I peer at the names again. Colwill ’s “evidence” that we’re in the crosshairs of a man hell-bent on revenge. According to this, Robbert Kroos has purchased land or buildings near everyone involved. But not in New York.He’s right. Whatever was done to Robbert , the Lewis weren’t a part of it.But my uncle was.Having known him as well as I did, worked for him, pledged my loyalty to him, I can say without a doubt that he was not a man who would have ever forged an alliance with the enemy. Yet if what Luca is telling us is true, which all evidence points to, Gustavo did.“How do we know this isn’t all some made-up bullshit?” Arnold asks. “I never heard of a Ferryman.”“Exacly,” Joselu Cebalos , Rico’s nephew, pipes in. “How do I know jou aren’t the guan behin oll thees. I never heard of a Ferymen.”“I’m not behind anything,” Colwill snarls. “My own brother was killed by this asshole. His bitch attacked Jack’s place and nearly took out Gunn.”Gunn’s head snaps up. “She didn’t come o
“Everyone, this is wilock ,” Gunn introduces when it seems Luca can’t speak. “ColWill ’s wife.”“You were saying about a vote?” one of the men asks.“ColWill ,” Jack sneers.“My wife was just leaving.” ColWill grabs Wilock by the arm and tries to drag her out.Tiny as she is compared to him, she manages to hold her ground. “Actually, I believe I have much to contribute. It was my smarts that discovered the Ferryman.”“She knows about the Ferryman?” Mac asks.“My father is Gregorio Di Persia. He’s spoken of him,” she says.ColWill leans in close. “I’d like a word with you in private.”She glares at him as she tries to free herself. “After the meeting.”“Now.”He finally manages to drag her out and shut the doors behind them.We’re left staring after them. But no one moves. Especially not after the sounds of fucking follow their argument.“I feel dirty,” Joselu comments. “But I guish they had left the door open. If jour gonna fuck during a meeting, let me see.”“This is ridiculous,” Ja
It’s good to be back. I sigh as I stare at three months’ worth of mail waiting on my desk. Even the thought of going through all those bills isn’t enough to bring down my mood. I’ve missed New Jersey, missed my home, and, even more so, the gallery. Don’t get me wrong, our trip around Europe was fantastic. Meeting new artists in hopes of bringing them to the States, visiting my most-loved piece at The Louvre,Orphan Girlby Eugène Delacroix, and getting to finally step into the National Gallery in England. Scotland was my favorite stop. It’s where my ancestors are from, after all. Not that I ever met any of my relatives. Or know anything more about them beyond the few names I forced from Dad. But it was amazing to see nonetheless. I wanted to stay longer. To continue with our new American culture traveling gallery and become more intimate with every art museum and showcase we participated in. But I was also homesick. Every time I touched a canvas or inhaled the smell of paint, I thou
An hour later, I come to the conclusion that if I don’t put the mail down and take a break, I’ll go blind. Not to mention, starve. My stomach groans in protest of its emptiness and I grimace.This morning, I was so excited to get to the gallery, I filled my cup of coffee and rushed out of the house.“Remy, I’m going to Kubano for lunch. Can I bring you anything back?”She looks up from the setup she’s working on. Her gaze catches on something over my shoulder and she grins from ear to ear like a fool. “You may want to wait on Kubano. Something yummier is coming this way.”I look behind me and my breath catches as, through one of the large windows of the gallery, I spot Nathan peeking inside.When his warm eyes lock onto mine, heat rushes to every inch of my face, and my own lips pull into a wide grin.Oh my God, he’s here! I do a quick mental check of my appearance. My hair loose in tight waves, the powder-blue shoulder-tie dress and white sandals. I dressed for comfort, not to impres
However, Nathan barely touches his food. His brow furrows as he pushes a sweet potato fry across his plate. “Did you enjoy your trip abroad?”I nod and drink some more water to wash down my food. “It was very nice. Have you ever been to Europe?”“Italy,” he says. “I have a house in Brera.”Impressed, I raise my brows. Not that I know where that is. “It must be nice to have a place to stay while you travel.”“I rarely go. Work keeps me too busy here.”And here’s my chance to ask what I’ve been so curious about. “What type of work do you do?”“I’m a consultant.”I laugh. “That’s the response you give someone when you don’t want to tell them what you do.”“Maybe I don’t want to say.”Cocking my head, I chew my lower lip and study him. “Can I guess?”“I’d love to hear what you think I do. It will be sort of judging a book by its cover, though.” He grins devilishly, as if he can’t wait for me to trip up and say something insulting.“Well”—I tap my finger against my chin—“based on looks, I’
I shrug, then laugh. “Maybe I should hire you instead. You can be one of our artists and then people’s jobs would be safe.”“I’m not a good artist.”“I’ll tell you a secret.” I lean in. “No one really is. That’s what makes it so beautiful.”“Are you always this happy?”“Why wouldn’t I be?” I pick up one of my fried plantains and shove it in my mouth.“Life can really suck sometimes.”“Hmm. It can, I suppose. Especially for the ones who lose their jobs when you show up,” I tease.“Someone will take mine too someday,” he says.I nod and grab another thin plantain. “The way I see it is, life hands you all these paint colors. You don’t have a choice in using them—they all have to be used. But you choose which ones to paint your immediate surroundings with. Personally, I like to keep the grays in the background. Like little storm clouds in the distance on a summer day.”He stares at me again in that scrutinizing way, as if he’s trying to make me out.“Why do you look at me like that?” I as
“It’s on me.”“I’m the only one who ate.” I point at my plate. “You lied to me, Nathan . You weren’t even hungry, were you?”“Iamhungry, Natalia . But not for food.” His intense stare leaves no question about his meaning.“Oh,” I whisper, my mouth gone instantly dry.As he works on calculating the tip for our meal, I stare at him. At his handsome features. He must be in his early thirties; however, very few lines mar his face.I recall my mother saying lines on your skin are like a map that tells you where someone had been. Crinkles around the eyes and mouth say a person has known joy. But if they’re on other parts of the face, parts that don’t normally pull when a person smiles, that means they’ve been through hell.Nathan doesn’t have lines around his eyes or mouth. His are between his brows and one long indent that forms on the side of his cheek when he’s deep in thought. Like now.“Nathan ,” I say.He signs the receipt and places his credit card back into his black leather wallet,
He arches a brow. “Seems like you’ve handled these more than a few times.”I grin. “Dad has always insisted that I’m familiar with them since they’re in the house.”Nathan inspects the piece, maneuvering the pistol in his large hands in a way that shows me he knows what he’s doing. “This is nice.”“It’s Dad’s favorite. First thing he ever bought for himself that he really wanted.”“What’syourfavorite?” he asks, handing it back to me.“None. I don’t like them.” I place the Mauser back in the case and lock it.“Then show me what you like, Natalia .”God, the sound of my name in his voice is like fine wine, decadent and rich and oh so sexy. I want to close my eyes and listen to him say it again.“Come.” I take his hand, and though he seems surprised, he doesn’t pull away. “What I want to show you is upstairs.”We go up the narrow staircase, all the way to the third-floor attic that’s been finished. Sort of. While it does have air conditioning, the walls are still made of grayed wooden sl