Chapter 1
1
ASTON
“ Y ou really think he’ll keep his mouth shut?” my brother, Charles, queried in our native French before taking a sip of champagne and casually gazing around us.
The art auction we were attending was a high-brow event with the wealthiest and most discerning collectors in attendance. They mingled with hors d'oeuvres and champagne while they previewed most of the pieces that would soon be up for bidding.
“ Oui ,” I replied, my eyes sweeping the room as well. Our position on the wall to the left of the stage, near an exit that led to the inner offices of the auction house, gave us a perfect vantage point to assess our surroundings. “I’m not in the habit of making suggestions to our boss that could end with my body fertilizing the woods behind Magnolia Crest.”
Charles snorted a laugh and took another drink.
He wasn’t amused by the absurdity of my visual because we both knew it wasn’t an unrealistic outcome for pissing off the man we worked for. “Raffaele is more creative than that, Aston. Give the merciless King of the South some fucking credit.”
Magnolia Crest was an estate in Camillia Falls, Georgia, owned by the infamous Mafia underboss, Raffaele DeLuca. Rafa ruled the southern branches of the DeLuca Crime Family and only answered to his cousin. Nic lived in New York City and was the boss of the organization.
Both men were devoted to their families, as well as to “The Family” as we referred to ourselves. But they were also ruthless and deadly to those they felt deserved it.
We’d all been close since childhood, which had grown into a deep friendship as adults. But ultimately, I still worked for them. While a fuckup at any normal job would get you fired, if you royally fucked up Family business, you could end up with a bullet in your skull. And choosing a new art authentication specialist I had doubts about would definitely qualify as a royal fuckup if they ended up betraying us.
Although, the unique skills I possessed definitely meant I was less likely to end up swimming with the fishes.
Nic had been the one to convince me to relocate from Paris to Georgia five years ago. I’d moved to Camillia Falls to work with Rafa because The Family’s prominent business in the South, particularly the Georgia and Carolina branches, was my specialty. Art and antiquities.
Although we were French, Charles and I had been born into The Family. Our grandfather Aimé had been best friends with Francisco DeLuca—Nic’s grandfather. Who was also the half brother of Rafa’s grandfather…because it was a typical big, confusing Italian family. Francisco and Aimé had gone to boarding school together, and when Francisco took over as boss, he and Aimé worked together to smuggle art and antiquities in and out of France.
The operation had been passed down to our father, then Charles and I eventually took it over. When I moved to the States, Charles continued to manage the operations in France while I handled things on this end.
I also managed Belladonna Gallery, the largest art gallery in Atlanta, as well as Vellum & Vine—an exclusive, extremely high-end museum. Both were among the many legitimate businesses owned by The Family, although some of their dealings were done in the shadows.
However, those jobs were not the skill that made me the most valuable to The Family. I was an artist. And I was fucking exceptional, which was how I’d become one of the best art forgers in the world. Although that was only speculated about in the smallest circle so I’d been able to stay off the FBI’s radar. And any other law enforcement organization.
In the smuggling game, being able to replace originals with a perfect forgery added more layers to the business. We could boost a shipment of paintings and replace some with replicas before we left them to be recovered by the cops or insurance investigators. Which gave us the option of selling the real piece on the black market without the same amount of heat there would be if the stolen items hadn’t been “recovered.”
Or, as was the case this evening, we had a collector who “discovered” a rare, or rumored to exist, painting. Only our guy existed in every way except being actual flesh and blood.
A couple of months ago, the boss of the Sicilian Mafia—whom the DeLucas stemmed from back in the early 1800s—died. There had always been rumors about a secret art collection, especially since The Family had been linked to several high-profile thefts over the years. The collection existed, but no one outside the organization knew, so the contents could only be speculated upon.
One of the pieces allegedly part of the collection was Caravaggio's Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence . People had no idea that their conjecture just happened to be true.
Nic had called his distant relative, the boss’s son and successor, to convey his sympathies. During his conversation with Fiero DeLuca, they talked about the collection of art. Fiero only wanted to keep a handful of them and asked Nic to handle the sale of the others. They would smuggle some of them out of Italy to be sold in backdoor dealings or put up for public auction as newly discovered, or recovered, pieces.
