NICO
Evelyn
So this was Dante’s brother.
I watched with interest as he took off his helmet, then threw a long denim-clad leg over the saddle and climbed off his beast of a motorcycle.
I think my mouth must have fallen open because Dante shot me a scalding look and said, “Get inside.”
I don’t know why he thought he had the right to order me around, but I didn’t want to create a scene in front of his brother, so I nodded and walked into the cabin. That didn’t stop me heading straight for the nearest window, though, to continue gawking.
They talked for a moment, Dante gesturing to the dwelling. Nico frowned and ran a hand through his slightly-too-long dark hair, the same color as his brother’s. He seemed agitated and edgy, and I thought I knew why.
He didn’t believe I was innocent. I saw it in the way he eyed Dante as he took off his gloves and threw them on the seat of the motorcycle. His stiff body radiated tension.
Then they turned and headed inside.
I darted away from the window and went to sit on the couch. No, too informal for a strained discussion. The kitchen table would be better. I’d just sat down when the door opened and the two men strode in.
“Evelyn, this is Nico.” Dante turned to his brother but threw a backward nod at me. “This is Evelyn.”
Nico’s gaze landed on me and my breath hitched.
I couldn’t help but appreciate the similarities.
They were both tall and well-built—although Dante was broader—with chiseled features and hard, firm jawlines shadowed with stubble.
But where Dante’s eyes were a stormy gray, Nico’s were cobalt blue.
And right now, they were fixed on me with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.
“Hi,” I said, unable to think of anything better to say. It wasn’t like this was a social meeting, or even a business one. I was the prisoner, the one desperately trying to prove my innocence so they wouldn’t kill me. I was fighting for my life here.
He nodded and pulled out a chair. Shrugging his backpack off, he set it on the floor and sat down. Dante did the same.
I swallowed nervously and waited for someone to say something.
Nico was supposed to help us look into the payments from the unknown Central American sources, but by the way those suspicious blue eyes were boring into me, I got the feeling he’d already made up his mind.
Paranoia obviously ran in the family. Occupational hazard, I guessed.
Dante nodded to me. “Tell him what we found.” Then reached for the water and took a long drag.
My mouth suddenly felt like it was full of cotton wool. He hadn’t warned me he was going to make me speak.
Nico raised an eyebrow at his brother. “You want her to brief me?”
Her? Like I was nobody.
Dante lowered the bottle with a shrug. “She knows the gallery side better than I do. Tell him, Evelyn.”
I lifted my chin. For once we agreed. I absolutely knew my own business better than anyone else. I took a deep breath.
“Up until last week,” I began, thinking about how blissfully ignorant I’d been back then. It wasn’t even that long ago. So much had happened in such a short space of time. I gulped and started again.
“Up until last week, I thought my gallery had a handful of legitimate high-net-worth clients and one or two questionable ones. Since you used an intermediary, I had no idea the Marcellis were one of them. No offense.”
“None taken,” Nico said dryly.
“But after Dante and I started going through the records, we realized it isn’t just your family running money through my company. There are at least two other parties using the gallery as a front.”
Nico’s gaze sharpened and he turned to his brother for confirmation. Dante gave a tight nod. “It’s true.”
Nico exhaled. “I’m going to need names.”
Dante answered before I could. “Sergei Malakov.”
Nico didn’t move. His face stayed perfectly neutral. I watched his thumb stop, mid-tap, on the strap of the backpack at his feet.
“The Bratva,” he said.
Dante gave a nod.
“For how long?”
“Best estimate, a year. Maybe longer. Also via shell companies, but linked to Russia.” Dante’s jaw worked. “They’ve been using her, just like we have.”
I felt my face grow hot with indignation. I felt like such a fool. I still couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized this was happening. But then, I’d trusted Vincent.
It had been stupid and naive of me. I clenched my teeth together. Never again. If nothing else, this little experience had opened my eyes to what the world was really like.
Everybody used everybody, and in this scenario, I’d been the pawn.
Nico gave a low hiss. He didn’t curse, but then he didn’t need to. The look on his face told me exactly how he felt.
“Then there’s the Central American buyers,” I said, wanting to steer them away from Malakov.
There was history there, I got it. A family feud, two opposing crime syndicates vying for authority.
A glorified pissing contest, in my opinion, but one capable of erupting into violence. And I didn’t want that.
I’d actually liked Malakov when I’d spoken with him on the phone. He’d been charming, polite, and interesting. All while using me to launder his organization’s money.
