Chapter 16 Rapids
Rapids
Penelope dropped her gaze. What was she even doing? She needed to stop making it sound like she and Lucia were…
But she still felt almost breathless. She knew Lucia was talented; after all, she’d been in her studio, yet this was beyond anything she’d expected.
Never mind the entire situation of being here, in Francesca’s villa, discussing theft from the Meridian with the boss of what? Valentina’s rival organization?
Penelope had so many questions. Quite a few for herself, too, like, “What are you thinking?” Followed by, “Get the hell out of here.”
But she stayed.
No, not for Lucia, though she was a compelling reason—this was about her father. A chance to finally win him some justice.
Not the traditional kind; there was no undoing his conviction. But if she could damage Valentina, expose her and whatever she was hiding, maybe injure her standing—that would feel like justice.
And maybe, if she played it right, it could protect her, too. She was already tangled in this mess. Helping them swap the Madonna wouldn’t erase the danger, but it might buy her time. Give her a way to control the fallout, frame the story before someone else did.
Sometimes the only way out was through.
“Hey, are you OK?” Lucia asked.
“Yes. It’s just…a lot.”
“Yeah. Do you wanna go back and talk more with Francesca, or would you prefer to head out?”
“I’m not ready to go home yet,” Penelope said.
Lucia nodded and led the way back to the living room.
“I’m assuming this was supposed to happen during the ball? Someone sneaking in while everyone is distracted?” Penelope asked upon sitting back down.
“You’re sure you’re not secretly a criminal mastermind?” Francesca asked, amusement dancing in her dark eyes.
She was truly an intimidating sight—fierce and composed. A voluminous halo of tight natural curls framed her face with effortless power and elegance—striking, unapologetically bold, impossible to ignore. Good thing Penelope wasn’t easily intimidated.
“Quite. It just makes sense. But you messed up, and now, because of your Bellini, the Madonna will be displayed in the east wing as well.”
“Will it?” Francesca asked.
Penelope opened her mouth, but Francesca cut her off.
“You won’t get any more details until we come to an agreement.”
“Right. Here’s the thing, I’m not committing any crimes. You cannot change your mind and sell the painting on the black market. I need to see some kind of proof that the Madonna truly belonged to your family.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“And how about you tell me what exactly your little Collective does? How are you better than Eris?”
Francesca froze, her expression turning stony. “We’re not in it for money.”
“How does that work? Your operations surely aren’t cheap, and none of you appear destitute.”
Lucia shifted in her seat.
“We’re paid when families get back what was stolen from them.
” Francesca leaned back in her chair. “Sometimes by heirs, sometimes by patrons who want to see restitution done. And, yes, we sell the occasional forgery to those who can afford to be fooled. But the originals? Those go where they belong.”
“So you wash consciences while Eris launders art?” Penelope asked.
“We’re not in it for power.” Francesca’s tone held an uncomfortable edge. “Or hoarding. Eris wants control. We want balance.”
Penelope nodded, unsure what to make of this. “I also…I need to sleep on this. Even if I’m not actively committing a crime, aiding and abetting is a thing.” She took a deep breath. “But I do want Valentina to fall.”
“If Varnelli overreaches, she’ll topple herself. All I care about is the Madonna, but I won’t stand in your way if you go after her.”
Penelope tilted her head. “Why would you? You seem to despise her.”
Francesca grimaced. “It’s complicated, and entirely irrelevant for our issues at hand.”
~ ~ ~
When Penelope returned home, she went on a short walk, trying to burn some of her restless energy and clear her mind. Her thoughts seemed to find order out in the woods, like a volatile molecule stabilizing into perfect symmetry.
She still struggled to reconcile who she was, or thought she was—someone finding and protecting the truth—with who she seemed to become when things came to a head. How quickly she was willing to bend her principles given the right incentive, all to make Valentina bleed.
And save her own neck.
Is that what people mean when they say everyone has a price?
While she said she needed to sleep on this (and she would), Penelope had already made up her mind. She’d work with Lucia and Francesca, at least listen to their full plan and see what they had in store for her. She could still back out if they crossed one of her boundaries.
How funny. Anything criminal used to be a hard boundary. But that was before Valentina used her father as a dispensable pawn to take the fall.
She and Lucia had left things suspended—no goodbye, no promise. Just a request to text tomorrow with her answer. Technically a plan, but it didn’t feel like anything.
Back home, Penelope checked her mail and stiffened upon discovering the letter Valentina had promised. She opened it right there on the porch, skimmed it, and rolled her eyes. As if she were stupid enough to agree to a situation where she’d owe that shark.
A leading role in my foundation. Focused on authenticity, restoration, truth—your father’s favorite words, remember? Think of it as preserving his legacy. Or rewriting it.
Penelope scoffed. Valentina had never cared about her father or his legacy. The nerve of her to invoke authenticity and truth.
She crumpled the letter, stuffed it into her pocket, and stepped inside. Dropping the rest of her mail on the console table near the door, she tossed Valentina’s missive into the small trash bin tucked beneath it.
Penelope froze when her gaze fell on a manila envelope with her mother’s handwriting. She grabbed it and tore it open.
A sticky note curled at the edge: Please be careful, sweetheart. It clung to the top of her father’s notes.
“Finally,” Penelope mumbled. After a few quick steps, she collapsed onto her couch and leafed through the pages.
