Airing My Dirty Laundry #2
“Oh my God. You’re using my gallery to launder your dirty money.”
He didn’t flinch. “We are, yes.”
The words hit me like a slap. I stared at him, the anger stirring in my belly. “How long?”
“A few years.”
Holy shit. Was he for real?
“A few years?” My voice pitched as the reality of the situation hit home. “You’ve been running your mob money through my gallery for years, and I didn’t know about it?”
How was that even possible?
Dante stood up. “You didn’t need to know.”
“The hell I didn’t!” I threw the documents back onto the table and got to my feet too. “Do you have any idea what that means for me? For my reputation?”
Shame coursed through me. They’d used me, used my business without my knowledge. “Was Vincent in on this?”
“Of course he was,” Dante said flatly. “He’s worked for my family for decades. The shipment was a side venture.”
“Oh God.” I couldn’t take any more of this. I put my hands over my ears. “Don’t tell me anymore. I don’t want to know.”
He didn’t reply, just stared at me with his intense silver gaze.
I let out a bitter laugh. “You must think I’m such a fool.”
When he didn’t respond, I spun on my heel and headed for the bedroom. I needed to get away from him. I needed some space to think about this. To process what I’d learned.
I heard him follow me down the hallway. The second I crossed the threshold, I slammed the door. But annoyingly, he stopped it with his shoe.
“Go away,” I fumed, placing my hands on my hips. I was way too angry with him right now to think straight. I just wanted to be alone. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”
Still, he didn’t move.
The Marcelli family had destroyed me. They’d used me and defiled my business. I was a pawn in their horrible little game.
He put one hand against the door frame. “I don’t think you’re a fool, but you need to wake up. This kind of thing happens all the time.”
“Not to me,” I snapped. “I sell art, Dante. I build artists’ careers. I don’t launder drug money, and I sure as hell don’t transport drugs.”
He gave a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “You think you got where you are on charm alone? You think those seven-figure sales came from art lovers and buyers with good intentions?”
“I’d like to think so, yes.”
He scoffed. “Don’t be naive. Nobody buys art because they like the way it looks. They buy it as an investment, to get out of paying taxes, or to hide their money. This is no different. At least it’s legal.”
I didn’t want to consider the truth in what he was saying.
He stepped into the room, closing the space between us.
“My family has been supporting your success since the beginning. When you were starting out, who do you think bought pieces for more than market value? When you had a quiet month, who do you think stepped in and contributed to your bottom line? You should be thanking us.”
Had they really done that?
Here I was, thinking I’d been building a successful business, when all the while they’d been contributing because it benefited them.
“You used me,” I rasped, unable to keep the shame out of my voice.
He shrugged. “We use a lot of people.”
“That doesn’t make it any better. You’re despicable. Your whole family is despicable.” I was so furious, I couldn’t hold back.
His body stiffened and his gaze tightened on me. “You benefited from it, sweetheart, so you’re just as complicit.”
“Oh no. You’re not going to pin any of this on me. I. Did. Not. Know.” I prodded him in the chest with every syllable.
“Nobody will believe you.” He reached up and grabbed my hand, holding it still. It completely enveloped mine in a warm grip. His voice was dangerously calm. “If you go to the authorities, there’ll be an investigation. Imagine the publicity. Your reputation would tank.”
Shit.
He was right.
This was New York. Clients would stop buying, artists would go elsewhere to exhibit. No matter what I did, my business was dead. Finito. Plus, I’d probably end up convicted of fraud on top of it.
I blinked before he could see the tears that sprang into my eyes. The anger, the humiliation, the feeling of being utterly small was too much.
“Get out,” I hissed, pulling my hand away.
He released it but took a step closer.
“Watch your mouth, Ophelia, or I might just take offense.” He gripped my chin and lifted it up so I had no choice but to look at him. Those silver eyes slanted down at me, devastating in their intensity.
“You might not like it, but you owe your success to my family. You know… the one you find so despicable. And while you may not have known about the money laundering, it doesn’t mean you didn’t sell us out to Malakov.
In fact, who’s to say you didn’t discover what we were doing and decide to get revenge because of it? ”
I stared at him, stunned. “Revenge? How could you even think that?”
“Honey, I’ve been in this business a long time, and there isn’t much I don’t know about betrayal. And I’ll tell you something for free. It’s usually the people you least suspect.”
I had no response. That world was foreign to me. My parents had been law-abiding citizens. I paid my taxes. I believed that there were still good people out there.
All that had changed in a heartbeat.
Having said his piece, Dante dropped his hand. I could still feel the pressure from his fingers on my jaw.
“And for what it’s worth, that figure you found, it wasn’t us. That’s what I was checking on my phone.”
An icy chill slid down my spine.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”
His features turned grim. “If I had to guess, I’d say someone else is using your gallery as a laundromat.”