Chapter 17
Seventeen
“Sofie, wake up.” The soft feminine voice was accompanied by a hand stroking her hair. It was comforting and strangely familiar. She didn’t know why it was familiar, given that though her nannies had been caring, they hadn’t been maternal.
Sofie snuggled deeper, trying to get away from the motherly touch because it did not compliment the dream she’d been having.
In her dream, she was with Andrei, and they were doing far more than just kissing.
“Sofie.”
Dream Andrei held her by the throat, pinning her to the bed, the position at odds with the sweet words he whispered in her ear and the slow gentle thrusts of his cock into her pussy.
“Sofie!” The shout was accompanied by a shock of cold.
Sofie sat up, hair flopping over her face. She shoved it back and glared at Colette, who tossed the blankets she’d snatched off Sofie onto the floor.
“I was having a sex dream!” Sofie said in protest.
“Did you get to finish?”
“No, you woke me up.”
Colette shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Easy for you to say, you have someone to have sex with.” Sofie flopped back on the bed. Her body was still humming with arousal.
Colette winced. “Ah, yes. That’s true.”
“Why did you wake me up?”
“Rolf.”
Sofie sat up. “Who’s that?”
“He’s in charge of the Club Alibi project. He signed off on you being here.”
“Andrei’s boss?”
Colette shrugged again. “Close enough, I think.”
“Is he…here?”
“He’s on a video call and wants to speak to you.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly eight.”
She’d slept in later than normal—often, she rose early to paint with the morning light. Still, her sleep schedule had been a mess for weeks. When Colette came to stay with her, there were nights they’d stayed up drinking and talking all night, while other times, they were up early to work on either their dresses or the necklace in preparation for the gala.
Sofie slipped out of bed. A cupboard door in the corner hid a sink, and Colette had gotten her basic toiletries. She applied toothpaste, then turned to look at Colette, asking, “Why does he want to talk to me?” before sticking the brush in her mouth.
“Andrei filed a preliminary report yesterday. That’s why that other agent came. Rolf now has questions—actually I think Andrei and Landon have some additional questions too.”
Sofie turned to spit. After washing her face, she scraped her hair into a bun—it was tangled because she hadn’t braided it before going to sleep, and brushing it would take too long.
She hesitated for a moment, briefly self-conscious, before stripping naked and digging into the HEMA bag full of supplies Colette had bought her.
“Rolf is a good man,” Colette said as Sofie dressed. “He was with Landon and Andrei when they rescued me.”
It was during one of those late drunken nights that Colette had told Sofie what had happened to her. Sofie knew that Colette had left things out, the pauses and hesitations in her story too obvious to be anything but gaps.
“He just wants information?” Sofie finished pulling on the loose camel pants and oversized white button shirt over a bralette and underwear. The shirt was similar to the ones she wore to paint every day, and she appreciated that her friend had found something that felt like her.
The lacy pale blue underwear and bra weren’t at all like what she wore most days, but very much the sort of thing she would buy herself.
“Yes. They need to have all the information so they can decide what to do.”
“They don’t need to do anything.” Sofie slipped her feet into ballet flats.
“Sofie…” Colette touched her arm. “You understand what's probably going to happen, don't you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What was done to you was a crime. A very serious crime. And I’m so sorry I didn’t realize you’d been forced into it. I would never have come to you had I known that you’d been trafficked and groomed and…” Colette’s eyes were bright with tears.
Sofie stared at her friend, a sinking feeling gripping her.
“Sofie?” Colette reached for her, but Sofie backed up, turning for the door.
“Where are they?”
“There’s an office… I’ll show you.” Colette cast a worried look at her as she went first out the door.
Sofie paused for a moment in the open doorway of the office space, blinking as she realized it was just Landon and Andrei in the room. Rolf was on the large computer monitor.
“Jurisdictional issues will…” Rolf trailed off as Andrei and Landon both turned toward the door.