The first few were mostly regular: lists of itineraries, intake dates, decision dates, notes.
Penelope was halfway through when the tone changed.
Her father’s handwriting grew sharper, harder, laced with frustration.
Underlined questions jumped out: shell companies, suspect provenances, and the name Barry Whitfield.
The name tugged at her memory. She’d seen it recently but couldn’t place it.
She pulled out her laptop, fingers flying across the keys.
It didn’t take long. Whitfield was listed as the Acquisitions Director at Belgrave Trust.
She sat straighter.
A second search led her to an older article buried in an industry archive: Barry Whitfield Joins Belgrave Trust After Tenure at The Met.
The date… Penelope checked again.
Two months before her father’s arrest.
Her pulse thrummed in her ears.
Coincidence? Maybe. But probably not.
She leaned back, staring at the screen. Her father had worked closely with Whitfield—trusted him. If Whitfield had been involved in whatever brought him down…had he played a role in protecting Valentina? Or was he just another opportunist, slipping away before the fallout?
And if Whitfield was tied to Valentina, and then landed at Belgrave…did that mean Belgrave and Valentina were connected?
She only knew Belgrave as a mid-tier fund: reputable enough to get invited to major galas, but never the biggest player in the room. A medium fish in a glittering pond, with some high-profile successes and plenty of discretion.
Although Whitfield’s presence didn’t guarantee Belgrave Trust was involved, these people tended to travel in tight, shadowed circles.
Belgrave was now on her radar. And the thread between them? Worth tugging—and maybe even bringing up with Lucia and Francesca.
Penelope almost dozed off, and without Fuller jumping into her lap, headbutting her chest and asking for treats, she might have.
Her dreams would have been full of shadowy figures and paintings bleeding into each other.
She tended to have bizarre, abstract dreams tied to whatever she’d hyperfocused on before falling asleep.
“Thanks, baby. That dream would have sucked.” She petted Fuller, rising to give her treats, while her mind once more drifted to dark eyes and a smile that promised trouble.
Lucia, her Madonna, and the way she’d looked at Penelope when saying good-bye replayed in her mind.
Penelope didn’t enjoy preoccupations with people. Too complicated and messy most of the time, and the effort and potential fallout never seemed to balance the benefits enough for her to bother.
Then along came Lucia.
Isn’t there a movie or a book with that? Along came… someone? A song?
She tried to push away thoughts of what it would mean to let Lucia into her orderly, well-functioning world. The last time she’d bothered had ended in stale disappointment.
Although, considering she’d just decided to help one band of criminals topple the other, her world likely wasn’t that well-functioning after all.
Did you ever really choose to let people in, or did they just walk inside and make themselves comfortable? That was surely how this thing with Lucia was playing out. And while Lucia hadn’t forced her way in, no compulsion pushed Penelope to evict her either.
Instead, she’d stood there, watching Lucia flop onto a couch, settle deeper into the cushions, and release a contented sigh.
And Penelope? She’d stood frozen, the current already lapping at her ankles. Dread and awe wrestled inside her—equal parts thrill and terror.
She shook her head and filled her water kettle. After making a cup of peppermint tea, she settled on the couch next to a now snoozing Fuller, and glared at her phone, as if her fingers itching to pick it up and text Lucia was the device’s fault.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she mumbled but still picked up the phone and opened their message thread, pausing and staring at the last message.
With a sigh, she typed, What’s the story with you and Skye? and pressed send.
She had so many questions for Lucia, and it made her want to punch something—all the things she wanted to know about her. She didn’t want to talk about the Madonna or all that stood between them.
But after their blah of a good-bye, she wanted something. So, why not combine the two? As justifications went, Penelope usually did better.
Her phone buzzed.
A long tale, but tl:dr, we dated ages ago and since then, we bicker a lot.
You realize a “too long, didn’t read” summary still needs to tell you something?
Lucia added a laughing emoji to her reply.
Three dots appeared.
Penelope stared at them until her eyes almost watered.
We weren’t together long and it wasn’t serious for either. We were just young and dumb, and I suppose hot for each other, lol.
Then why the bickering? Or does she just enjoy taunting you?
She might. Skye is super protective of Francesca. As if I’d hurt her We have a similar background, Skye and I, but she joined a couple of years later.
So you think it’s about Francesca?
Who knows? Skye… She can be quite charming, but sometimes she has this anger and frustration going on, and I’m an easy target, I guess.
You could tell her to stop.
Like you did? That was very sweet, btw. Thank you.
Penelope blushed, her pulse ticking a little too loudly.
Yes, well, I don’t like bullies.
No, I imagine you wouldn’t.
She exhaled sharply.
What makes you say that? Mind you, it’s hardly an uncommon trait.
I stand by what I said: you seem the righteous type.
I used to think so, but I’m having my doubts recently.
It’s understandable. What happened with your father… It wouldn’t leave anyone cold, and it’s natural to want revenge.
Perhaps, but do all people go for that?
If they have the chance, they might. Most people just don’t.
So this is all just happenstance?
Isn’t most of life?
Penelope leaned back against her couch and closed her eyes.
What on earth was she doing, and why did this thing pulsing between them still feel like a rapid that would sweep her away if she dipped more than her toes into it?
And somehow, she still wanted to dive, even knowing the undertow could drag her down.
Worse, why did she feel like jumping in?
This might be the perfect storm to drown in.