Fiero intended to keep Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence , but he was aware of my skills and suggested we create a forgery to sell. Since the original would remain in The Family’s private possession, there was less risk of getting caught.
I’d taken a last-minute trip to Italy, where it was easiest to collect the necessary ingredients to create an authentic replica that would stand up to the most intense authentication processes. Then I made the paints and brushes to match the ones Caravaggio would have used, mixed with remnants scraped from art created in the same timeframe so that it would have the same microbial ingredients—like microscopic pollens and other things that would have been in the air and ground in 1609. We’d even used a canvas from the same time period, cleaning off the original painting before I created the forgery.
Then Charles had come to collect the canvas and escort the “newly discovered” piece to the States while I stayed in the shadows and returned home.
Despite how fucking good I was, the painting was still a fake, so we intended to use an authenticator on our payroll to make sure it passed all the tests. However, the woman we’d worked with for the past decade had gotten involved with the wrong person and been outed as corrupt. She was spending some time in prison, but as long as she kept her mouth shut, she’d remain alive.
Her arrest had left us with a gaping hole in the plan. So Rafa tasked me with finding someone to take her place. Luckily, I’d already been in the process since we’d decided to have a backup here in Georgia. Having more than one authentication specialist in the southern branches made sense because we sold the most stolen and smuggled art for The Family.
Isaiah had been on my radar for a while before I conveniently bumped into him and built a friendship over a year ago. When I was confident that he could be trusted, I’d approached him with a deal, and he’d taken the bait. Which saved me the trouble of having to use the dirt we’d dug up to blackmail him. Marco, Rafa’s brother and a fucking genius—especially with technology—had found plenty of shit to use, and it was all stored on our secure server in case we ever needed it.
I’d used Isaiah on some smaller jobs, each bigger than the one before, all leading up to this event. He was in too deep to screw us now, but when faced with law enforcement, there was the smallest chance that he would cave and work for them as a rat. Although, if he attempted that path, we had safeguards in place that would ruin his career and reputation, all of which would also embarrass the agency trying to use him against us.
If that happened, my head would be on the chopping block with Rafa because I’d vouched for this guy. Not that mistakes were never forgiven, but I would still pay for the fuck up, and it would be a long damn time before I fully gained Rafa’s trust again.
However, I was confident in Isaiah’s commitment to The Family. That wasn’t what I was judging him on today. Not completely, anyway.
“Tonight will not end with me discovering how creative Rafa can be. The point of this test is mostly to gauge Isaiah’s ability to think on his feet. We’ll see how he handles the scrutiny under pressure,” I explained to my brother.
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“From what we’ve seen so far, I think he’ll come through for us.”
“ Bene ,” Charles murmured.
Since we were in public, despite speaking in French, we kept our conversation vague. The authentication process was underway, and Charles wanted to know if Isaiah knew if the painting was real or fake.
With something this big, I needed to know he could pass it off as real when he discovered it on the spot rather than being prepared ahead of time. If he failed, then the safeguards would be put into action. However, if he succeeded, the test of loyalty would happen shortly after when he’d be approached by a private insurance investigator who would offer him an obscene amount of money to admit the truth.
Our conversation paused when Alessio—Alec—Dominici, one of Rafa’s enforcers, strolled up to join us. “Marc has run every face in the room. No major red flags. I suspect a few of our guests are party crashers but harmless.”
“What are Sara Bosch and Sterling Ellis up to?” I asked, tipping my flute toward the extremely successful insurance investigators. Although they worked for different companies, they were speaking quietly while standing in front of a Camille Claudel sculpture.
It was another long-lost masterpiece that would be up for auction. Although, in this case, it was authentic…at the moment. My ability to replicate sculpture was excellent, but it wasn’t my forte and wouldn’t stand up to anything but the first few levels of testing.
That particular piece would be replaced after the auction while it was in transit to the new owner. And with the authentication certification from the auction house in hand, there would be no reason for them to request further testing.
