Chapter 7
7
ASTON
“ I s the élisabeth Vigée Le Brun complete?” Rafa asked.
I nodded, eyes still on the paintbrush in my hand as I carefully cleaned it. “It has to finish curing, but otherwise, it's done. The canvas will be ready for the swap next week.”
“ Bene .”
A couple of months ago, Sotheby’s announced the contents of their upcoming auction. Not long after, we were approached by a client interested in élisabeth Vigée Le Brun’s Self-Portrait with Daughter .
Le Brun had been a court painter to Marie Antoinette. Her royal connections and aristocratic lineage added significant value to her work. Most of her paintings were locked away in museums or private European collections. Rarely did one go to public auction, and when it did, the price reflected its scarcity. This particular piece was estimated to be worth between three and ten million dollars.
Our client didn’t want to bid publicly—too much visibility. Her private collection already included several pieces we had “acquired” for her, and bidding could attract unwanted attention. She also wasn’t willing to play Sotheby’s game, knowing full well they planted bidders to drive up prices.
Instead, she paid The Family three million to “retrieve” it.
Rafa had assigned Luca Dominici, our best thief, to steal the painting from the new owner. Luca would also leave a trail for the police to follow, one that led exactly where we wanted it to. Eventually, they would recover the painting—the forgery—and arrest a fall guy Rafa had already paid to take the blame. Our lawyer would negotiate the sentence down. Probably no more than three years and maybe probation.
It sometimes surprised me how many volunteers we had for that kind of gig. Some did it to clear their debt to The Family. Others for problems that they could never fix on their own.
“Don’t forget, we have a new shipment coming in tomorrow,” Rafa reminded me. “Franco dropped off the paperwork earlier. I want you at the port to take possession of the crates.”
I glanced over my shoulder and lifted my chin in acknowledgment. “I’ll be there.”
I returned to patting each brush dry, shaping the bristles before hanging them up. The shipment was headed to the Belladonna, so it made sense for me to oversee things. There were four crates, each one holding six paintings—nothing flashy. We didn’t want them to raise a red flag.
Once they arrived at the gallery, they'd be cleaned so the real masterpieces hidden beneath would be revealed.
When I turned around, Rafa was leaning casually against the back wall of my studio, watching me with that unreadable stare of his.
“Something on your mind?” I asked, resting my hip against the counter.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Kerrigan Vale.”
It was no surprise he knew her name. I assumed he'd done a full background check by now.
“ Oui .”
“I trust you haven’t shared anything sensitive. But have you told her you're an artist?”
“ Non . I plan to do it the next time I see her.”
His gaze swept the space. Only three easels were visible, but two were covered and the third was empty. For once, my studio looked almost...organized. I was fairly meticulous in my everyday life, but my studio was usually chaotic for some reason.
Rafa had clearly noticed how I’d hidden most of it away. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your studio so bare, fratello .”
My studio was sacred to me. It was my sanctuary, and I rarely invited others to step inside. Which meant there was no need for me to hide anything away…unless I intended to have a visitor who wasn’t allowed to see most of its contents.
I met his gaze. “Is this your way of asking if I plan to bring her here? I’ll save you the time. The answer is yes.”
He raised a brow, his penetrating stare once again boring into me. “Do you think that’s wise, considering her obsession with proving that Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence is a forgery?”
Again, I wasn’t fazed by how much he knew about Kerrigan, but it didn’t stop it from pissing me the fuck off.
After a tense silence, I sighed. “I’ve been careful. But…” I shrugged. “No matter how many times I tell myself to do it, I haven’t been able to distance myself from her.”
Rafa nodded slowly. “I understand. There’s no universe where I could’ve walked away from Vivienne.”
“You didn’t tell her about The Family right away,” I reminded him.
“ Vero ,” he agreed with a sharp nod. “But I always knew I would because I wasn’t willing to lose her.”
Nor was I willing to let Kerrigan go. But I worried that bringing her into my dark world would destroy her light. Or send her running.
