A Message in Blood
Evelyn
“Nice watch,” Chloe said, when I got to work the next morning.
I flushed but twisted my wrist around in the studio lighting to admire it. “It is, isn’t it?”
She smiled, but it was fleeting, her brown eyes filled with concern.
“I know he’s absolutely gorgeous, but you are being careful, aren’t you, Evie?”
I frowned. Nope. I wasn’t. Not really. Not at all. I was already head over heels, and while I knew he wasn’t good for me, that there was no future for us, I couldn’t seem to get off the rollercoaster.
Except I didn’t say as much to my friend. It would only make her worry more.
“I’m doing what I have to,” I told her firmly. “To get my gallery back.”
She didn’t know the full story, only that the cartel was trying to take over the Agora and I was working with the Marcellis to stop them.
She put a hand on my arm. “I’d just hate to see you get hurt.”
I appreciated the sentiment. I didn’t even disagree. On paper, it was a ludicrous thing to do. To get involved with a crime lord, even one as good looking as Dante.
“I won’t get hurt,” I told her, forcing a smile.
She nodded, then her eyes lit up. “Talking of gorgeous men, a guy came in last night after you’d left. Russian, I think. Said he’d met you at the Guggenheim gala and wanted to take a look at the pieces we had on display.”
Alexei.
“He’s Sergei’s nephew,” I explained with a little smile. “He said he might stop by. Pity I wasn’t here.”
“Speaking of gorgeous…” she breathed, her eyes sparkling.
My heart sank.
“Oh no. Chlo, trust me. The Malakovs are as bad as the Marcellis.”
“I know. It’s such a shame.” She laid her hand on her chest. “Those cheekbones!”
I shook my head. “Don’t even think about it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “This from the woman currently living with a Marcelli?”
“That’s different. It’s for my own protection.”
“Hm-hmm. Sure it is.”
I rolled my eyes at her.
A customer came in, vetted by Dante’s security guards, so she went to see to them. I went to my office and was about to log onto my computer when there was a knock on the door. I looked up.
Vincent stood there, waiting for me to nod him in.
I didn’t. I was still mad at him.
“I just wanted to apologize for the subterfuge,” he said, not for the first time. “I hope this doesn’t taint our relationship, Evelyn. I really am quite fond of you.”
Was he serious? How could it not?
But I knew he’d been doing the Marcelli’s bidding. He was on their payroll and I was sure they paid him a lot more than I did.
Grimacing, I tried to suppress my annoyance. “It is what it is,” I muttered, and turned back to my screen.
“Have you met the family yet?” he asked, stepping into my office.
I glanced up, surprised. He couldn’t have known about the family sit-down last night, could he? Dante had said he wasn’t involved in the revenge scheme, even though it was his job to organize the money laundering and shipments.
According to Valentina, the fewer people who knew about it the better—and I had to agree.
“I have actually.” I kept my voice even. “They’re an interesting lot.”
He smirked. “What about Leo?”
“I did get to meet him,” I acknowledged. “In fact, he invited me around for tea tomorrow. Can you believe that?”
He chortled. “Actually, I can. When I first met Filippo, Il Lupo was Don. He was a formidable figure then. Ruled with an iron fist.”
“Seems strange to think of him like that.” I remembered the old man who’d taken my arm as we’d walked to the elevator last night. I could sense his power, and saw the way the others respected him, but he didn’t seem nearly as frightening now as he would have been back then.
“He’s still got a lot of sway,” Vincent warned me. “A little advice: stay on his good side.”
“I plan to,” I said coldly, just as Chloe poked her head around the door.
“Mikhail is here to see you,” she said.
We’d taken to keeping the gallery locked during business hours now, at least until things returned to normal. All visitors had to have an appointment. Dante’s orders. After the attack yesterday, I hadn’t argued.
I’d barely slept a wink last night after the shooting. Every time I drifted off, I found myself back in that underground garage with bullets ricocheting off concrete around us.
Apparently I’d been yelling Dante’s name, because he’d held me tight and told me I didn’t have to worry anymore. That he had my back.
Rationally, I knew it was only because of him, and people like him, that I was in this position to begin with. But irrationally, his words comforted me. I’d never had anyone watch my back before, and it felt good.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to give that up, even once this was all over.
I nodded and stood up.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Vincent said, and headed back to his office.
I followed Chloe back to the gallery. Mikhail Orlov stood in the center of the room, his expression grim enough that I knew immediately this wasn’t a social visit.
