Page 28 of The Carver

“Same.”

The waitress seemed to have dealt with enough sketchy characters to know that she needed to do her job as quietly as possible. She didn’t ask any follow-up questions about our sides or additional items. She left at the first opportunity.

“What can I do for you, Oscar?” All the world-renowned artwork and historical pieces that had come into my possession had been handed over to Oscar years ago. My late father had had one of the most powerful paintings in French history,Liberty Leading the People, a famous work inspired by the French Revolution,and I’d gifted it to the Aristocrats as a gesture of friendship. We’d been working together ever since, sharing information, killing each other’s enemies, and pardoning our allies.

“You’re aware that someone has been stealing French artwork for years. Stealing it from museums, from our private residences, even the Louvre. They’re putting these pieces on the black market, and despite our best efforts to catch him in the act, we’ve been unsuccessful.”

I kept a poker face of slight indifference, but I saw the problem march over the horizon like a militia.

“As First Emperor of the Fifth Republic, you know exactly who it is because of the taxes and tariffs he pays to you.”

I didn’t deny it. Kept a straight face and looked him in the eye.

“I want you to tell me who it is.”

I continued my stare without a blink, my mind working quickly behind my eyes. I wanted to hand over Adrien on a silver platter as retribution for what he’d done to my woman, for the fact that he was delusional enough to think he actually had another chance with the woman he threw away, because he’d forced her to remain in a marriage she vehemently opposed. But if I gave him up, I knew each of his limbs would be tied to a different car and they would take off in different directions at full speed—ripping him to pieces.

Fleur wouldn’t want that. And if she knew I was responsible for it, I would lose her. “We’ve discussed this before, Oscar. If I give this person up, then none of my associates will trust me to protect their identities. They’ll see me as a rat—and rightfully so.”

“That son of a bitch has spat in my face.” He’d been calm up until that point, but he started to lose his grip.

“I get it.”

“I’ve done a lot of shit for you?—”

“As I’ve done for you. You find him on your own and exact your revenge. I won’t stop you. I won’t come to his aid, even though I should as his business partner—I’ll look the other way.”

He stilled just the way a wild cat did before it pounced. “His business is a slap in the face to our people, to our culture. It’s a treasonous act against France itself. And you do nothing about it.”

“He hasn’t violated the rules I’ve set forth.”

“Then you need to change the rules because his actions aren’t only criminal—but disrespectful.”

I had to admit Adrien’s business operations were different from the others, which were focused on drugs, weapons, prostitution, or human organs on the black market. It was far more personal to a lot of people, especially the nobility. It was a problem I hadn’t foreseen when I’d started my regime. “What if I were to get him to stop?”

His anger receded, but only subtly.

“Convince him to cease his operations permanently. Would that be agreeable to you?”

He fell into heavy silence, his face contorted into deep consternation. “I also want a list of his buyers.”

“That’s not going to happen.” That would put a target on Adrien’s back. He would be hunted for the rest of his short life. “The most I can do is get him to stop.”

“Then I want him to help me buy back every piece.”

“I’ll ask if that’s possible.” But I doubted it would be. “I’m willing to do this because of our long-standing friendship. I wouldn’t do it for someone else, so please remember that.” I had motivations of my own—keeping Adrien alive for Fleur’s sake.

Oscar finally gave a nod. “You’re a good man, Bastien. A better man than your father was.”

I wanted to go home to the woman waiting for me, but now I had other matters that required my attention. When I left the restaurant, I headed to Adrien’s home, a place with a gate as flimsy as a curtain, with laughable security.

Instead of breaking down the door, I knocked—like a real person.

One of his staff opened the door, an old man who looked like a butler.

“I need to speak to Adrien. Tell him it’s Bastien—and it’s important.”

He nodded in understanding before he opened the door wider to let me into the foyer. “Wait here for a moment, sir.” He walked off and disappeared around the corner. His footsteps faded as he headed to the stairs.

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