Page 60 of The Artist and the Muse

“I don’t know where he is. Like I said, we lost touch when I moved to California. The last thing I heard in the news is that he now runs a restaurant.”

“You’re sure you haven’t seen or heard from him at all?” Lucas’s pen hovered over the page, ready to scribble down all my confessions.

“No.” I sighed. “Now can I please go? I have a work meeting after this.”

“One more thing, actually.” Lucas flipped a few pages in his file. “Why did you punch Sergio Cavalli in the face?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Sebastian’s cousin, Sergio. It says in your file you were once accused of drunk and disorderly conduct but were released without charges after punching him in the face at his engagement party.”

“He dumped Georgia,” I responded.

“It wasn’t related to the money launderingthing—”

“For the last time, I don’t know anything about the money-laundering!” I said. I cursed Sebastian for dragging me into this mess—then myself for letting him.

He sighed. “Very well.” Static and an indecipherable voice crackled in his earpiece. Lucas winced. “You may go.”

I wasn’t about to question their sudden change of heart, so I didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he got up and unlocked the door for me, letting me out of the interrogation room.

After I’d retrieved my phone, I sprinted through the halls. I was going to be horribly late for my meeting. I darted past a group of travellers with suitcases.

Then, I came face-to-face with the one man I had thought I would never see again.

Sebastian Cavalli.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: George Devereaux

“George,” Sebastian said, a smile spreading across his face. As if it hadn’t been years. As if he hadn’t lied to me and used me for his life of crime. As if we’d just seen each other yesterday. “It’s good to see you, man.”

A surge of irritation filled me at the sight of him, my fist clenching around my suitcase handle. How dare he show up here after all these years and act like nothing had happened? How dare he act as if he hadn’t dragged me into a life of crime?

“I’m glad they let you out. I was worried about you,” he said, a lazy smirk crossing his face. He walked with me toward the airport’s exit.

“What are you doing at the airport? Do you know you’re the reason they dragged me into that interrogation room? To ask me about you and your money—”

He looked sheepish as he held up a hand. “Not now. We can talk about this later.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Getting you out. They were going to keep asking you about me, but I got my contacts in the FBI to let you go. They won’t bother you again.”

“Then why areyoustill bothering me?“ I demanded.

“I came to invite you to my restaurant’s grand opening tonight,” he said as he hailed down a taxi.

“I have a work meeting to get to. Are you a chef now?” Eyeing him in his crisp white getup, I couldn’t picture him behind any stove or even stirring a pot of sauce. I knew I’d heard about him venturing into the restaurant business, but I didn’t know the extent of his involvement.

“Actually, I own a chain of restaurants around the country. My brother, Antonio, decided to legitimize the family business around a year ago when he got married.”

From what I’d heard of Antonio Cavalli, he was fearsome and ruthless. Marriage must have softened him enough to cause him to quit his life in the mafia. “Wow. I would be happy for you if the FBI hadn’t just questioned me about my dealings with you.”

A taxi stopped for us. The driver opened the trunk and I threw my suitcase inside. I checked the time—I only had half an hour to get to the university for my meeting.

“George, would you let me apologize?”

Now that stopped me in my tracks. I paused outside the door, probably annoying the driver.

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