Page 44 of Iron Blade

Pieces I had painted while visiting the governor’s mansion so we could do a dead drop. The long exchange of information from the governor, through me, to Blink, who would then get it to our international sector.

We stood in front of a Jerry Vasali piece.

I knew that being seen with Lutkus, an world renowned venture capitalist, looking at this painting, would increase its value. That must have been his aim, because he mumbled, “I think I like this one. It’s good, right?”

“It sure is,” I said, with a sigh that others would consider wistful.

Someone lingered, as if he was trying to catch our conversation, so I said with a voice that was louder than it needed to be, “It’s a Jerry Vasali. Poor man was a veteran, and he really channels his pain to…”

When the man walked out of hearing range, I dropped my voice, but didn’t look at him.

“Are you okay, Picasso?” Lutkus asked under his breath.

“I’m fine, Blink. Why?” We didn’t just say our nicknames for the fun of it. It was to acknowledge where our cover ended, and the real conversation began.

“You went to Green’s last night.”

“Are you spying on me?”

“Yes, of course I am. I’m a spy.”

I rolled my eyes.

“He’s fixated on me, for some reason.” That was an understatement. “He asked me to marry him.”

“And what did you answer?”

“No,” I said through clenched teeth. “Of course, I said no!”

A waiter passed by, and I grabbed a champagne flute, bringing it to my lips just so my hands had something to do. I didn’t love this part of the spy game. The talking-without-talking, and always looking like you were doing something else.

“Don’t get huffy with me, missy,” he said with a small smirk.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to get involved.”

“That was before. Now… well, with your relationship with Cosima Durante, and now Eoghan… you might be in a good place to…” he started coughing, as a woman walked by, her eyes roaming his body with interest.

She didn’t linger, though, and walked on.

“This morning’s report was excellent,” he said coolly. Information on the inner workings of the mafia and mob. The first real boon we’d had when it came to them.

My heart sank, as guilt riddled through me. Was I right to talk about Eoghan’s relationship with his father? Was I right to discuss something that had been told to me in the most earnest confidence?

As a spy, I wasn’t here to guard secrets I wasn’t paid to. I reported all information I gathered, including financial documents and coffee preferences. But with Eoghan, it felt wrong.

“You could do worse.” Blink placed a finger on his bottom lip and stared intently at the painting, as if he was strongly considering its purchase. “But it’s only if you feel safe to do so.”

I looked at him with shocked eyes, but he didn’t turn to return my gaze. He kept staring straight ahead.

“I thought that personal relationships were verboten in our line of work,” I said, crossing my arms, my head tilting to the side. We were two people discussing art, to the casual on-looker. Not discussing clandestine Paradigm operations.

He chuckled, taking a sip of champagne.

“We’re not that dogmatic. I’ve done a deep dive into him, and despite being a killer, and a mafia man,” Blink shrugged. “He’s not a terrible person… at least not according to the intel.”

He took a step forward, bringing his face close to the canvas, as if he was scrutinizing some imperfection.

“He’s the man we want to install at the top. He’s the best choice.” His brows came together as his eyes rose on the canvas, scanning the opposite corner. “Can’t pick the Italians. The Russians are in our pocket, but they’re not a long term solution. But Eoghan…”

---