Chapter Twenty #2
“So I suggest you remove yourself from this deal before the fan spreads the shit,” he continued. “Leave the profits — and the risks — to others.”
“Risks?” I gulped.
Silence was his only reply, and my imagination filled the void with graphic images of powerful hands choking the life out of poor Raisa.
“Do you think her death was meant to send a message?” I finally asked.
He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “The phone call I received was much clearer.”
I gaped. “Someone threatened you? Who?”
He thought that over, then said, “I have made a fortune — and lived to a ripe old age — by recognizing when the reward outweighs the risk. And let me assure you, this is not one of those times.”
I froze because, yikes. If an arms dealer found this too risky, I sure as hell should too.
The line went silent as we both chewed over our own thoughts — and fears, in my case.
A thought struck me, and I glanced at the office door. Still firmly closed.
I walked to the far end of the suite and whispered into the phone. “Will you answer one question, please?”
“It depends on the question,” he chuckled.
I found myself admiring his ability to maintain a sense of humor in a time of murder and mayhem. Essential qualities for a man in his line of work, I supposed.
“What commission did Gordon say he would charge?” I whispered.
Bogdan huffed. “Twenty percent — on top of the selling price. Outrageous. But fitting, perhaps, given the risks.”
Years ago, I’d interned at an auction house, and risks had occasionally come up, but never, ever the kind that left people dead. What had I gotten myself into?
Bogdan sighed, signaling the end of our call. “Give my best to Anastasia Nikolaevna. It was truly a pleasure.”
“I’m sure she would be happy to hear from you,” I threw in. It was a terrible time to play matchmaker, but I couldn’t help myself. “Even if that might be some time from now and not in relation to artwork.”
He chuckled. “You think so?”
I did indeed. And why not strive to create something positive amid all this shit spread by the proverbial fan?
“I believe so, yes,” I said.
* * *
The minute I could flee Celeste’s suite, I did, heading next door to where the others waited. Everyone looked up when I opened the door, and while no one said a word, I saw the question marks in their eyes.
Most of all, though, I saw Marius, looking more anxious than ever. More than I thought him capable of.
And just like that, all the unnecessary clutter around my emotions fell away, leaving what mattered most: love. Devotion. Respect.
My feet flew across the floor, and a second later, we were hugging tightly. Not just me hugging him but him hugging me like a dragon’s greatest treasure.
He buried his face in my shoulder and breathed me in. I closed my eyes, clutching his back. His body warmed mine, and in the recesses of my mind, a single thought registered.
Actions speak louder than words.
So, to hell with Gordon’s file. To hell with my own doubts. To hell with anything that stood between me and my man.
Yes, we would definitely have to work on our communication. No, he shouldn’t have secretly marked me. But he was a good man at heart, and he loved me.
I sensed the others shuffling uncomfortably. Well, to hell with them too.
Then I caught myself and pulled away. I loved Marius, but I’d come to love the others too. Not in the same, desperately passionate way, but as friends. And maybe we hadn’t been thrown together by chance. Maybe that was destiny too. From day one, we’d been in this together.
And now, on a day with all hell breaking loose, we needed one another more than ever.
I drew back and turned to the others.
“Nice to see you too,” Bene quipped.
I did my best to look stern. “For the record, I’m still furious.” I pointed at Marius. “Especially at you. But right now…” I stopped talking and switched to body language.
I opened and closed my hands in a chatting motion, then pointed around. We need to talk.
Next, I put a finger over my lips and pointed to the adjoining suite. In a way they can’t overhear. Because it wasn’t unreasonable to assume Gordon had tapped our room.
Finally, I raised my hands, palms up. So, what do we do?
What seemed hopeless to me was child’s play to men trained in skills most law-abiding citizens had no clue about, let alone use for. Bene motioned Marius and me onto the small balcony off the far bedroom, while Roux turned the television to a sports channel and cranked up the volume.
Zoom! Zoom! Race cars sped around and around a course.
“Formula One,” Bene murmured. “Perfect.”
Roux and Henrik joined us, and we huddled together in that tiny, exposed space. Yet I felt safer and more comfortable than in Celeste’s warm, enclosed suite.
My eyes met Henrik’s, and his hit the floor. So, maybe vampires could feel shame. I wouldn’t count on that to save my life, but I figured I was safe enough for now.
“What did Gordon say?” Bene asked.
I skimmed over the details and got to the point. “As I see it, we need to figure out how to protect ourselves from whatever goes wrong next — including whatever surprises Gordon pops on us.”
Henrik frowned. “You think he has something planned?”
Roux chimed in before I could. “No, but he isn’t above throwing any of us under the bus.”
His eyes landed on Marius and stuck like glue.
“Everyone but her.” Bene pointed to me.
I grimaced. “Maybe, but I have the feeling my immunity might wear out soon.”
Henrik shook his head. “Worst case, he’ll find a way to send you home and keep you out of trouble.”
I hated the thought, but he was right.
“So, where do things stand now?” Bene asked. “With the art deal, I mean.”
Roux rubbed his chin, thinking aloud. “Raisa is dead. That leaves the Bulgarian and the tech guy.”
I shook my head. “Bogdan just pulled out. That leaves Jensen.”
Briefly, I filled them in on what the Bulgarian had reported.
“Jensen was Gordon’s top choice all along,” Bene mused.
I shot Roux a look, but he just shrugged. “Gordon will always do what earns him the most.”
I heaved an inner sigh. Clearly, I had to adjust my assumptions about Gordon from bad to worse.
“According to Bogdan, Gordon stands to earn twenty percent of the selling price,” I murmured, doing a quick calculation. “Twenty percent of eighty-seven million…”
“Seventeen-plus million,” Henrik supplied.
“On top of the selling price,” I emphasized. “If Jensen doesn’t cut Gordon out of the deal.”
Marius snorted. “He can’t be that stupid.”
“Maybe he’s that confident,” Henrik mused.
I made yet another vow to cut ties with my godfather — soon.
Then I caught myself. Soon wasn’t good enough. I needed a deadline.
As soon as this mission was over, I decided, and as soon as the guys completed their contract.
“Will Anastasia even sell the painting to Jensen?” Bene asked. “Will she agree to cutting Gordon out of the deal?”
“Someone killed Raisa and strong-armed Bogdan,” I pointed out. “That someone could be just as ‘convincing’ to Anastasia.”
“The question is, who is he?”
“Or she,” I said.
We all looked in the direction of the adjoining suite.