Sofie’s stomach fluttered when Andrei’s gaze met hers. A smile, softer than his normal sardonic grin, touched his lips, while a wicked glint still lingered in his eyes, especially when they flicked down her body in a quick assessment.
The outfit was comfortable and practical, but for a moment, she felt beautiful in it.
“Ms. Vermeer is here,” Landon said, shifting so that there was a free seat between himself and Andrei, directly in front of the camera.
Sofie sat, nervous until Andrei reached over and took her hand.
He was holding her hand.
Something had changed last night when he kissed her. The problem was, she didn’t know what it meant, if it meant anything at all.
“Ms. Vermeer, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Rolf wore a suit and tie. The wall behind him was bookshelves with what looked like legal tomes as well as binders and a few pictures with what were no doubt important people.
Either his chair was small, or he was an exceptionally large man.
“Hello,” she said, trying to act like she took meetings with people in suits and ties all the time. The way Andrei squeezed her hand made her think she wasn’t doing all that well.
“I’m Agent Pederson. Agent Leonard and Agent… Rather, Mr. Malik have caught me up on your situation.”
“There’s no situation.” She smiled. “I don’t need anything from you.” Sofie hesitated, fairly sure she needed to say something else. “So… Goodbye.”
She started to rise, but Andrei put a hand on her thigh and pushed her back down into her seat.
“This isn’t really a question of what you need,” Rolf said. “A crime was committed. Several crimes in fact.”
“I didn’t do anything illegal.”
Beside her, Andrei shifted, drawing her attention. “Angel, I know you think that saying you just made copies, with no intention of passing them off as originals, somehow makes it not a forgery, but the law is a bit more complicated than that.”
Her stomach felt slimy. “What do you mean?”
“Forgery laws are nuanced and complex. But saying you ‘just made a copy’ of a painting, especially from an original, and didn’t know what it was for, isn’t a defense.”
Sofie’s breathing sped up as panic gripped her. “Are you arresting me, for real?”
“No,” Andrei said vehemently, slanting a glance at Rolf. “We’re not. But I’m telling you that you could be. That you could be arrested and convicted of forgery.”
“But…but my father said...”
“He lied to you.” Andrei twisted in his seat and took both her hands in his. “About a lot of things, I think.”
Sofie’s face heated with shame. She snatched her hands back from Andrei.
“I know that. I’m not a fool. I know my father isn’t… I know.” She swallowed. “I know.”
“Ms. Vermeer,” Rolf said gently, “you were trafficked as a child. Adopted and groomed for the sole purpose of using your skills for financial gain. Even now, what you’re experiencing is forced labor.”
Sofie shook her head but couldn’t speak. Her cheeks and chest were flushed with shame. She wanted to curl up into a stupid little ball and hide.
“Work or service extracted under penalty of violence is forced labor.”
“My father wouldn’t hurt me. He may not be a good man, but he wouldn’t hurt me.” She barely got the words out through a tight throat.
Rolf’s expression softened. “Ms. Vermeer, the men who attacked you weren’t your father’s enemies. They were hired by your father to scare you into compliance.”
“No! They only came because I left my sanctum .”
“Sofie, Angel, please listen.” Andrei reached for her, but she leaned away and refused to look at him. “Even if he declared your house holy ground, that wouldn’t stop someone from kidnapping you from there.”
“It’s not just my house,” she snapped. “It’s my house, the market, and the Basilica of Saint Nicolas. Those places I’m safe and no one can touch me.”
“That’s not true.” Andrei’s voice was no longer soft and caring.
She whipped around to look at him, shocked at the mocking smile on his face as he lounged back in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed.
“You’re smarter than that. You know that those men weren’t really your father’s enemies.” He arched a brow in challenge, as if to say or maybe you aren’t that smart .
The soul-deep shame that had been burning her from within shifted to a different kind of heat. Anger.
“What I know is that if I leave, I’ll never have the chance to get back what is mine,” she snapped.
Andrei’s eyes glittered. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“What my father is or isn’t doesn’t matter.”
