Page 19 of City Of Thieves
Dangerous words, Miss Sanders.
Remorse isn’t a trait found in the Marchesi gene pool. I’m here for revenge. I’m here to use, destroy, and ruin, and that includes her and her precious paintings if need be.
When I don’t answer, she clips out, “You’re five minutes early.”
“Only a fool steps on unbalanced ground when he’s expected,dolcezza. Yet, you don’t seem surprised?”
“Should I be?”
Look at me, for fuck’s sake.
Her aloofness is infuriating me and making me want to pin it up against the wall. Instead, I flatten the smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. I’m almost impressed. I’m rarely knocked off focus. However, cold detachment isn’t a new game, and Miss Sanders is about to get a lesson she won’t soon forget.
“Most people are grateful when their date arrives on time.”
“A date? Is that what this is?” A low, sardonic laugh rumbles in her throat as she finally turns on those killer high heels and aims her green eyes right at me.
She’s even more beautiful up close, delicate features like fine china covering a hard shell of indifference…
But everything breaks for a price.
“Is that what you call a cryptic summons to meet with a thief?”
“A thief?” I offer a darker laugh in return. “There’s currently a two-million-dollar hole in my bank account that says otherwise, Miss Sanders.”
“Just because you paid for it doesn’t mean you didn’t steal it.” Pausing, she drags those piercing eyes from the top of my head to the soles of my shoes. “And you don’t strike me as an art enthusiast, Mr. Marchesi. Quite the opposite.”
I bite back another smirk. The way my name rolls off her tongue throws a lit match on an already simmering fire.
“It’s Renzo,” I correct, adding dryly, “and what gave it away?”
“What didn’t?” she volleys back, her challenge edged with bitterness as she steps away from the canvas. “You mocked and ridiculed your way through every rule of auction etiquette, but one.”
I arch an eyebrow, waiting for the insult.
She doesn’t disappoint.
“You put your money where your mouth is. You paid for that painting, even though you don’t understand it or want it, and that pisses you off more than you know.” Accompanying the jab with a slow clap, she flashes a tight smile. “You hatenot knowing, don’t you Mr. Marchesi? Still, I suppose congratulations are in order… You’re not a total classless savage.”
She’s right; a fact that riles me up even more. This pretentious cock show was Nero’s playground, not mine. I wouldn’t know the ass-end of a Jackson Pollock from the freakshow of a Picasso, but my brother was a chameleon who could adapt to any business. Once welcomed inside the upper echelon, he found his niche, then carved his initials in it…
Until someone shot a bullet through them.
“I suppose that’s high praise coming from a young girl like you,” I taunt, walking a slow, predatory half-circle behind her.
“I’m twenty-three,” she snips back, her narrowed gaze tracking my every move, “and I own every square inch of this gallery.” The corners of her lips twitch. “Can you say the same?”
My smirk fades, and my molars grind together like a fucking saw. The answer is I have nothing.Not a goddamn thing, except for that painting and a bloodstained trail leading across the Atlantic Ocean.
I’ve never wanted anything.
Never needed anything.
Until Nero’s death, I was content with serving as my family’s executioner.
All that’s about to change the moment I walk out of this gallery.Scratch that…The momentwewalk out, because Miss Ice Empress doesn’t have a choice in the matter, despite the bullshit untouchable vibe she’s giving off.
“You called this meeting,” she reminds me, the tension between us stretched to a breaking point. “Are we going to continue trading insults, or is there a point to you barging into my gallery and life like this?” Before I have a chance to say a word, that accusing gaze snaps back to my face. “If this is some kind of mafia protective extortion, I suggest you take your offer and—”
