Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Legitimate business. Yes, he makes it a point every chance he gets to point out just how illegitimate I am. Always a bastard, even in business. Rome is where his true family is. Where his real businesses are, the legal and prosperous ones. I’m just the art thief who represents the dark side of my father. I’m nothing but the devil on his shoulder where the rest of his family are the shiny and pure angels.
“I told you I have this handled,” I say. “Feel free to go back to Rome. You hovering over me isn’t going to make artwork reappear magically.”
“I feel I have to hover. When I didn’t—”
“Those paintings would have burned in that warehouse whether you were here overseeing me or not. It’s not like I had any control over it,” I snap back, losing my own patience.
“Yeah, well you aren’t exactly hustling to return the value to our clients.”
“Why don’t you?” I taunt. “I don’t see you out there stealing and casing. All I see is an old man lecturing me, and frankly, I’m getting sick of it.”
He snaps his head back as if I slapped him in the face, and in actuality, I nearly did with my words. It’s not like me to fight back with my father, but the man is pushing every damn button in me. I try to be respectful, as I was brought up to be. I try to earn his respect with every move I make. But sometimes, I wish he’d just go focus his attention on his other children—the good ones. The children who don’t commit crimes or dirty their hands.
Before this conversation gets any more heated, I change the subject. “Besides, we have more important things to discuss than that damn fire that I feel we’ve spoken about to death. I just got word that there’s been a hit issued on our heads.”
My father takes a drink of his bourbon, studies me for several seconds before asking, “Where did you hear this?”
“Does it matter where I heard it?”
“Yes, because I’ve gotten no word of this myself,” he counters. “You may think I’m just an old man, but this old man has his finger on the pulse. If a hit was issued, I’d know.”
“Would you? Would we? I think the whole idea of a hit is the victims not knowing.” I struggle to not roll my eyes at his arrogance, but then again, I nearly had the same reaction when Valentina told me.
My father takes a big bite of salad, chews as his eyes are locked with mine, and then finally says on a swallow, “We pissed off a shit load of people, but they’re giving us time to make it right. No one is going to just knock us off. It gets them nowhere if we’re dead and can’t help them recoup the loss.” He looks over his shoulder as if he’ll recognize an assassin in the shadows. “Who told you this? Dex?”
I shake my head. “Not Dex. Valentina Key.”
My father smirks and shakes his head. “Forgive me if I’m not going to trust the source. How is it she would be aware of this secret and our usual ear to the pavement people haven’t heard a thing?”
“It’s not impossible that we’re in the dark.”
“I’m not concerned. And clearly—since you’re sitting out in the open in broad daylight—neither are you.”
I shrug. “I have nine lives.”
“So do I,” he counters.
“I have a feeling you have used up most of yours…old man,” I tease with a smile and a wink.
No matter how pissed this man makes me, and how much I frustrate him, we are always able to regain our composure and end a conversation the same way we started it…civilly.
He shakes his head, trying to hide his smile. “When’s the next job?”
Back to business as usual with him. Nothing stops his laser focus on work and money—not even a death threat.
“I’m casing a gala coming up this weekend. I think it’ll be a good one. There are several pieces of interest. Pricey and would drum up some interest on the black market. I think we could auction them off and walk away with some cash flow, and then keep a bit aside for those we owe. I have a feeling the job is going to be easy. A cake walk. They might as well hand us the paintings as a gift.”
He nods. “Good. We need to shut down all the negative chatter and get word on the street we are back operating in full force.”
“Agreed.”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin one last time before tossing it onto his empty plate. “Send me the details of the gala. I want to be there too. I always like a good party.”
What my father really wants to do is micromanage and make sure I don’t fuck it up, but at least he has the decency today to conceal that fact. Maybe he can see he’s put me in a mood to not mess with any further.