“No, what matters is what you are. And what you aren’t is a thief.”
Days ago, she would have been relieved to hear him say that, but this wasn't a confirmation of her lack of thievery. This was a taunt.
“Not yet, but I will be.”
“Good enough to steal something from the Vatican?” Andrei’s brow arched and he shook his head mockingly.
“Yes,” she shot back. “I will. I’ll get back what’s mine.”
“Please stop planning crimes.” Rolf looked pained. “I can hear you.”
“You're going to go steal back all those ‘copies’ you made?” The mocking way Andrei said copies made Sofie want to strangle him.
“No, I don't care about the copies.”
“Forgeries.”
“You said copies first.”
“But they're forgeries.”
Sofie cocked her head, studying him. “I didn't admit to that.”
“But you did admit to having original artworks in your possession, many of which you either suspected or knew belonged in a museum?” Andrei tsked. “Your claim of innocence is getting harder to believe.”
“Innocence?” She smirked. “I never said I was a virgin.”
Andrei flinched at the word “virgin” and Sofie grinned in triumph. This was fun.
He recovered quickly. “The virgin maybe-thief,” Andrei mocked. “Planning to steal all those pieces of art she forged…”
“ That would be stupid.”
“Then what are you stealing?”
“My paintings.”
“Your forgeries.”
“No, my art. My art.” Sofie pressed a hand to her chest as she emphasized the second “my.”
The mocking expression dropped from Andrei’s face. “Your art…”
Sofie sighed. She hadn’t planned to tell anyone, even Colette, this. However, the situation had gotten out of her control, if it had ever been in her control in the first place.
Sofie gestured at the computer keyboard. “May I?”
Andrei had to lean over and type in a password to unlock the computer. His arm brushed against her as he typed, and when he sat back, he placed his hand on her knee, even as she scooted forward in her chair to reach the keys.
A few seconds later, and she had a news article pulled up.
“Oh fuck,” Landon breathed.
Andrei looked at her, back at the article, and then started to laugh.
“What?” Colette said as she burst into the room. “What is it?”
“Were you listening at the door?” Landon demanded.
Rolf sighed. “Will someone please share the screen?”
Sofie scooted to one side so Colette could share her chair, but Colette opted to perch on Landon's knee. It seemed like an odd and intimate position for her to take, given their audience. But then again, these four people shared a bond from when they rescued Colette.
Sofie rolled her shoulders to try and shrug off that familiar feeling of being left behind. Of being the one who stayed at home while others went out and had adventures. Though she was sure Colette would not have described it as an adventure.
“Vatican unveils four newly discovered artworks,” Colette read out loud as Andrei shared what they were looking at with Rolf. “The collection includes an unfinished piece by da Vinci, two unsigned van Goghs, and a Cezan. These pieces, gifted to the church by devout Catholics either before or during the Second World War, were stored in the Vatican Apostolic Archive rather than the Vatican Museum’s art storage. Their discovery is due to an initiative by archive prefect Father Noah Visser to conduct a complete inventory of the archive’s contents.
“Previously thought to house only documents, the archive contains over 35,000 documents in the selective catalogue. The Vatican has stated it now expects to find other works of art hidden within the archive…”
Colette stopped reading as she reached for the mouse. Rather than scrolling down to continue with the article, she clicked on the image at the top. The grid layout showed four very different pieces of art, though each was easily identifiable as belonging to either da Vinci, van Gogh, or Cezan. A few more clicks brought up enlarged images of each individual piece.
Slowly, everyone in the room turned to look at Sofie.
She raised her chin, waiting for someone to say something. She’d assumed, based on Landon and Andrei’s reactions, that they figured out why she brought up this article. But maybe they were the ones who weren't that smart.
“Angel…” Andrei said slowly. “Did you paint those?”
Sofie nodded, but what she said was, “Allegedly.”
Colette made a snorting sound as she tried to stifle a laugh.
