Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lucas
As I stepped out of the car and approached Ella’s front door, nervous energy crackled through me. I had been holding everything back—every thought, every emotion—just to keep myself together. Now, standing here, my hand froze before knocking. What could I even say to make this right?
Before I could decide, the door swung open. Ella stood there, her wide eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, the world stopped. Then we moved toward each other, meeting halfway, as if no force could keep us apart. My arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. She buried her face in my chest, clutching my shirt like letting go wasn’t an option.
“I missed you,” I murmured into her hair. The words barely scratched the surface of everything I felt.
She tilted her head back, her eyes shimmering. “Me too,” she whispered. That was all it took for the dam inside me to break.
I cupped her face and kissed her—deep and urgent, letting it say what words couldn’t. She kissed me back just as fiercely. It wasn’t neat or controlled. It was messy and raw, driven by everything unspoken between us.
I didn’t know how long we stood there, tangled in the doorway, but it wasn’t long enough. Every part of me wanted to lose myself in her, to let her chase away my worries. But I knew better.
With a shaky breath, I pulled back, resting my forehead against hers. “We need to talk,” I said softly, my thumb brushing her cheek. “Before we let this blur everything else.”
She nodded, her breathing uneven. “You’re right,” she said, though there was reluctance in her voice. “We need to discuss this calmly.”
I stepped back just enough for her to lead me inside, my hand still holding hers like a lifeline. Her warmth grounded me, yet uncertainty loomed. One thing was certain—I couldn’t face the future without her.
We settled onto the couch, but the air between us was heavy. I tried to focus on her, but restless tension gnawed at me. Ella curled her legs under her, fingers loosely laced as though bracing for what came next. I reached for her hand, needing the anchor.
Before I could start, a warning flashed across the TV screen. Ella’s hand twitched in mine as both of our gazes shifted to the breaking news banner. Then the image appeared.
My father.
Alistair Devereux, in a tailored suit, was being escorted out of the gallery by two uniformed men. His expression was calm, but the strain in his jaw was unmistakable.
“This just in,” the anchor announced, “Alistair Devereux, owner of the prestigious Devereux Gallery, has been taken in for questioning regarding a sting operation connected to looted art. Authorities have been investigating the gallery for months, focusing on alleged dealings in stolen works from the mid-20th century.”
The camera zoomed in on my father being led to a black SUV. “It remains unclear if others connected to the gallery—such as family members or business associates—are involved. This story is still developing.”
The room fell silent except for the murmur of the news. I stood abruptly, my pulse pounding. My hands flew to my hair as panic clawed at me. “I need to do something,” I muttered, pacing before turning back to Ella. “I can’t just sit here.”
“Lucas, stop,” she said firmly, stepping in front of me, her hands on my chest. “There’s nothing you can do.”
I shook my head. “I have to help him. I have connections, lawyers?—”
“No, Lucas.” Her tone sharpened. “This isn’t something you can fix.” She searched my face. “Don’t you see? This is exactly what I was afraid of. They’ll pull you into this too.”
Her words hit like a punch. “Why would I be pulled in?”
Ella crossed her arms, hesitation flickering across her face. “Because they don’t care if you were involved or not. You’re his son. They’ll assume.”
I stared at her, my father’s face still burned into my mind. The whispered implications. The world was tilting on its axis. “What do you mean this is what you were afraid of?” I asked. “Ella, what aren’t you telling me?”
She bit her lip, her telltale sign of hesitation. “Lucas…” she exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want to tell you—not like this—but there’s no point in hiding it anymore.”
I braced myself. “Tell me what?”
“It started with Maria and Marshall,” she said carefully. “Marshall works for the Dade County District Attorney’s Office. When he heard about my connection to you and your family, they warned me.”
“Warned you?” My stomach twisted. “About what?”
Her gaze softened, and sadness laced her voice. “About your family’s dealings. The gallery. They told me it’s not just rumors—there’s evidence linking your father to looted art.”
I stared at her, the words sinking like stones in my gut. “You believed them?”
“I didn’t want to,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “But then I remembered about that conversation I overheard between you and Elizabeth in New York.”
I frowned. “Wait—you overheard—what exactly?”
She hesitated, steeling herself. “I heard Elizabeth warning you about Alistair. She said he was playing with fire and that he’d stop at nothing to protect his secrets. She told you to get out before it was too late.”
I clenched my jaw, the memory of that conversation rushing back with a fresh wave of guilt. I’d brushed it off, convinced I could handle whatever fallout might come. Now, it was clear how na?ve I’d been.
Ella continued, her voice softer now. “That’s when I realized… I couldn’t be part of this. I couldn’t risk getting pulled into something so—so dangerous, Lucas. That’s why I wanted to end things.”
