Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
La Galerie LaBete is quiet this early, the way I like it best. Soft light filters through the windows, illuminating the bold strokes of works I know as well as my own heartbeat. Every canvas. Every brushstroke. Every piece of Gabriel that has been with me for almost five years.
It’s Sunday, and the gallery doesn’t officially open for a few hours, but my mind is buzzing—the victory of walking out on my dad just now. The confusion of seeing Gabriel in that ring last night.
And, yes, the jealousy that came from watching him draw Harper into that tight, loving hug. Not to mention the way my heart cracked when he didn’t even acknowledge me.
Jealousy, thy name is Bella.
And yet I still have a few strands of hope to cling to. “He draws you,” Anissa had said. “The same woman, over and over. So much love in those lines.”
The words haunt me, and once more, I shove them aside and try to focus on what’s in front of me. The gallery. The art. The one facet of Gabriel that is still really and truly mine.
The bell chimes, and Chris strides in holding a stack of bakery boxes. I force a smile, half-wishing I’d thought to call and tell him I could handle the gallery alone today.
He’s tall and tan with a mop of dark hair and a surprisingly lean build for a man with his weakness for croissants. Especially ones from the patisserie two blocks over. A bakery that happens to be owned by his husband.
At first, he’d arrive daily with a box. Now, he arrives with three, the gallery picks up the tab, and we share with customers, too.
“Morning, boss.” He pushes a box toward me. “Chocolate or almond?”
“Almond.” I take a bite of the offered pastry, then glance over to make sure the Closed sign is in the window before plopping into the chair across from him. “Tell Xander his team outdid themselves this morning. This may be the best croissant ever.”
He grins. “I’ll relay your glowing praise.
And before you ask, we did great yesterday.
Sold two prints from the Fractured Light series.
And a woman from Manhattan asked about buying an original for her penthouse.
I gave her the catalog, explained about the charitable donations we make in conjunction with sales, and she’s going to get back in touch.
She kept talking about what a hit the art world took when LaBete died, but how much value the pieces have now. ”
“She’s not wrong.” I take another bite, letting the buttery layers melt on my tongue. “If he were—”
I stop myself. If he were alive. That’s what I almost said. But he is alive. And that changes everything. Maybe not for the art world. Not yet. But for me.
“If he were what?” Chris asks.
I flash him a casual smile. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
I’m saved from further explanation by the gallery door banging open hard enough to rattle the paintings on the nearest wall.
My father strides in like he owns the place—which he absolutely does not, though that’s never stopped him from acting like the entire world is his personal property.
“Isabella.” His voice is ice. “We need to talk. Now.”
Chris suddenly finds something fascinating on his computer screen. I set down my croissant and stand, brushing crumbs from my fingers.
“Father. What a surprise.”
“Don’t play games with me. We had a meeting scheduled this morning. He stops in front of me, close enough that I can see the vein pulsing at his temple. “Do you have any idea what’s happening right now? While you’re sitting here eating pastries?”
“Since you’re here, I’m going to say no. So, please, Father. Tell me what’s going on.”
He “ignores me, then glances around the gallery’s lobby area.
“You. To think that you expect to actually manage the Monarch when this is all you’ve done.
” He practically spits the words, the scorn clear in his voice.
“You think you’re ready for this? Well, sweetheart, you’re about to be tossed into the deep end.
I’ve got Gaming Commission investigations hitting three Hart properties.
Three. Complaints filed through shell companies, anonymous tips backed with documentation that shouldn’t exist outside our own servers. ”
My stomach tightens. We do not want to be on the Gaming Commission’s bad side. At the same time, there shouldn’t be anything on our servers that would interest the commission. Apparently, Daddy has been a bad boy.
“I’ll handle it,” I say, even though this is so very clearly his mess.
“You’d better. This is your problem now.”
Technically, it’s not my problem until Wednesday. But since I work for him and he’s delegating, that little distinction is moot, and he knows it. “Of course, Father.”
His smile is a razor. “Welcome to management, sweetheart.”
“Is there more you need me to take point on? Some other trouble you can’t sort out and need my help with?” I balance that zinger on my most innocent smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see Chris gulp.
Father’s eyes narrow. For a moment, I think he’s going to hit me—right here, in front of Chris, in the middle of the gallery.
But he doesn’t. He just leans in, his voice dropping to something cold and dangerous.
“Those investigations didn’t just spring up out of the ether. Someone is coming after us, Isabella. I don’t know who yet, but I will find out. And when I do...”
He doesn’t finish the threat. He doesn’t need to.
