Page 51 of King of the Cage

I nodded understandingly. “I know, cliché as hell. I wouldn’t let him in if I were you, big guy.”

The security guy puffed himself up and nodded, turning an ironlike look at Declan loitering on the street corner.

“You know, this is a well-timed visit. I’ve been reading up about how easy it is to launder money through the sale of fine art,” I murmured to Sol. “It’s pretty clean and untraceable, however, you need access to the right kind of pretentious criminals. The ones who think they’re too good for tanning salons and laundromats, you know?”

Researching Aldo Sepriano had clued me in to the fact that he was a big art collector, apparently. Of course, the movement of fine art was a front for whatever shady business transactions he conducted with the help of his investment group, The Enclave. I’d had a fruitful afternoon. Bran’s IT guy didn’t cover his tracks well, and his search terms were basic as hell.

Secret societies were all well and good as long as they were only making their asshole members rich. But a secret society that was pumping the city full of horrifying experimental drugs and branding girls? Not cool. They needed to be stopped.

“What’s wrong with a good tanning salon?” Sol asked indignantly. “Aside from skin cancer.”

“Yeah, exactly, so who’s the artist tonight, and why are we here?”

“His name is S, and he paints these hauntingly Gothic, creepy paintings. They make me shiver.” Sol sighed, walking up the red carpet and flashing an invitation to the doorman.

The little gallery was already packed to the brim with the art crowd. We pushed inside the main room, enveloped by the heat of many bodies packed in a small space.

“Their name is S? Just S?” I wondered.

“Just S. Apparently his dad is a big shot of some kind, but he never wanted to make it through connections, so he only goes by S.”

“Interesting,” I muttered, feeling it was anything but. These days, rich kids trying to escape obvious nepotism was pretty much the standard. It wasn’t a good look, but that didn’t mean that their parents’ money hadn’t paved their way, from private school, to supplies, to time, to even breaking into an industry.

I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and toasted Sol. “Thanks for forcing me out of the house. I was beginning to see the world in code.”

Sol laughed. “Let’s go and see the paintings. I need to be well-informed when our host sees us.” She took off toward a huge painting to the left.

“Our host?” I repeated and followed her.

“This event is invite-only, so yeah, we were invited.”

“By whom?” I asked.

We arrived in front of the painting. I looked up at the canvas and blinked. It was darkly colored, rich with earthen tones and gloom. It was set in the woods, and there appeared to be a stone altar of some kind. Animals of various kinds sat around the altar. No, not animals, I realized after a moment.

They were people with animal masks on.

I shivered.

“Aldo Sepriano.”

The name slowly sank through my mind as I stood, mesmerized by the painting.

“Wait. Who?”

I turned to Sol, stunned by the coincidence that the very man I’d been digging into all day was the same one who’d invited us to the gallery tonight.

“Aldo. He reached out earlier to apologize for all the fuss that happened with Enrico. He offered both of us tickets to this event to make up for the public rejection at the wedding, not that I remember that. Isn’t that sweet?”

“It’s weird,” I remarked instead. So, not a coincidence at all. We were here by design. Tension notched down my spine immediately. My gut told me being here was a bad idea.

“Ouch. Weird isn’t what I was going for,” a deep voice said behind us.

I spun around and nearly collided with the man.

Aldo Sepriano. Enrico’s older, much more influential brother. He was the sort of man you’d pass on the street without a second glance: nondescript, plain, his face an unremarkable blend of features that bore neither beauty nor ugliness. His hair was an indeterminate shade between brown and gray, thin and combed with a precision that spoke of a meticulous nature rather than vanity. His eyes, mud brown and oddly flat.

“Solaria, thank you so much for coming. You, too, Giada.” He leaned in to kiss Sol on both cheeks, while his security looked on, standing at his shoulder. Aldo was a state assembly member and didn’t go anywhere without his own team.

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