I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my face. “Ella, I—” I stopped, unsure of what to say. An apology felt too small, too hollow, for everything she’d gone through because of me. “I didn’t know,” I said finally. “I didn’t know what to do. I knew it was wrong, but…”
Her expression shifted, something between relief and frustration. “It’s not just about being unethical, Lucas. It’s about the fact that you’re in the middle of it, whether you realize it or not.”
Her words stung because they were true. The implications were everywhere now, closing in faster than I could process. I sank onto the couch, my head in my hands. “This is insane,” I muttered.
Ella sat beside me, close enough that her warmth was a reminder she was still here despite everything. “There’s more,” I said, my voice low. “Something that doesn’t sit right with me.”
She tilted her head, waiting.
“A few days ago, I was in my father’s office,” I explained. “A woman was there. Svetlana. She was there to pick up a painting—a Chagall.”
Ella’s eyes widened, her lips parted slightly. “Which Chagall?”
I hesitated, realizing the weight of what I was about to say. “ The White Angel .”
Her reaction was instant—a sharp intake of breath, her hand flying to her mouth. “Lucas, do you have any idea—do you know what that means?”
“Of course, she bought it from my father,” I admitted. “Now I think she was there for something else. She was part of the sting operation.”
Ella’s question hit me hard. “Lucas. Is it true? Does your family deal in stolen art?”
There was no point pretending anymore and hoping I could somehow change things on my own. “Yes,” I admitted. “It started with my great-grandfather during the war. He acquired stolen pieces—paintings, sculptures, relics. After the war, those pieces became the foundation of our family’s wealth.”
I paused, the weight of it pressing on me. “My grandfather expanded the collection, turning the gallery into the perfect front. By the time my father took over, it was a full-blown operation.”
Her expression didn’t change, but her silence urged me on. “I wasn’t part of the deals, but I knew. My father had me move pieces and check on them. I told myself I wasn’t involved, but I was complicit.”
Ella’s voice was gentle. “What about your mom?”
“She knew and fought him for years. She wanted to end it, but my father wouldn’t. That’s why she left him—and tried to get me to leave too.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked softly.
I shook my head. “He made it impossible. He dangled the lifestyle—money, the penthouse, everything. I was young, and I fell for it.”
Her hand covered mine, grounding me. “You were young, but you’re not now.”
I met her gaze, drawn in by the quiet strength behind it. “I have to make this right,” I said, the weight of it settling in my chest. “I want to return the pieces—make restitution. It’s what my mom always wanted.”
Ella didn’t hesitate. “Then let’s do it,” she said, steady and sure. “Together.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. Mom. Her name lit up the screen like a warning. I hesitated, then answered. “Hey.”
Her voice was tight. “A friend just called. Lucas, have you seen the news?”
“I have.”
“You need to call your attorney. They might bring you in for questioning.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I said, but the words felt thin, unconvincing.
“That doesn’t matter,” she shot back. “You need to be prepared.”
I let out a slow breath, my eyes flicking to Ella. “I’m not going to fight this, Mom. I’m returning the stolen art.”
Silence stretched on the line. Then, softly, “You are?”
“Yes. It’s the right thing to do.”
Her voice softened. “Lucas, I’m proud of you. You know I wanted to do the same for years, but your father… he made it clear what would happen if I tried.”
“You didn’t deserve that!”
“No, but I didn’t want you caught in the crossfire.” She paused. “Be careful. Your father will fight to protect what’s his.”
“I know. But I’m done letting him control this.”
“Then I’ll support you,” she said firmly. “Just call your attorney.”
“I will.”
I set the phone down as Ella reached for my hand. “You’re doing the right thing,” she said quietly. For the first time, I felt like I was.
I leaned back, rubbing my temples. "I don't know where to begin," I muttered.
Ella shifted closer, her hand on my arm. "Decide what's important," she said. "I have connections in the art world who can guide us through restitution cases."
I turned to her, amazed at her resolve. "You didn't sign up for this."
She cut me off. "I'm here because I want to be. This isn’t just your fight anymore."
I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “I don’t know how you do it,” I murmured. “How you still look at me like this after everything.”
She smiled faintly. “Because I know who you are beneath it all.”
I leaned forward, pressing my lips to hers. The kiss was slow at first, then deepened as she slipped her hand to the back of my neck.
“Ella,” I murmured, my voice raw. “I need you with me. But if I stay, if they come after me, what happens to you? To Bess?”
She shook her head. “No, Lucas. I’ll tell the truth. I’ve seen no evidence of stolen art. And besides… I’m not letting you do this alone.”
Her quiet conviction pierced through my doubts. For the first time, I was determined to resolve my family’s issues and restore our name.