“Is your father trying to pass off your original art as undiscovered pieces by famous masters?” Andrei asked.
“I'm glad you're as smart as I think you are.” Sofie tried to imitate his mocking tone.
Andrei shot her a look of warning and gentle threat that made her squirm a little in her chair.
“This is brilliant,” Colette breathed. “The provenience is nearly impeccable. If the Vatican says that these were gifted to the church, who would doubt them? And so many art records were lost during the war, it wouldn’t be hard to say that original sales records are simply missing.”
“To be clear,” Rolf said, “you did not intentionally paint those to be misrepresented as being pieces by the named artists.”
“I painted them as I was trying to find my own style. That’s what you do—you try every style, to see if that’s what you love. And if you are going to do it, why wouldn’t you try to do it in the way the masters did? Those—” she pointed at the screen, “—are some of the first pieces I made after my art residency.”
Sofie’s chest burned with anger and she had to clench her hands together to stop the rage from making them shake. “My gallery was full of my art for years. My father asked me if I needed somewhere to store them, but I said no. I wanted them with me. I was planning to, someday, go back to my mentor at the residency and ask for help putting on my own show. I wanted to wait until I had found my style, and had enough good pieces in it.
“My father would sometimes look at my original pieces, always complimented them. But one day, he came when I was rearranging, and I had all my favorite pieces out on display. He asked specifically about those and a few others. Asked me what pigments, brushes, and type of canvas I used. Then he asked if anyone else had seen them.
“A week later, I…I came home from the market and they were gone. All my original art, gone.”
She could feel Andrei looking at her but kept her gaze on her hands, not sure she was ready to see what he felt about her confession.
“If you didn't create them specifically as forgeries, the authentication will show that they're modern, won't it?” Landon asked.
“Most of my paintings were created using only what the artists of the time would have had. Stretched my own canvas, and made my own paint for those ones they say are van Gogh and Cezan.
“I prepared my own poplar wood panel. Used charcoal first, then ink and watercolor, just like da Vinci did with Adoration of the Magi .” Sofie twisted in her seat to look at Colette. “I know it’s unfinished, but with da Vinci, I like those pieces best.”
“It’s stunning,” Colette said. “And you’re right, the contrast between the section—only sketched, inked in, shaded with the watercolor—is so striking.”
“Thank you.” Sofie’s shoulders scrunched up in pleasure. “I loved making it so much. I wanted to see if I could create the same way they had.”
“And you proved that you can.” Colette was still studying the images on the screen, clicking back and forth between them.
“So the fact that they were in the Vatican archive and they won’t find any modern pigment paints, means no one will look too hard?” Landon ran his hand up and down Colette’s back as he spoke.
“It's more than that. Because some van Gogh expert will look at the brushstrokes and swear they were painted by Vincent himself.” Colette looked first at Landon, then Andrei. “Sofie is that good.”
Sofie’s blush didn’t burn this time, merely a pleasant heat at the praise.
“Van Gogh and Cezan both famously didn't remember to sign every single one of their paintings, so the lack of signature doesn't rule it out either.” Colette’s gaze was unfocused as she thought it through. “Any inconsistencies with the age of the varnish, or lack of dust and cracking, can be explained as previous restoration efforts, better storage…”
“Wait, you said he took everything ?” Andrei’s jaw clenched.
Sofie nodded.
Andrei made a sound that wasn’t a laugh, not a true one. It was a sound that acknowledged how cruel people can be.
“Art is the thing you love above all, and he stole that from you.”
Sofie nodded, but hesitantly. Once, she would have agreed with the statement that art was the thing she loved above all. But that was back when her world had been small.
An odd look of satisfaction crossed Andrei's face. “That's why you stay. Your father stole your art, and you’re waiting. Waiting for…” Andrei paused, studying her. “For him to give you some sort of access to wherever he’s keeping everything. You know you need information, and, if he’s already moved everything to Vatican City, you need access. Once you have that, you’ll steal back your original art. That’s why you stay.”
