Page 123 of Forging Caine

I said, “What if I knew the identities of the people who took the fresco back from you?”

Fiori rolled his eyes. “Took it back? Stole it from me, you mean? Snuck aboard my boat and stolesomething of mine?”

“I know who it was.”

“Please.” He turned from us and walked to Bodyguard One, hand out. “I know exactly who it was. Those damn Reynolds Recoveries people. I’ve even hired them in the past.”

The bodyguard passed him a gun with a suppressor attached.

Blood drained from my head, and the world shifted sideways.What else do you have, Tony? Think fast or he’ll kill her.“The painting with the yellow flowers from Giovanni’s. I’ll get it for you.”

Baptiste’s voice quavered, looking anxiously at his father, Samantha, and back again. “The one you said was for my birthday?”

Fiori turned to face Samantha with the gun. “He’d never give it up.”

Her breath increased. No matter what she said, the brave face she put on, she knew what was about to happen.

Focus on Fiori. Don’t panic.“He would. If I told him the trade was that painting for Samantha’s life, he’d give it to you.”

“He doesn’t care about anyone, least of all your snooping fiancée.” He lowered the gun and looked at me. “Vincenzo told me she sent a photo of one of his stolen pieces to the authorities. I heard he had to pay a fortune in import taxes on it.”

I leaned forward, testing the zip ties. Or the wicker of the chair. Or anything. “She’s family. That means everything to him.”

Fiori tapped the side of the gun against his forehead and paced the length of the room. When he returned, he said to Bodyguard Three, “Cut him free and give him your phone. I’m interested to hear this conversation.”

I rubbed at my wrists once he removed the zip ties and I took the phone.

Samantha’s attempt at a professional veneer had vanished, replaced by mottled skin across her throat, tight eyes, and a pinched mouth. I could only imagine the words running through her head; the same running through mine.Please, Cristian. Answer the phone.

“Don’t get any ideas.” Fiori waved the gun at me like a pointer finger. “There are too many weapons in this room to pull off a miracle. So call him. Right now.”

I dialed the number and waited. One ring. Two rings. Three.Please, please. Four.

“Who’s this?” asked Cristian.

“You’re on speakerphone.” I spoke quickly, no longer attempting to delay, but to convince. “I need your help. We have a new emergency. Do you remember the painting with the yellow flowers that Vincenzo tried to take?”

“I do.”

“You need to ship it to Fiori or Samantha is dead.” My muscles were practically as tight as when the stun gun’s electricity jolted through me. They wouldn’t say no. It was only a painting, and this was her life.

Cristian asked, “Is he there?”

“He is. You know I wouldn’t be making this call unless it was serious.”

“Pasquale, old friend.” Cristian’s voice was smooth and pure control. “You realize if you hurt a hair on either of their heads, you’re dead. As are your pretty wife and your son.”

Fiori marched over to me, speaking directly into the phone. “Spare me the warnings, you little whelp. Where’s your father?”

“Don’t you worry about my father. You’re dealing with me now.”

What did that mean? Had Giovanni gotten sick again? Another stroke? Another heart attack? “Cristian, it’s only a painting. Please.”

My cousin gave a wry laugh. “Nothing more than canvas and a little bit of paint, sì?”

“Canvas and paint?” Fiori spun from the phone, waving the gun enough that several of the guards flinched. “Canvas and paint? Is that all that masterpiece is to you?”

Baptiste slid behind Bodyguard Three. “It’s alright, Papa. Get one of your guys to paint another one for me.”

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