Page 10 of Forging Caine

“That’s my job, little brother.” She smiled at me and retreated into the office where Dom was laughing.

A white-washed brick building housed their family business, with a black sign readingFerraro’sin bold letters andFine Art Restoration and Conservationunderneath. It sat in the middle of Brenton’s small Italian neighborhood, where decorative street signs hung from black lamp posts, proclaiming we were on Via Calabria, as Calabria Street would have been called in Italy. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Sofia’s two-tiered reception desk and the black couches of the waiting area were visible. Behind the couches, anotherFerraro’ssign in metallic gold decorated a wall that separated the lobby from the studio space behind.

As we stepped inside, I inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar spicy scent of irises that Sofia kept on her desk and on the waiting area table. Over the speakers in the ceiling, Vivaldi, as always.

“My love!” Dominico was my height before my high heels, with salt and pepper hair and the broadest smile of anyone I’d ever known. He kissed my cheeks and grabbed Antonio next, giving him a sound hug. “My boy! I’ve missed you.”

“It’s good to see you, Papa.” Antonio hugged his sister next. “And you, troublemaker.”

They spoke for a few moments, teasing and laughing with each other, catching up after not seeing Antonio since New Year’s. It was good to see him with his father and sister—they loved each other so much.

Why didn’t I get to have that? If Dad said he was done, why go again? I’d never know the truth. Elliot was clear enough on that. Dad’s job robbed my family of so much. A father. A husband.

What if I’d had him in my life? Would he have steered me away from the FBI? Or encouraged me not to leave after Mom’s death? Been there to walk me down the aisle to Matt?

My throat tightened.No crying. You’ve done enough of that today.

I shouldn’t have kicked Elliot out. He could have told me more about—

“Are you coming, bella?”

I studied the ceiling, the best way possible to keep the tears at bay. “What?”

“We’re going to see the office upstairs?” Antonio’s hand slid down my arm, his fingers intertwining with mine. The softness in his eyes told me he realized this wasn’t as big of a distraction as I needed.

“Right.” I nodded. “The space you’re planning to lease out?”

Dom clapped his hands suddenly and laughed. “I may have changed my mind.”

“It’s a good thing you’re home, Antonio. I have no control over this man.” Sofia shot her gaze heavenward and rounded her desk. As she sat, she said, “I have a few things to finish before we lock up, so I’ll join you in a few.”

Dom waved for us to follow him around the wall, into the studio. Light shone through the windows in the back and the skylights high above. The open, industrial feel of the space had been magnified by the changes. The left side of the studio, where the kitchen and lab once sat, had been pushed back twenty-five feet. They were larger, with more equipment, and better prepared for additional staff.

The ceiling rose two stories, but above the lab and kitchen, there was now a second-floor space, separated from the studio by a railing, through which I could see some desks. An area at the back was walled off.

“A mezzanine?” Antonio looked at me, then to the two offices on the main floor at the front—his father’s, then his.

I shrugged. “It was covered the last time I was in.”

Dom chuckled and gestured as he walked. “The wood shop and labs are half again as large as they were, we’ve doubled the storage, upgraded the photography equipment, and we’ll have room for three more—”

“Sì, Papa, all of that was in the plans we discussed at Christmas. What about upstairs? Why is it open to the studio?”

Ahead of us, beyond Antonio’s office, a wide staircase climbed up the wall, from the front of the building toward the mysterious floor above. If Dom was renting the space, he wouldn’t leave it open. This was part of the Ferraro’s business now.

Near the base of the stairs was a separate exit to Via Calabria. An inner door, vestibule with security panel, and an outer door.

“Separate entrance, although visitors are still welcome to come through the main lobby,” said Dom, as he flicked on frosted sconces lining the stairwell and climbed.

We followed behind him, the stairs wide enough for three abreast, following the wall behind the lab to the non-rental offices above.

At the top, he turned on more lights, showcasing a long office, far narrower than the space below, with three large white desks and low bookcases. Tall windows at the front looked out onto the road, and the walled off room at the back contained a meeting table.

Dom stopped at the center desk, where a white sheet was draped over something. He placed a hand on the sheet and smiled, excitement dancing in his eyes. “Are you ready?”

Antonio nodded. “Sì, of course.”

With an overly dramatic flourish, Dominico swept the sheet off of the desk to reveal a black and gold sign similar to the company name outside and on the reception wall. It bore the Ferraro’s name at the top, but instead ofFine Art Restoration and Conservationlike the one downstairs, this one readFine Art Investigation.

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