“Mikhail.” I forced a smile as I unlocked the door. “Nice to see you.”
“Can we speak privately, Evelyn?”
Something in his tone made my stomach tighten.
“Of course.”
I led him down the short hallway toward my office, conscious of Chloe watching us curiously from the reception desk. Vincent’s accounting office sat one door farther down, the storage room beyond that.
“Please,” I said quietly, gesturing toward the chair opposite my desk. “Sit.”
Orlov lowered himself into the seat, studying me carefully before speaking.
“I’ve received some concerning information,” he said at last.
My chest tightened. “Nothing’s happened to Sergei or Alexei, has it?”
“No, no. They’re fine,” he told me, his expression softening at my concern. “It’s simply that business between us has become… complicated lately. I wondered whether there was a reason for that.”
I looked away, letting silence stretch just long enough to seem reluctant.
“Evelyn,” he said more quietly, leaning forward. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
I drew in a shaky breath.
“I’m being blackmailed,” I whispered.
He stared at me.
“Blackmailed? By who? The Marcellis?”
“No, not Dante.” I swallowed. “It’s the Colombians. I think they’re cartel-affiliated.”
Even saying it aloud made my pulse spike.
This was the point of no return. I hated lying to Mikhail. Before all this, I’d genuinely liked him. Trusted him, even. But trust had become a luxury I could no longer afford. If I didn’t do this, I was going to lose everything. Maybe even my life.
Now I was getting my own back. This was an act of self-preservation, I told myself. If I didn’t do something, I was either going to die in a lead storm or lose my gallery. Probably both. And I’d be damned if I was going to let that happen.
“What makes you say that?”
“This man came into the gallery a couple of months ago and asked me if I wanted to sell. I said no, obviously.” I gazed across the desk at him. “You know how hard I’ve worked to get the Agora where it is today. No way was I going to sell.”
Orlov looked at me sidelong. “And this made you suspicious?”
“Not in itself.” I paused just long enough to add weight to what I was going to say next. “But my apartment was broken into. Luckily I wasn’t home, I’d… gone away for the weekend.”
His eyes narrowed. “Anything taken?”
“No,” I whispered. “That’s my point. They weren’t there to rob it. I think they were looking for me, Mikhail.”
A long silence settled between us.
“Did you tell Marcelli?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, of course. That’s when he suggested I move in with him.” I hesitated. “Temporarily, of course.”
Orlov nodded, as if it all made sense. “I see.”
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “But yesterday, we were shot at in the underground garage at his apartment block. There were two shooters. They looked like they could have been Colombian, but I’m not sure.”
His head snapped up. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Just shaken, but yes.”
“What did Marcelli do?”
Not what did I do. But what did Dante do.
“He pulled me to cover and called for reinforcements.” Even now, remembering the sound of gunfire made my stomach turn. “The shooters escaped before backup arrived.”
Orlov leaned back, his expression tightening. “What do you think they wanted?”
“My gallery,” I whispered. “Or access to it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they’ve been buying up my best pieces,” I told him. “I know you’ve lost out to them too.” I paused. “It’s almost like they’re trying to take over and force me out.”
He sucked in a breath. “What does Marcelli think about all this?”
“He’s assigned security to me.” I nodded toward the gallery floor. “That’s why the doors stay locked now.”
Orlov followed my gaze through the glass wall toward the front of the gallery, where two of Dante’s men stood watch near the entrance, his jaw tightening.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Everything’s spiraling out of control.”
For several seconds he said nothing, then he rose to his feet.
“I’ll speak to Sergei,” he said at last. “In the meantime, you stay close to Marcelli.”
The fact he viewed Dante as the safer option told me everything I needed to know.
I walked him to the front entrance and apologized again, sincerity ringing through my voice. To my surprise, I realized I genuinely meant it.
Because not all of it had been a lie.
I was being threatened. The cartel was targeting the Agora. And if they muscled their way into the New York art scene, it absolutely would affect Malakov’s business interests.
I was simply… informing him.
Warning him.
At least, that was the version I told myself as I watched Mikhail disappear onto the SoHo sidewalk, his expression distant and troubled.
Only once the door shut behind him did I finally exhale.
The hook was set.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of emails, client calls, and inventory checks, but underneath it all, tension coiled tighter and tighter in my stomach.
Every time the front door opened, I jolted. Every time a car slowed outside the gallery windows, my pulse spiked.