Page 21 of City Of Thieves
I bite back a scowl as the name rolls off her tongue. “You know it?”
“It’s stunning,” she admits. “So stunning that there’s no way in hell I’m helping a man like you get your hands on it.”
“Not even for the British portrait I bought today?”
She pauses. “In time, you’ll grow bored with it, Mr. Marchesi. You’ll discard her, no doubt like you do all the women in your life… And when you do, I’ll be waiting.”
“You talk about her as if she’s real,” I observe, not bothering to contradict her.
She starts to say something else, then stops herself. “I’d wish you luck in London, but I’d be lying. Still, a word of advice… Refine your auction skills beforehand. ‘Atonement’ is selling atWeatherby’s, the most famous auction house in the world. They won’t be as tolerant of your uncultured antics.”
I bark out a rough laugh. “Lucky for me, I’ll have a refined ice bitch next to me to keep me in line.”
“I think you misheard me, Marchesi. I’m not interested.”
“I’m not accepting.”
“Oh, go to hell!”
My next laugh comes from a black place, buried under a mountain of regret. “Too late,dolcezza. I sold my soul to the devil a long time ago. The question is, will the two million you need to save your gallery be enough for you to sell yours?”
Her facade waivers, and I see the real fear lurking underneath.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can cut the theatrics.” I close the distance between us, going in for the kill. “I told you I have a complete portfolio on you, Tatiana. I know you owe a shitload of money, and this gallery is slipping through your fingers. I’m offering you two million, half upfront, in exchange for your expertise.”
Tatiana staggers backward again, my offer hitting her like a punch to the chest. In a way, I suppose it did. Bartering one’s own morality and beliefs rarely ends in a swift handshake.
“Why do you want this painting so much?” she stutters.
Personally, I’d prefer to see it go up in flames, but I need to dust it for Russian fingerprints first.Not that I’m planning on telling her that.
I’m not planning on telling her anything.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” The word is spoken so softly, I wonder if she realizes she’s even said it out loud.
“Let’s just say I’m following a trail of blood.”
“That’syour argument to entice me? Dragging me into someone’s crosshairs?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re talking to the wrong Sanders, Mr. Marchesi. My father is the one with the appetite for danger.”
“You need the money,” I state bluntly, “and there’s a reason you’re not crawling to the Senator for it. There’s no husband, no boyfriend, no benefactor who’s going to bail you out this time. I’m it,dolcezza.”
“Stop calling me that!” she seethes. “I’m not your sweetheart.”
“Maybe not. But youaredrowning in a financial black hole,Miss Sanders, and I don’t see anyone beating down your door with a better deal.” Seeing her face blanche, I ditch the sarcasm for a dose of hard reality. “I’m offering you a shot at security, in exchange for a plane ticket to London.”
“That’s a loaded offer, Mr.—”
“Damn right it is,” I snap, losing my patience. Turning on the soles of my Testoni dress shoes, I stride toward the gallery’s front door. “I’ll see you at Teterboro Airport in two days’ time.
“And if I don’t accept?” comes a challenge from behind me.
“Crosshairs can be shifted, Miss Sanders,” I warn, stepping into the welcoming darkness. “I’d hate for you to end up as collateral.”
Chapter Six
