Page 34 of Passion and Revenge

“It sold out?” Her father sounds shocked, and I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed by the surprise in his voice.

Doesn’t he know how talented his own daughter is? He should be more surprised there wasn’t news of a fight starting up in the gallery over her paintings.

“Yes, an anonymous buyer paid fifteen million dollars for them.”

Suspicion clouds his gaze. “And you don’t have any idea who this anonymous buyer might be?”

“That would be me, Ivan,” I say, stepping up to him.

His eyes go round with shock for a second before he recovers himself and steps forward. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, Mr. Mancini.” Ettore beams at me, dollar signs in his eyes. “Welcome back to the gallery. You left rather in a hurry the other day.”

I grit my teeth, too impatient to deal with the gallery owner. “I did, didn’t I?” The look I slant him causes blood to drain from his face.

“I—If you’ll excuse me, please,” he stutters and then escapes to the other side of the room.

“Ivan, it’s been ages. You don’t look too well. I wonder what the problem might be.”

“You have my daughter.” It’s a statement, not a question, and I’m proud of his quick deductive skills.

My mouth curves up. “Bravo, D’Addario. I knew there was a reason you made it so far in the system. No, wait, I think I have you mixed up with someone else. Ah, yes, I remember. You got so far by getting your hands stained with the blood of the innocent. We must go out for drinks sometime so I can teach you some tricks of our world.”

“Our world?” he growls. “I don’t belong to your world, and I’ll never associate with the likes of you.”

My jaw ticks. “Isn’t it a little too late for that?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “What are you talking about?”

I tsk. “Come now, Ivan. Let’s not play these games. They are ever so tiring.”

Ignoring me, he steps forward, his hands fisting into the collar of my shirt. “Where’s Sienna?”

I applaud his guts. I have about four inches and several pounds on him. He knows I’ve killed men, and I’m not skittish about doing it again, and yet, here he is, getting physical with me.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to attract attention to us,” I tell him calmly. I can hold my own, and most of the cops in the city are in my pocket, so I’m not afraid of being tossed into a cell, but I’m not also in the mood to ruin my suit.

“Sir?”

I turn my head to eye the man he had been standing with. Then, I drop my gaze to where his hand is cocked over the bulge in his hip.

The look I give the man shows how unmoved I am by the threat of being shot at.

“Tell your guard dog to stand down.” I fix my gaze back on the older man. I still as our eyes lock on each other.

They have the same eyes.

Not the same color, but they have the same shape and intensity to them. I bite down on my tongue to distract myself from my unnecessary observation. It doesn’t matter. They can have the same exact face, and it still won’t matter.

“Leave us, son,” Ivan says.

Son? Curious eyes lock on the man. Who the fuck is this asshole? And why does Ivan call him son? I don’t like the fury that bursts to life and sizzles against my skin.

Who is he to Sienna?

And most importantly, why do I care?

“He has Sienna.” Ivan sounds defeated, and it makes me chuckle.

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