Page 19 of Diamond Don

I familiarized myself with the museum’s layout before tonight’s gala. I’m always overly cautious with the security of the Flame of Mir. Still, my due diligence served me well this evening when I desperately needed to find a private area.

The corridor is deserted. Mentally orienting myself, I recall it leads to a large room dedicated to one of the museum’s ongoing exhibitions, Italian Masters. It houses a dozen paintings and sculptures from the Renaissance and Baroque periods.

We approach the exhibition’s entryway. More of my men linger outside the door. Unlike the edgy shestyorka out front, these are higher-ranking members of the bratva. They don’t avoid making eye contact with me. The vori stare at me instead, somber expressions all over their faces. My sense of dread grows.

Dmitri is by the door. Covering the distance between us in a couple of short strides, I reach to open the door when he stops me.

“Nik, wait,” he says. “Hold on for just a second. You need to prepare yourself, Nik.”

I don’t wait for Dmitri to finish his sentence. Shoving his hand away, I push the door open and step into the exhibition room, eager to end this endless suspense.

The first thing I see is Caravaggio’s famous painting, The Taking of Christ. It looms dark and magnificent on the wall directly in front of me across the large chamber. In the back of my mind, I’m taken aback to see it here. I thought it was supposed to be housed in the National Gallery of Ireland.

The dark brown hardwood floors and the scarlet wallpaper covering the windowless walls lend the room a gloomy ambience. Its poorly lit state only adds to the grim atmosphere.

This shadowy environment is likely why I take a while to notice the body in front of the notorious art piece.

I can’t tell the dead man’s identity straight away. Not from this far away—the chamber is too dismally illuminated to allow that.

I slowly approach the cadaver, seized by that unsettling feeling of foreboding again as my heart trashes and thunders within my chest.

Finally, I reach the body. Looking down, I glance at his face, immediately feeling as if my heart has come to a sudden, screeching halt. Utterly shocked, I inhale sharply.

Maxim.

8

KAT

I rush to meet A.J. at our favorite coffee shop, weaving in and out of inconvenient traffic on my way downtown. I don’t want to—and can’t afford to—be late for our lunch appointment.

After the night of the gala, something clicked into place within me. Simply put, I’m done letting others take the lead in my life. No more passively reacting to things that happen to me. It’s time I start deliberately acting on behalf of my interests again.

It has only been a week since that fateful evening, but I have been busy.

After leaving Nikolai, I called A.J. to let her know the heist was successful.

I still haven’t told her about the passionate moment I enjoyed in Nikolai’s arms. I want to tell her everything, badly needing to voice my thoughts out loud to process my feelings about him. But for some reason, the words just won’t come to me.

Instead, I asked her to set up the drop for the Flame of Mir with the stronzo’s contact. It is in everyone’s best interests if my interactions with the man are kept to a bare minimum.

The diamond was such a hot item that I didn’t feel comfortable keeping it overnight. It hurt me to part with the exquisitely beautiful jewel—and, worst of all, hand it to the villain—but it was a good idea to get rid of it as soon as possible.

Thankfully, when the news broke that the Flame of Mir was missing, I had already handed it to the stronzo’s man.

In the following days, I stayed busy caring for myself and working with A.J. to pursue our lead on the stronzo’s secret.

A.J. and I have been forced to answer to the old man’s every whim for the past few months, ever since my best friend landed herself into some serious trouble with him.

In an uncharacteristic display of carelessness, she was caught red-handed defrauding the man’s accounts. To her credit, she managed to relocate a few million dollars before he even noticed the money was missing.

A.J. and I are usually very careful about the people and businesses we target in our jobs. We never aim for anyone with organized crime ties or a history of violence.

This time around, A.J. didn’t adhere to our one golden rule. She’s very good at what she does, and over the years, she may have become a little too cocky about her impressive track record.

In our field, self-assuredness is essential. Self-doubt is of no help when one needs to be bold. My friends and I hate the term con woman, but our line of work is described as a confidence game for a reason. A good thief knows it is in their best interest to always hope for the best, but a great thief knows it is just as important to prepare for the worst.

A.J. forgot the latter when she set out to steal from the stronzo, assuming he was an easy mark. But he was a made man—a detail she ignored when she chose him as her target.

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