Page 75 of Forging Caine

I kissed her temple, using it as a cover to spot them. It took no time, but what concerned me more was what I didn’t see. “Where’s Jason?”

“Didn’t he follow us the whole way?”

I pulled my arm tight against my body, pressing hers to me. “How are those hairs on the back of your neck doing?”

“Standing at attention.” She cleared her throat. “I see Pasquale has two guards at his table, another two by the building, and another man seated with him.” How good was the microphone on the recorder? She’d hidden it in her handbag, which had an open top, so hopefully it would pick up any conversation without having to make a show of it.

Fiori raised a hand in greeting and stood as we got closer. “Beautiful morning, is it not?”

“It is.” I took his offered hand with a smile, then Samantha did the same.

“This is my son, Baptiste.” He gestured to the man sitting next to him.

Baptiste barely lifted his chin in greeting and remained sitting. He was in his early twenties, if that, with eyes duller than Fiori’s and the same strong nose, olive complexion, and thick dark hair.

Fiori smacked his shoulder. “Get up and greet our guests.”

“Good to meet you.” Baptiste spoke so quietly I barely heard him over the gulls circling the docks, the water, and the conversations around us.

“And you,” said Samantha. “Pasquale, I don’t see your boat anywhere? I can’t imagine it’s hiding behind any of the others?”

“She’s too big for many of the marinas around here, so we left her anchored downriver, where there’s more space.” His superyacht had been one of the most luxurious I’d ever had the pleasure of boarding. The beautiful black and white vessel was reminiscent of a military destroyer, complete with rib boats and a helicopter, softened with teak decks and an impressive art collection.

As we all sat, Fiori spread his arms wide. “It’s only been four days, but I can’t help but notice there’s a new piece of jewelry at the table. This is no longer a promise ring, I’m sure this time. Congratulations are in order?”

Samantha turned to smile at me and my heart warmed. How did she have this power over me, even under these circumstances? “Yes, that would be congratulations. He surprised me with it after we saw you Friday night.”

Fiori clasped his hands over his heart. “Ahh, young love. And to think I was part of that glorious evening. Not there, of course, but that I was the last person to see the two of you before you made this commitment to each other.” He smacked Baptiste again. “Offer them your congratulations.”

His son, no more impressed than when we first arrived, nodded. “Congratulations.”

“Let me order some champagne this time.” Fiori looked in the distance, as though to signal a server, but his gaze drew back to me. “Or should I wait for after the news you’ve brought me?”

Samantha placed her bag on the table. An innocent move, but it caused a spasm in my chest. She wanted the recorder closer to them. “We seem to have lost Jason, though. He has bothThe Music Lessonand—”

Fiori’s hand shot up to stop her. “We will not speak of that piece of trash. I paid for that painting under the assumption it was genuine. I assure you, it will be burned.”

“Of course.” She leaned back in her white metal chair and crossed her legs. “You said you’re planning on sellingThe Concert, though?”

“Ms. Caine.” Fiori eased back, matching Samantha’s easy posture. “I was hoping for an update from your fiancé, if you don’t mind?”

She handled the dismissal far better than I would have expected. This must have been FBI Samantha, unflinching in the face of veiled insults. “Sorry. Honey?”

I’d handled negotiations and discussed less than legal matters with many people for my Zio Giovanni. Having Samantha next to me both soothed my soul and made me far more nervous. I was not just risking myself, but her. And, marone, our families. “I have to be completely honest. There are indicators that your copy ofThe Concertis inauthentic.”

Fiori’s face was a mask. Just like Samantha, he gave no emotional reaction to the news. “What indicators?”

“There’s a sketch underneath that feels wrong to me.”

“That’s the same thing you said about my first painting.”

“I know.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice, almost directly above the recorder. “Unlike that painting, you know this is not a copy of one at a museum, sì?”

Fiori nodded, saying nothing.

Baptiste’s gaze meandered across the other tables. Clearly, our conversation held no interest to him.

“And because that painting has not been seen in public for over thirty years, there are few tests we can do to prove it’sThe Concertthat was hanging in the Gardner Museum.”

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