Page 17 of City Of Thieves
Hoping.
“Next week,” he rumbles, eventually. “One hour. I will be in touch with a time and a place in Moscow.”
I shut my eyes, relief rushing over me. One precious hour is enough to sustain me for months. That’s how starved I am of her affection.
Hanging up, I press the intercom. “Erika, I’m not satisfied with the gallery’s security. Call the company. I want them replaced right away.”
“I’ll see to it immediately, Miss Sanders.”
“Within the next two hours.”
“As you wish, Miss Sanders.”
Removing my finger from the button, I flick through my phone until I find the message that’s still scorching the edges of my consciousness.
Now that I have your attention, I’ll see you tomorrow night at 8 p.m. sharp.
Whatever this man wants with me, he can do it in secret—away from the sparrows of Moscow.
Nothing is going to jeopardize what Konstantinjust promised me.
Not even an electric storm called Renzo Marchesi.
Chapter Five
Renzo
Fire and ice.
Contradictions that don’t belong in the same sentence, let alone the same room, yet somehow embody Tatiana Sanders. From what I saw yesterday morning, the Senator’s daughter is everything I expected, yet nothing I could’ve prepared for.
I’d studied her as she whispered back and forth with her “associate”, observing their conversation with disengaged boredom. I didn’t care enough to eavesdrop. Their subject matter appealed to me as much as a root canal. However, Oleg Belov had proven no one was above betrayal, so I’d walked into that auction armed with intel on every player.
Despite an over-inflated sense of self-worth, Richard Thackery is an unconnected nobody whose only talent is to name drop. Nothing he knows is worthy of my attention.
Miss Sanders, however...
From the moment the auction began, I watched, catalogued, and memorized the subtle changes in her body language. First, the complete stillness, then the tension slowly tightening her shoulders. It wasn’t until that one painting went up on the block that her entire demeanor shifted, and I felt it…
I smelled it.
Adrenaline.
Her breathing shallowed and those slim shoulders rose and fell in anticipation. I had no idea why that painting had such power over her, but I also knew there was no way I could let her have it.
Wants are just as powerful as needs when it comes to leverage.
Sensing her fury as I bid against her was like foreplay. The more coiled that lithe body became, the harder I got. Vasily Belov was right. She may be a lot of things, but “innocent” isn’t one of them.
Good thing I like a challenge.
I turn off the ignition, feeling alive for the first time in weeks. Ironic, since the reason for my current state of invigoration walks the same art-lined gallery walls that damned my brother to hell.
In the last year of his life, Nero had created an intricate pipeline of stolen artwork that funneled right to his doorstep. A quick turnaround on the black market and the zeros kept multiplying in offshore bank accounts. Not a bad plan, but there was a loose thread in the Matrix—a betrayal we never saw coming—and Oleg and his secret buyer unraveled the whole fucking tapestry.
Stepping out of my black Ferrari Roma, I pause to button my jacket. It’s perfectly straight, but I run a hand down the lapels, anyway.
It’ll never be straight enough.
