Chapter 10 Raven
RAVEN
The insistent buzz of my phone alarm pulls me from a restless sleep. Monday. Already. I groan and hit the snooze button.
I rub my face and sit up. Every ounce of me wants to go back to bed, especially after my disastrous weekend, but I force myself up, tossing the covers off me.
I like to get to the gallery early, before anyone else arrives, and have some quiet time.
I dress, work through the rest of my morning routine, fully aware of the camera's presence in my living room.
If I didn't have these high vaulted ceilings, I would have stood on a chair and ripped it out of the wall.
Maybe I'll buy a ladder.
I grab my purse and head out. I stop and look up at the small white camera. "Good morning, creepy piece of shit," I mutter, flipping off the camera.
As I walk to the elevator, I realize that giving that stupid camera the middle finger makes me feel good. Maybe I'll start every day like that.
I approach the gallery and slide my key into the door, but there's no resistance, no click.
It's already unlocked.
Shit, is he already here?
Pushing the door open, I find Gio in the middle of the gallery. Surprise, surprise. His massive frame is imposing as he speaks to two men I don't recognize, gesturing toward a mountain of crates. At least fifteen of them, maybe more, lined against the wall, taking up space.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter.
I step forward, my eyes darting to the cameras scattered throughout the gallery—identical to the one in my apartment.
Seriously? Here too?
"What the hell is this?" I demand, the words sharper than I intended.
Gio turns, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Morning, Raven. You're early."
I cross my arms. "Uh, it's my gallery. I can be here whenever I damn well please. Now," I nod toward the crates. "You didn't answer my question. What are those?"
He waves a hand, dismissing the men. They leave without question, and suddenly, it's just the two of us. "Your shipment," he says, patting one of the crates. "The ones you conveniently forgot to pick up."
Confusion, then anger, flares in my chest. "Forgot? I didn't even know about them. How did you—"
"I have my ways," he interrupts and shows that infuriating holier-than-thou smile. "The question is, why didn't you know?"
Maybe it's his tone—accusatory, suspicious—but something inside me snaps.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because my life is a fucking shit show right now?
Or maybe, it's because I've got this big, tough mafia asshole making it his mission to invade every inch of my life.
So, pardon me if tracking shipments hasn't been my top priority. "
"You think I'm tough?" Gio ask with his mocking tone.
"For a thug, sure."
Gio's expression darkens. "Watch how you talk to me."
"Or what? You'll add another camera?" I gesture around the gallery. "Oh, wait, you already did that, didn't you? Seriously, are you trying to set a world record for most surveillance per square foot?"
I'm getting worked up, and I turn to see one of the cameras at eye level. I walk toward it with every intention of ripping it down. Before I can reach it, a strong hand wraps around my wrist.
"Don't," Gio growls.
I jerk my arm away, glaring up at him. "Let go of me."
For a second, we just stand there. His grip lingers on my skin, and I feel a jolt of something—anger, maybe, or something I don't want to name. But I refuse to back down. I meet his gaze, challenging him.
His fingers flex, and then he releases me. "You don't get to dictate what keeps you safe," he says.
"You're the only real threat I see."
A muscle ticks in his jaw. "You should be thanking me. If I wasn't watching you, who knows what the hell would happen? Dead, or worse."
"And yet, here I am," I snap. "Alive, despite all your so-called enemies."
His eyes flash with something unreadable. "For now." His gaze sharpens, scrutinizing me like he's searching for cracks in my story. "And that's what doesn't add up, does it? If you're such a target, why hasn't anyone come for you yet? Interesting."
I roll my eyes.
I can't believe this prick thinks I'm hiding something from him. I do not want to engage in this conversation any longer.
I turn to the crates, eager to move past all this bullshit between us. He studies me for a few more seconds before turning his head to follow my gaze.
"What's in them?" he asks.
"I don't know," I say, "And I don't care. I'll deal with it when my actual employees get here, not with you."
He steps even closer. "Open them."
I glare up at him.
"Or do I have to do everything for you?" he says and grabs the crowbar from the floor.
He steps forward, shrugging off his jacket, revealing the tattoos snaking up his forearm. He wedges the crowbar under the lid of one of the crates and pries it open with ease.
If I wasn't seeing red half the time, maybe I would notice how handsome he really is. Too bad he's a jerk and a bully. Definitely not a guy I would want around willingly. So I don't look at him, I focus on the contents of the crate instead.
Paintings, art supplies, stacks of documents. Nothing outwardly suspicious, but my gut tells me he thinks there's more to this than meets the eye.
"Morning!" Steve's voice startles me. I turn to see him approaching me. "Umm, what's going on here?"
"Ask him," I say, gesturing toward Gio without looking at him. "I'm going downstairs."
I don't wait for a response. I need to get away, to breathe, to think.
The restoration room is my zone, the one place where I feel in control. I put on my apron, set up my workstation, try to focus on other things.
A few minutes later, I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.
I tense and wish I could run, but I'm trapped.
"We need to talk," he says, his voice low.
I whirl around and sigh. "No, you need to leave. This is my space. The one place where I don't have to deal with anything going on in my life. So," I say, standing to face him, "please get out."
He doesn't move. Instead, he steps further into the room, his eyes fixed on mine.
"Those crates," he says, his voice dangerously low. "Your brother—"
"Stop!" I yell and see red. I lash out at him, and he doesn't even seem to budge as I push him away.
Before I can even process what's happening, I'm slammed against the wall, a heavy weight keeping me in place. I try to move, and then I see it—Gio's hand wrapped around my throat, pinning me. Not hard enough to choke me, but enough to show me who's in charge.
My breath catches in my chest, fear and adrenaline. His eyes bore into mine, dark and intense.
"You want to fucking play games, Raven?" he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my body. "They end right here. You don't get to call the shots. Not now. Not ever."
I stare up at him, my heart pounding. I should be terrified, and I am, but there's something else there too. A spark of defiance, of wanting to see how far I can push him.
His gaze drops to my lips, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think he's going to kiss me. And so help me God if he tries.
But he doesn't. Instead, he smiles and leans in closer, his breath hot on my ear.
"Stop the theatrics. Stop hiding whatever the fuck it is you are.
I will find out sooner or later," he whispers.
"And if my suspicions are true," he trails off, giving my throat a light press before releasing me and stepping back.
"Now," he says, his voice back to its usual controlled tone, "tell me about the Russians."
I rub my throat, fighting to regain my composure. "I don't know anything about any Russians," I say, my voice hoarse.
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. "Try again."
I take a deep, shaky breath. "Fine. I'll tell you what I know, then you get the fuck out."
He nods.
I clear my throat as I move closer to the stairs. "Okay, but you have to promise not to freak out."
He doesn't blink.
I let out a deep sigh, shaking my head. "I'm actually a Russian spy. Been one this whole time. And guess what? You cracked the case, Sherlock. Congrats."
His nostrils flare. "Are you done?"
I smile. "Not quite. I also moonlight as a jewel thief, run an underground fight club with Boris on Wednesdays, and—oh, this one's my favorite—I'm the secret heir to a Russian billionaire fortune. But you already knew that, right?"
I pat his chest twice. "Good talk. I'd love to stay and chat about those Russians and all that I'm hiding from you, but I got work to do. Watch me on your cameras, perv."
I turn and hurry up the stairs before he can stop me, feeling pretty fucking proud of myself.