be grateful I like you too,” Roman grumbles.
This time I laugh openly, and his amused chuckle reaches my ears. There’s a moment of silence after, and I wonder if both of us are thinking about how cold and cutthroat our interaction would have been in the absence of the women who brought laughter into our lives.
I clear my throat. “So, what have you learned so far? Maybe I can be of assistance.”
“Nothing tangible,” he says. “I know his death is linked to the auction house—he had the access card, and you and I both know he’s never been a member of the auction. Sergio tried to kidnap Bella to find the missing painting, which leads us to believe that someone in the auction house wants the artwork badly enough to kill Warren for it. I’m convinced the painting holds the evidence to bring down the auction house, and when I find it no one is getting in my way.”
“I have no intention of getting in your way, Roman. In fact, I’m going to help you. I have the location of the missing painting.”
His shocked silence becomes apparent even over the phone. “Why would you want to do that? You’ll be affected.” Disbelief is evident in his tone.
“No, I won’t,” I say firmly. “I know you think I have a hand in the sex trafficking going on at the chapel, but you’re wrong. I’ve long wanted to close it down, but you know how these things work. If I save only a few girls, hundreds could replace them, and in a different hidden location. And make no mistake, the man we’re dealing with is my father. He’s the one pulling the strings, and he’s Senator Walter.” I pause for a beat to allow the information to sink in, silently respecting Roman for his non-reaction.
My father has done an excellent job of keeping his public and private lives separate. People like Roman, who know my father is the owner of an illegal auction house, have not often seen his face—or at least, not in the light. They don’t know that he’s a well-respected man in the light of day.
I continue, “And even though I know his identity, I can’t just report him, because he’s hiding behind layers of cooperation and protection. He’s powerful. He has powerful people backing him up, people who won’t risk exposure of their own sadistic acts and secrets. So, I had to bide my time and find irrefutable evidence that will hold up in court. The FBI are making their move as we speak. And I plan to only deal in stolen artifacts and artwork once this is all done.”
Roman’s silence is more calculating than shocked. It’s as if he’s testing whether my words are believable. “Okay, I’ll bite. Where’s the stolen painting?”
As I recite the name of the café and address, my office door flies open and Elena enters. Her expression is one of shock and betrayal.
“Roman, I have to go,” I say tersely, hanging up before he can say a word more.
“Elena,” I say softly, pushing back my chair, “I know what you heard, but I promise it’s not what you think.”
“Please, Lucian,” she says, “stay where you are.”
I can see she’s hurting. It takes all my control to remain in my seat, my hands gripping the chair arms tightly. “I didn’t betray you, love,” I say softly.
“But you did. I trusted you because I love you, Lucian. Why did you do this?” Her voice is tight with pain.
My heart soars at the knowledge of her feelings for me. But I know it’s not the right time to let her know the depth of my emotions when it comes to her. I watch her eyes turn stricken as they fix on something behind me.
Shit! I don’t need to turn around. I know she’s looking at a picture of my father and me. If I’d known the fucking picture would bite me in the ass, I wouldn’t have displayed it in the first fucking place. I have no attachment to it, just a need to be reminded of my hatred every day.
Even though I know there’s nothing I can say to ease her pain, I hope to try.
“Elena, he is—”
“No!” she cuts me off. “How could you, Lucian? You sat there in the room and comforted me as I talk to you about this murderer. You acted all concerned, when you’ve known about it all along.”
“Elena, you can’t believe—”
“I don’t know what to believe!” she snaps. “I’ve just regained my memories, only to find you telling someone where I kept the artwork, and then I see a picture of you with someone who might kill me if he knows I’m alive. What do you expect me to think?”
There’s a resounding silence as I digest her words and realize she has a point. Despite the searing pain I feel in my soul at the prospect of losing her trust in me, I open my mouth to try to explain myself.
“Was it fun?” she asks, halting my explanation once again.
“What do you mean, love?” I ask.
“Tricking me—was it fun?” Her voice is lifeless now.
My chest tightens and I clamp my jaw hard, stifling my emotion. “I didn’t trick you, Elena. If you’ll just hear me out, then—”
“I’m tired, Lucian. I don’t want any more lies from you. Please just let me go.” She turns and walks out of my office, taking my shattered heart with her.
Every nerve in my body screams at me to keep her with me and make her listen until she understands that I didn’t betray her, but I remain in place. A few minutes later, the intercom in my office buzzes. “Sir, Miss Elena is at the gate. Should I let her leave?” my security guard asks.
“Let her do whatever she wants—and follow her discreetly and keep her safe,” I order. “I’ll have Doug replace you at your station.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’ll give her some time to let go of her anger, but if Elena thinks I’ll just forget her then she has no idea of how tenacious I can be.