Page 34 of Sweet Animosity

I knew the man who owned the original. I’d seen it a few years ago, the last time I was in St. Petersburg. It was all very dramatic and overblown, with him insisting I only view it at the old KGB headquarters. The space was a recreation of a hunting lodge in the center of the city with paradoxically butchered animals on the walls surrounding an elegant brass and crystal chandelier.

The entire time, the painting was flanked by two guards.

It was all nonsense.

Anyone who knew anything about black market art knew it wasn’t a true early version of the Mona Lisa. It had been painted two centuries later in France.

“I suspect the old bastard is worried the truth is going to come out about his painting. The best way to recover the obscene millions he paid for it would be to stage an art theft and then sell off several copies before anyone knows the truth. That they don’t, in fact, own a secret da Vinci Mona Lisa.”

Serg leaned his hands on my desk as he studied the paintings. “So, what’s our plan?”

I considered for a moment, then said, “I think we should?—”

A commotion outside my office interrupted our conversation.

“Let go of me!” came an indignant shout.

Leaving my desk, I swung the door open and shouted, “What the hell is going on?”

Vivian struggled between two Four Monks security guards as they each held one of her arms.

Her writhing movements were meant to disengage her limbs from their grasp.

Instead, with her beautiful curves, it appeared more like a fucking erotic dance. Her hips rocked back and forth while she arched her back, trying to break free.

My cock lengthened as I imagined the same scenario, but with her wrists tied to my bedpost.

“Get your hands off her and go back to your posts,” I snarled as I stormed over to her.

The guards obeyed without a word, leaving silently.

She swept a thick wave of black hair away from her flushed face as her chest heaved with each labored breath.

I already imagined what those warm breaths would feel like against the tip of my cock, right before I shoved her mouth down its length as I stepped closer.

My right hand opened and closed at my side. I could still feel the impression of her flesh against my palm from when I held her in my arms.

She backed away.

I followed until her body slammed against a nearby wall.

With my forearm braced over her head, I leaned in. My gaze focused on the glossy red lipstick covering her full lips. “You’re supposed to be on a plane to Europe. That was the deal.”

Despite the clear fear in her bright green eyes, she lifted her chin and said, “I want a job here, at the Four Monks… or I go to the police with what I know.”

CHAPTER 14

VIVIAN

Staring into Var’s furious dark eyes, my plan, which seemed so perfectly simple five minutes ago, now seemed incredibly, insanely, stupidly dangerous.

I was so confident when I borrowed Millie’s phone yesterday and Googled Varlaam Romanovich Rubashkin and learned he was a partner at the Four Monks private gambling club. Sure, clicking on the other articles about all the super terrifying mafia ties, scandals, and insinuations was not ideal, but at least I had found him.

I’d also found an article talking about a certain missing dictator and how his plane was believed to be lost somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. That would explain the lack of police presence or news about the murder of an international dignitary on US soil. No body. No murder. No outcry or press.

The idea that they could do the same to me with even less fuss was terrifying.

But I had no choice. This was my only option in finding out the probable location of the Mona Lisas.

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