“What Central American buyers?” Nico asked, glancing at Dante. I got the feeling outsiders didn’t have much sway in this family.
“Three buyers, actually. Different shells, all routed through Central America. Two registered in Belize, one in Panama. None of the principals are real people.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. The twisted snake seemed to coil as his forearms tensed.
“They used numbered companies, nominee directors, PO box addresses,” Dante was explaining. “They all transacted through Evelyn’s gallery and bid on the same artist.”
I raised my eyebrows. That was the longest speech I think I’d heard Dante make, and as it turned out, he did know a lot about my company—or rather, the money laundering side of it. A lot more than I did.
Nico looked at me.
“Mateo Reyes,” I provided helpfully.
He waited.
“A contemporary artist out of Bogotá. We placed him in his first New York show last fall and his prices have basically doubled since then. He’s our hottest acquisition.”
“Convenient.”
I tensed. “I found him through a dealer in Mexico City. We took six pieces on consignment and they went in three weeks. He’s not a plant, he’s got real talent.”
“I’m not saying he is,” Nico said, in a tone that suggested that was exactly what he was saying. “But it’s a hell of a coincidence. Three different buyers from three different Central American shells with no connection to each other, all purchasing the same artist out of one gallery.”
“This has nothing to do with her,” Dante cut in, earning a sharp glance from his brother.
I was getting tired of Nico’s recriminations.
“What he said,” I added.
Nico turned that sharp look on me and I shivered. Where Dante’s burned hot, Nico’s was ice cold.
“Show me everything you have,” he said flatly. “Wire records, invoices, consignment notes, bid logs. Anything that touched any of those three shells in the last twelve months. I’ll cross-reference it against what I’ve got from our side.”
“The gallery system requires a manager login,” I said.
“I’ll handle the login,” Nico said, without smiling.
Dante slid him a folder. “Everything we have is in there.”
Nico flipped through it without speaking.
“Apart from the customer records,” I added. “Those are on my laptop.”
“We can send you a copy,” Dante said.
Nico’s probing gaze flicked from his brother to me, then back again. A beat passed.
“It’ll take some time,” he said, his mouth drawing into a thin line. “These people know what they’re doing, and we already know Malakov does. But everyone leaves a footprint somewhere. I’ll find it.”
I didn’t doubt he would. Nico, I sensed, was just as dangerous as his brother, but in a totally different way. Maybe even more so.
“How long?” Dante asked.
“Days.”
“Shit,” we both murmured at the same time.
Nico arched an eyebrow.
“Can I talk to you outside?” he muttered to Dante.
My mind was racing. If Nico was as good as Dante seemed to think he was, maybe there was another way we could get to the bottom of this.
“Wait,” I said.
Both men looked up.
I felt Dante’s eyes first, the blast of heat at the side of my face, like a lamp being switched on. Nico’s gaze was cooler. More surgical.
I cleared my throat and turned to Nico. “Could you also look for anyone who’s been actively bidding on Reyes pieces? Not just buying but bidding and losing.”
Nico seemed surprised that I’d asked him directly.
Dante frowned. “Why?”
I turned to him, only to find his eyes locked on mine. I tried to keep my voice steady. “Because if rival gangs are buying art at inflated prices to launder, they’re not going to sit on it forever. The whole point is to clean the money, right?”
Dante nodded.
“Eventually they have to sell it on, right? So they’re going to need a fence. Isn’t that what you call it?”
Nico just watched me, an almost amused expression on his face.
“They won’t be able to sell it at auction,” I continued, when nobody spoke. “Auction records are public, they’d show up on every database in the industry. Which means they need a private buyer.”
Nico had gone still again.
Dante studied me. “You’re thinking the under-bidders are the buy-side fences?”
I nodded, glad he got it. “They could be affiliated to the networks. Or they’re just buyers looking for a deal, but we won’t know for sure until we check them out.” I turned back to Nico. “You clearly have the resources to do that.”
Nico didn’t speak for a beat. He was looking at me as if I’d just performed a circus trick or something.
“Yeah,” he said finally, and this time he didn’t look at Dante. “I can look into it. The auction houses will have records, and of course there are private sale registers. I’ll see what I can dig up.”
I felt a small surge of pride. He was taking me seriously now. Hopefully that meant he was starting to believe me too. I looked down at my hands so neither of them would see the relief on my face.
Nico stood, giving me a tight nod. There was no warmth in it, but no actual hostility either. I was taking that as a win.
“Thank you,” I said.
He didn’t answer. Just slung the backpack over his shoulder.
“I’ll walk you out,” Dante said.