There it was, the truth of it all. The reason she’d been so desperate to be part of Colette’s heist. The reason she didn’t simply make herself a passport and leave.
She’d never admitted any of this before. Who would she have told? More than that, she only let herself think about all the pieces he’d taken once in a while, because thinking about it too often made her burn with frustration and rage.
To hear the words made it all seem more real…and her plan to somehow steal everything back and then disappear, foolish and best, and stupid at worst.
“Yes.” Sofie nodded, because foolish or not, Andrei was right about her plan and her reasons. “All I have is my art, and I want it back.”
Andrei tuned out what Rolf was saying in favor of studying Sofie’s profile.
It felt as if he were seeing all of her for the first time. She'd been many things over the course of their short acquaintance. He thought that the last piece of the Sofie puzzle was understanding that she’d been groomed and trafficked to be exactly what she was—the best forger in the world.
But even after that revelation, he’d had a niggling sense that there was more.
Though Andrei understood better than most how being a victim of any kind could fuck with one's mindset, he had trouble reconciling the bold woman who dove headfirst into a BDSM scene with him despite never even having been kissed, with the woman who seemingly had been content to stay in her home, leaving only to go the market and church, for years.
She had resources of money and skills, and while he was sure the fact that she’d been conditioned to think of her home as the only safe place played a part, it was the desire to get back what had been stolen that kept Sofie in her cage.
“No.”
Sofie’s vehement denial jerked his attention back to the moment at hand. Fuck. He hadn’t been paying attention. Andrei leaned back to look at Landon behind Sofie’s back as she argued with Rolf.
“Rolf wants to open a case against Visser for human trafficking,” the other man murmured.
“Ms. Vermeer?—”
“No.” Sofie cut off Rolf. “You can’t.”
“I assure you, I can. Of the two crimes—art fraud and human trafficking—the latter is more serious.”
“Don’t do either. Leave him alone.”
“Leave him alone so that you can perpetuate a crime you insisted on planning while in Interpol custody?” Rolf asked archly.
Sofie nodded, but there was a hesitancy to it. She most likely loved her father, despite it all, and he knew how dark and heavy that love was.
“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that, Ms. Vermeer.”
Sofie flinched at Rolf’s negative statement, and Andrei’s jaw muscle flexed. He turned to face the monitor.
“We can’t prosecute human trafficking without willing participation from the victim.”
Rolf’s eyebrow twitched at Andrei’s challenge, but the resolve on his features didn’t waver. “Then we’ll pursue a forgery and cultural fraud case.”
“About what?” Andrei asked. “What piece specifically?”
“In your report?—”
“I made no mention of a specific piece of art we could examine and assess to build our case.”
Now Rolf’s expression cracked, showing his frustration. “Andrei, what are you doing?”
Andrei lounged back in his chair, knowing it made the straitlaced Rolf nuts. “I’m not doing anything.”
There was a heavy silence.
“Come on.” Landon patted Colette’s ass. “I’m just a consultant and we’re way outside the scope of my contract.”
Rolf didn’t speak again until the door had closed behind Colette and Landon.
“What’s the endgame here?” Rolf said. “If there’s no case, then this isn’t an Interpol matter.”
Andrei tensed. “What are you saying?”
“Unless we’re opening a case, either into her human trafficking or art forgery, there’s no reason for Ms. Vermeer to be in our custody, either as a protected witness…or a suspect.”
“What does that mean?” Sofie demanded, then swiveled to look at Andrei. “What is he saying?”
“He’s agreeing not to pursue charges against you for forgery. But if you won’t help us with cases against your father, I can’t keep you in protective custody.”
“Protective custody?” Sofie asked softly.
“That’s how we classified your arrest. A cover for taking you into protective custody. It won’t show as an arrest on your record with local authorities,” Rolf said.
“Oh, I…I didn’t know.” Sofie glanced at him uncertainly.
Andrei could have told her last night in the moonlight after he kissed her, but it would have broken the spell.