“Get your house in order,” he says. “And answer your damn phone when I call.”
He turns and strides toward the door, nearly colliding with someone as he steps out. I hear a muttered curse, a sharp “Watch it”—and then David appears in the doorway, rubbing his shoulder.
“Your father almost knocked me over.”
“That’s his favorite pastime. I was looking for you earlier,” I add. “I’d hoped we could talk over coffee.” Our eyes meet, and he nods. Yeah. He knows what I want to discuss. “Chris, can you give us a few minutes?”
Chris is already grabbing a bakery box. “I’ll be in the back. Yell if you need me,” he says, then whoosh, he’s gone. Smart guy, Chris.
David sighs, then shoves his hands into his pockets.
I have no idea where to start, so I just dive in. “Listen, about last night. I—”
He holds up a hand, interrupting me. “No. Not that. Not now. There’s something going down.”
I shake my head, as if I’m resetting the system. “Um, okay. What’s going on?”
He drags his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been hearing things all morning.
Rumors about employees getting poached. Big offers, way above market rate.
Offers started going out early Friday and just kept flying over the weekend.
Some folks were buzzing about it during our party, but I guess they all agreed to keep you behind a firewall.
Me, too, because of our impending nuptials. Why throw shade at the happy couple?”
“Well, hell.” The words are barely out of my mouth when my phone buzzes. I pull it out and see a text from Maria Chen, our Front Desk Manager.
Hey, boss-to-be. Thought you should know—five of us got crazy job offers over the weekend. Nobody on the desk’s taking them—so far. Figured you’d want an FYI.
“It’s not just rumors,” I say, showing David the screen.
“Jesus.” He takes a breath. “There’s more.”
I rub my temples. “Of course there is. What else?”
David sucks in a deep breath. “My dad. He got a call last night. From Gabriel Grimm.”
I go still. “He—what?”
“I know, right?” He swallows, then takes my hand. “Bella, it’s crazy. But I think Gabe’s alive.”
“I know,” I whisper, tugging my hand free.
David jolts like he’s been hit. “You do?”
“Harper’s with him right now, I think.” I can’t keep the edge out of my voice.
Somewhere across town, my best friend is probably curled up on Gabriel’s couch, catching up over coffee, laughing about old times.
And here I am, wondering if the man I love will ever look at me with anything other than hatred. “It’s been a hell of a weekend,” I add.
David rocks on his heels, his eyes wide. “Yeah. I guess so.” He studies my face. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I do,” I say. “I really do.” And so I start talking, telling him all of it. Leo’s text. Racing to find Gabe. The accusations. The woman with mismatched eyes like mine. The money trail that leads back to my father. By the time I finish, David’s face has gone pale.
“Christ, Bella.” David stands, paces to the window, then back. “The Grimms are dangerous. Ruthless. Cold. And Gabe had a rep as the kind of man who obliterates his enemies.” He looks at me hard. “He’s a powder keg, Bella. And I’m fucking terrified you’re going to get caught in the blast.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Me, too.”
I close my eyes, hating this new reality. Never in a million years would I have believed back then that Gabe could hurt me. Now, it just is. It doesn’t even need a leap of faith. He’s not the Gabriel I knew. Which leaves one huge question—who the hell is he now?
I open my eyes as David takes my hands, his grip tight. “You need to stay away. Far away. Let lawyers handle it. And get Security to put a man on you.”
I just shake my head. “I can’t stay away from him.” The words come out quiet but certain. Even with all the question marks and fear, I can’t—no, I won’t— stay away.
“Have you lost your mind?” His expression is a cross between fury and confusion.
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
David is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is careful. Controlled. “I need to say something. And I need you to actually hear it.”
I frown, not sure where he’s going with that, but I nod.
He draws a deep breath, as if gathering courage, then shakes his head. “Forget it.”
“What?”
He grimaces. “I just worry. That’s all. I already told you, he’s a powder keg. I don’t want you getting burned.”
I squeeze his hand. “I love that you look out for me. Truly. But I’m a big girl now. You don’t have to be scared for me.”
“I’ll always worry. And I will always be here for you.”
I grin, forcing myself not to think of Gabe. “In that case, can you be here for some manual labor?”
He laughs. “I walked into that one.” He follows as I head to the back showroom, step through the arched entrance, and freeze.
The wall where Caged hung—where it’s hung for five years, where I’ve stood crying more times than I can count—is empty.
Now, there’s just a bare white wall, and four small holes where the mounting hardware used to be. Even the bronze plaque identifying the artist and the piece is gone.
Caged is gone.