Page 44 of Forging Caine

Her eyes widened and one of her hands covered her mouth.

“Sì, he—”

“Jason was in the hotel where Umberto and his girlfriend were staying, just before I went to talk to her. He’s the one who took the fresco, isn’t he?”

“Sì, and—”

“Shit.” She swatted my shoulder, her brain’s gears grinding so loudly I could practically hear them. “He’s the one who saved my life in Naples, isn’t he?”

I nodded, rather than getting cut off again. That mad dash through the city to find her had been one of the worst moments of my life. If Cristian had done nothing else for me, having his man save her life was enough to earn my eternal gratitude.

“Does Cristian talk to him often? Does he know what Fiori’s up to?”

Foolishly, I’d expected more of an emotional reaction, rather than business mode. But business mode was what Samantha Caine did best. The more facts and figures she could cram into her brain, the less she had to feel.

“He heard about our meeting at The Train Station, but does not know what Fiori’s up to. Apparently, he’s rooting out moles and Jason wants out.”

“Can’t blame him.”

“And on the family front, Cesca wants to come and visit for the summer, plus my father called his father.”

She chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “That’s the worst job of changing the subject you’ve ever done.”

“I think Cristian is worried that Zio Giovanni is sacrificing too much to heal the rift between him and the rest of my family. He’s talking with the Carabinieri, giving them information about Fiori’s business, but…”

“But Fiori might come for those of us who are less protected?”

“It’s possible.” Or there was another explanation. A simpler one. “How many people reviewed the paintings at the auction last August? How many Carabinieri officers tried to figure out where that fresco went before Fiori got it? Who stopped Parker? Who ensured Fiori didn’t get that painting at New Year’s?”

She slid off the chair’s arm and into my lap.

“Samantha, you’re a thorn in Fiori’s side. You’re his kryptonite.” The way he’d looked at her at the restaurant… Laughing with me one second, then glaring at her. Stating that friends don’t use titles, then refusing to call her by her first name. I pulled her left hand to my lips and kissed the finger where she wore my engagement ring. “We need to sit down with Elliot on this.”

She pulled back, cocking her head, more surprise and confusion clouding her face than from my revelation about Jason. “You’re not going to tell me to hand it over to him and be done with it?”

I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face against her neck, breathing in her scent. Warm Mediterranean breezes with a hint of citrus. Fresh and calm, despite the chaos that swirled in her wake. That was my Samantha.

How fortunate was I to have found her again after all these years.

“Bella, I want to move forward with my chosen family.” I wanted my own photo. My parents, my brother and sister, my nieces, and nephews—and my wife and our children. “But if Fiori won’t let us do that, then we’re going to make him.”

“In that case…” She squirmed out of my tight grip and stood. “Let’s get upstairs and figure out what’s going on with his painting.”

Chapter 14

Antonio

AfterspeakingwithCristian,the rest of the evening was quiet. Samantha spent some time searching for 13 Fell, coming up empty. After storming up and down the stairs several times and a glass of wine, she returned to reviewing her files from the pawnshop while I began testing Fiori’s painting to ensure the repairs had been done with materials I could easily reverse. Luckily for me, the repair was sloppy, but executed with reversible conservation paints and varnishes.

I made a spectacular dinner, we made love, and we slept in each other’s arms. After a big breakfast and shared shower, we were both working in the studio, with the mid-morning sun streaming in through the skylights.

Working alongside my fiancée was paradise, despite the worries still twisting in my stomach. Fiancée. How different did that word feel with Samantha than it had with Faith?

Samantha stood at the lab bench, with her back to me, studying piles of photographs. Hair tied back in a messy bun, wearing an oversized sweater and leggings. Focused. Brilliant. Analyzing and memorizing everything she saw.

Yet, if I called her over to see what I was working on, she’d leave it in a moment. Faith would have come over only if I’d begged, and even so, she wouldn’t have been curious or interested in the least.

Samantha? She’d listen, consider my words, ask intelligent questions.

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