Page 41 of The Art of Loving You

A fresh start. A second chance.

I glanced at my Rolex—forty-five minutes until I had to pick up Ella and head to the bail bondsman’s office. Just enough time to settle in.

Crossing to the bar, I poured a splash of whiskey into a glass, letting the liquid catch the light before taking a slow sip. I should’ve been relieved. I was back in my home. My trust was still intact. My father’s empire was crumbling instead of mine.

But the weight on my chest refused to lift. He was still my father. And I was still cleaning up his mess. I set the glass down with a sharp clink and pulled out my phone to text Ella.

Lucas: Leaving now. See you in 15.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Ella: I’ll be outside waiting for you.

I grinned, shaking my head as I grabbed my keys and headed downstairs.

Ella stood outside the museum, arms crossed, with a pensive expression on her face until she spotted me. Then, that soft smile broke through, the one that made my pulse slow just a little.

I pulled up beside her, leaning over to push the door open. “Your chariot awaits.”

She laughed, the sound light but thoughtful. “So… how does it feel? Being back in your place?”

I glanced at her, then back at the road. “Weird. Like I walked into a life that doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

Ella tilted her head. “But it does.”

I exhaled. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

She studied me, then changed the subject. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I knew what she meant—bailing out my father. “I have to,” I said simply. “He’s still my dad.”

Ella nodded, resting her elbow against the window. “I get it. And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“That makes one of us.”

She turned to me fully. “Lucas, I know you don’t owe him anything, but if he listens to you, if there’s even a chance that he might come clean… maybe encouraging him to return the art is just the push he needs to finally put an end to your family’s struggles.”

I sighed, gripping the wheel tighter. “You really think he’ll listen?”

“You know him better than I do.”

I scoffed. “That’s debatable.”

We pulled into a parking space outside the bondsman’s office, across the street from the Miami-Dade Courthouse. I shut off the engine and turned to her.

“Listen, I don’t expect a grand redemption arc for my father. But the good book says to honor your parents, and even if he doesn’t deserve it, I have to try.”

Ella smiled softly, resting her hand on mine for a second before opening her door. “Then let’s get this over with.”

As we stepped out, I shook off the uneasy feeling settling in my chest. In twenty minutes, my father would be free.

At that moment, I had no idea how wrong I was.

The bail bondsman’s office was small and dimly lit, the kind of place that smelled like stale coffee and old paperwork. A bulky desk took up most of the space, and behind it sat Frank D’Angelo, the guy I’d spoken to on the phone earlier. He was a thick-necked man with sharp eyes and a permanent scowl, but his job wasn’t to smile—it was to get people out of jail.

He looked up as we stepped inside, his mouth already opening to greet us. But something in his expression changed. The tension in the air was immediate, thick enough to make my stomach twist.

D’Angelo cleared his throat and stood, hands planted on the desk. “There’s been a change.”

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