“Isn’t Sara’s company set to insure the sculpture?” Charles clarified.
“ Oui .” Which was why I was very curious to know what they were discussing so intently.
“You don’t think she’ll ask for an independent examination?”
“Probably,” I replied.
Alec frowned and glanced around before murmuring, “And what if it’s then declared a fake?”
I shrugged. Under the right circumstances, there were times when my less-than-perfect talent could work in our favor. “Then the new owner will feel like a fool and be out millions of dollars.”
While our buyer would have their prize safely tucked away somewhere.
“And should the original emerge again someday far in the future, it will be worth a fuck of a lot more than the price it will catch today.”
Alec smirked and said something else, but I didn’t hear it.
My attention was snagged by a glimpse of soft red curls that tumbled down to a perfectly rounded ass covered in deep purple silk. When the silky tresses moved, pale creamy skin peeked through. Far too much beautifully freckle-kissed skin , I thought as my brow furrowed. The back of the dress was basically nonexistent and was open to the small of the woman’s back, much too close to that delectable ass.
Then she turned around and— putain de merde !
Big green, upturned eyes were framed with thick black lashes that made them stand out like brilliant emeralds. Her pert nose sat atop red, bow-shaped lips, and dimples dug into cute, plump cheeks dusted with freckles. I could just imagine them mixed with a sweet pink blush while those puffy lips were wrapped around my cock.
Her dress was secured around her slender neck, and the front dipped into a V that was just low enough to show off a little cleavage. The fabric fell loosely at her sides, and when she moved, it shifted just enough to show a hint of the rounded curves of her breasts. And fuck, they were the most mouthwatering tits I’d ever seen. Big, juicy globes that would more than fill my hands. They would look sexy as fuck bouncing while she was riding my dick fast and hard.
Although I was pissed about how much of her body was on display, I was distracted as my gaze continued downward. She had an hourglass figure with wide, curvy hips, and when the slit in her skirt parted, it showed off a thick thigh and a leg that looked a mile long—despite her height. Without her sky-high heels, she couldn’t be more than 5’2”, considering I was nearly a foot taller than her at six feet.
It had been a long time since a woman had caught my eye, so I was stunned when my body came roaring to life. My hands itched to feel all those soft curves, to cup those luscious breasts, squeeze her plump ass, and hold her hips to keep her in place while I buried myself inside her over and over.
I wanted to run my tongue over all that pale, star-dusted skin, connecting every one of them until I’d tasted them all.
The thought of her legs wrapped around my head while I ate her to a screaming orgasm had my pulse racing and my mouth filling with moisture. She was all curves, but she was small, and my dick was as hard as stone as I imagined sinking into her tight channel and exploding while she clamped down around me and milked me for every drop.
Putain de merde . I had to stop these thoughts before I came in my pants like a fucking teenager. Or dragged the woman to the nearest room to fuck her brains out like a damn caveman.
After a few minutes of picturing the least sexy things I could think of, my breathing and pulse were back to normal, although I hadn’t been able to get my cock to soften.
“Marc ran everyone in the room?” I asked Alec casually.
“ Sí ,” he said with a nod.
“Who is that woman? The redhead in purple.”
“Kerrigan Vale.”
I knew he’d be able to answer me immediately because he had an eidetic memory. Which was extremely useful at crowded events like this.
“She’s one of the guests I’m not so sure was invited,” he added. “But according to Marc, she’s the newest junior curator for The Peachtree Museum of Fine Arts. She’s wicked smart, and the notes her last employer wrote during her internship indicate that she has an incredible knack for art. But she’s basically the lowest on the totem pole, so I’m sure she isn’t here representing The Peachtree. She could be someone’s guest, I suppose.”
Anger and jealousy clawed at my chest when I considered she might be here with someone, possibly on a date. I was astounded by my visceral reactions to her. It was disconcerting, and the loss of control I was feeling over my emotions irritated the fuck out of me. But when her eyes suddenly met mine, my feet began to move of their own volition, and the caveman inside me smiled wickedly as he stalked his prey.