Rafa seemed to read my thoughts. “It’s not an easy choice. But you’re walking a fine line, fratello . One wrong step, and she might learn something that gets her killed.”
My jaw tightened, fists clenching. Before I could speak, Rafa held up a hand.
“ Rilassati , Aston. I’m not threatening her. Not yet. But if she learns too much, the situation changes. You were born into The Family. You knew the risk the moment you gave her your name.”
Merde .
He was right. I fucking hated that he was right.
It was why I’d gone to such lengths to keep Kerrigan in the dark. To distract her from the truth about Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence .
“I know,” I said through gritted teeth.
Rafa’s expression remained impassive, his voice devoid of emotion.
Not being able to get a read on him was always frustrating as fuck.
“Every time you reveal something to her, you put her in more danger. Not just from us. Eventually, our enemies will notice her. Even if she knows nothing, they might not believe it. They’ll see her as leverage.”
I inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, trying to calm the fury burning beneath my skin.
“If it comes to that, I’ll make sure she has protection. Like Vivienne and Gabbi.”
“And what will you tell her when she asks why she needs guards?”
I raked a hand through my hair and paced. “I haven’t figured all this shit out yet.”
Rafa pushed off the wall and stepped in front of me, planting his feet and crossing his arms.
“The time will come—and I suspect it will be sooner than you think—when you’ll have to choose. Protect her by walking away or bring her into the shadows.”
I nodded. Sometimes, I wanted to deck the salaud for being so damn logical. But it would just make me the bastard, especially when Rafa wasn’t smug about it.
He turned to leave, then paused at the door, looking back at me over his shoulder. “If you choose the latter, you better be fucking sure she can be trusted. Because if she can’t... it won’t just be her life on the line.”
Then he was gone.
“Franco,” I greeted Rafa’s executive assistant as I approached.
“ Bonjour ,” he replied with a crooked smile.
Complete opposites, it amazed me that Franco and Rafa worked so well together. Where Rafa was stoic and impossible to read, Franco wore his emotions on his sleeve.
He was like a little brother to me, but his cheery disposition could sometimes grate on my nerves. However, seeing as how I was not a ray of fucking sunshine, that was more my issue than his.
“Was there a problem with the paperwork?”
Franco’s expression fell, and he sighed. “The auction house swapped out one of the paintings at the last minute.”
I frowned, taking the papers he held out to me. “ Putain de merde ,” I growled when I saw the name of the new addition. Chez Tortoni by édouard Manet. “Is this real?”
“As far as we know. Charles inspected the painting before it boarded the ship. He said the only person who could have done a forgery that good was you.”
Chez Tortoni had been stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum thirty-five years ago. There was even a ten-million-dollar reward offered for its return.
My reputation, as well as the gallery’s and the museum’s, were spotless, but rumors still swirled constantly. Whispers of possible ties to organized crime.
If the painting turned up in the possession of the Belladonna Gallery or Vellum & Vine, it would likely catch the notice of the authorities. And the insurance investigators. Which could lead to further scrutiny of any other lost works of art we “recovered.”
“Was the new manifest made public?”
“Not unless the person who made the swap leaked it,” Franco answered.
We were interrupted when one of our guys signaled they were about to unload the crates.
“Should we send it back?” Franco suggested.
I shook my head, then ran my hand through my hair as I blew out a frustrated breath. “No. This could be a setup of some kind. If we send that crate back, there’s a chance that the other pieces will be inspected.”
Those paintings had been done by one of the forgers Charles worked with in France. He was very skilled, just not as good as me. If someone knew what to look for, they’d be able to figure out that there was another layer on the canvas.
“We need to move our asses and get these crates back to the gallery before anyone sees anything. Then I’ll talk with Rafa about what to do next.”
“Sure thing.”
Franco had only taken a few steps when my eyes landed on a name. What the fuck?
“Franco.”
He immediately spun on his heel and marched back over to me. “ Sí ?”
“ Chez Tortoni was insured by Sterling Ellis’s company.”
“ Figlio di puttana ,” he hissed. “He’s setting us up.”