Last night, he’d felt the surety about how his life was and would be, fracture and come apart. He’d felt his surety about who he was—cynical, sardonic, carnal agent of the law who’d started life as a criminal—dissolve.
“Are we opening a case or not?” Rolf said.
“No.” Sofie raised her chin, staring down Rolf.
He hid his grin behind his hand.
“Then it’s time for your to leave Club Alibi, Ms. Vermeer. Today.”
Andrei sat up, shaking his head. “No, we need a few days to plan where she’s going to go.”
“I’m going to go home.”
Andrei whipped his attention to her. Swallowing his first words, he instead chose each one carefully. “I know that your home feels like a safe place, but it may not be. Your father may find out you were arrested or that you weren’t at home last night. He may send those same men back to try and scare you again.”
“My father wouldn’t hurt me.”
Andrei swallowed the panic that was clawing up his throat.
“I’ll leave you to sort this out,” Rolf murmured. “I’m sorry we couldn’t…I’m sorry. Andrei, I’ll see you in two days in London. It’s your week.”
Andrei didn't acknowledge Rolf’s words, and ignored the chime as the video call ended.
“I’m not stupid,” Sofie said.
“I don’t think you are.”
“You do. At least a little.”
“No, I think that your father has spent your whole life trying to isolate you. Conditioning you to think?—”
“He won't hurt me, because if he if he hurts me, I might not be able to paint. That's why I don't think those men were my father's men. They hit me on the face.” She pointed at her cheek. “What if they had damaged my eye? Then I couldn't paint.”
Andrei's mouth snapped shut.
“I don't think he won't hurt me because he loves me. I think he won't hurt me because I'm valuable to him.”
All this time, he'd worried about how to help her see the truth about her relationship with her abuser. But his sweet, innocent straightforward Sofie knew the truth.
Andrei suspected she still loved him in some way, because he had built that lovely cage he kept her in around the thing she loved.
“That's a very good point. But I think it's possible that your father's men know exactly how hard they can and cannot hit someone to do permanent damage.”
Now, she looked a little uneasy. “No… No he wouldn’t hurt me.”
There was no point in continuing this conversation. She needed to have it with a licensed therapist.
Andrei backtracked. "We need a plan. You can't just go home.”
“Why not?”
“Fuck, Sofie!” The panic that was now at the top of his throat, almost gagging him, made Andrei explode up out of the chair. “You’re just going to go home and pretend none of this ever happened?”
“I won't pretend it never happened.”
“So what? So you wait and hope that someday your father gives you a hint as to where all your art is and then…”
“And then I call Colette and she helps me plan how I get in and steal it back.”
“Then what?”
“Then I have my art and I…I leave.”
“Are you sure about that?” he snarled, aware his words were cruel.
Sofie flinched, but then got to her feet, standing toe to toe with him.
“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” she insisted.
He needed to talk about this because the thought of letting her walk back in that house that wasn’t a home but a guided cage, was going to drive him insane.
“We are going to?—”
“No, Andrei. We aren’t.”
With a snarl of frustration, Andrei gripped her shoulders. Spinning her around, he forced her back step-by-step until he pressed her against the wall.
Sofie’s breaths were shallow and fast, making her breasts rise and fall.
Andrei leaned down until his lips were almost on hers. She inhaled his breath as he exhaled.
“Andrei.”
He closed his eyes, shoulder and arm muscles bunching as he fought for control.
“I've had very few choices in my life,” she said softly. “Never asked for what I wanted.”
“Angel…”
“But I want something.”
“What do you want?”
“And I want to make a choice. Right here and now.”
“What do you want and what do you choose?”
“I want to have sex, and I want it to be with you.”
That wasn't what he expected her to say. For a moment, he considered saying no, not satisfied with the conclusion of their conversation about what she was going to do next. How she was going to be safe.
But then she pushed away from the wall, her breasts brushing against his chest as her lips touched his, and nothing else mattered except now .
Except being with the woman he was worried he just might love.