Page 11 of Painted in Sin

His sideways comment piques my curiosity. Could my father or one of my ancestors have hidden something in that frame to increase its value? Is it possible that my entire family lineage may know things about this painting they have yet to inform me about, things I deserve to know?

I press the button to raise the divider and at the same time lift my phone and press Rocco's number on my speed dial. When he answers, there is loud music playing, distracting me but not dissuading me from the purpose of my call.

"Yeah, Boss, what's up?" His voice sounds strained and awkward. I picture one of his sluts on her knees in front of him as the reason. There are few besides that which would make him sound so out of place.

"Rocco, I need an X-ray machine as quickly as I can get one. Can you make that happen?" I am already thinking ten steps ahead. My father knows something I don't, and I'm not going to stop until I find out what it is.

"Yeah, Boss, but can we wait until tomorrow?"

"Fuck's sake, Rocco." I roll my eyes and sigh. "As soon as possible… And while you're at it, look into this painting a bitmore. Ask around, see if you can find out if there is any lore surrounding the frame."

I hang up before he acknowledges my orders, and my mind wanders back to Isabella. She may well be the best person to ask, but if she knows something, she hasn't let on thus far. And if it's that huge of a secret, either she doesn't want me to find out either or she doesn’t even know.

Whatever it is, I intend to find out.

9

ISABELLA

"Ms. De Luca, are you okay?" The voice startles me. If I weren't half drunk, I'd have been running down the street breaking an ankle in these heels. I turn to see Mrs. Amhurst, an American transplant to Rome who lives two floors down from me. She cradles her toy poodle under one arm, a can of pepper spray in her other hand.

"I… uh…" I'm still shaking, so rattled by the interaction with Nicola, I can't even catch my breath. I probably smell like alcohol and sex, probably look a mess too, the way Victor let my messy bun out so my hair hangs loosely.

"Oh, dear, what happened to you?" She presses the security button on the door I'm leaning on. There's no way past me until I get my bearings, and I don’t have legs to stand on right now.

Gio, the doorman, is there in a flash, slowly pushing the door open as Mrs. Amhurst helps me away from it. I can't sling together a sentence for the life of me as they chatter on in Italian about what to do. When Gio finally manages to wrangle me inside the building to the front desk and park me on a chair, I start to breathe again.

"Do we need Policia?" he asks, crouching in front of me. He's a middle-aged man, more salt than pepper in his hair, with kind eyes.

"What?" I raise my eyebrows and gawk at them.

"Policia? Are you hurt? What happened, Isabella?" His eyes search me. Mrs. Amhurst stands aloof, glancing at the door, then the elevator. I can tell this wasn't on her agenda, but she doesn't want to leave me here like this.

"My God, no. No police. I don’t need that." I rub my face and imagine trying to explain to the local cops why a convicted criminal is cornering me outside my building. The humiliation of even being associated with Nicola the first time was hard to live down, but I managed. I don't want this getting out again.

"Well, I can't just very well let you go up to your apartment alone. You look like a wreck," Mrs. Amhurst says. "Come to my place, and I'll pour you a glass of port."

I try to stand but I sway. Gio steadies me with a hand on my elbow and an unnerving gaze pinned on me. I can tell they just want to help, but I'll be better off alone. Besides, if Nicola knows other people care about me for any reason at all, he'll punish them too.

"Really, I'm fine. It was my ex-boyfriend. He got a little handsy, and I made him leave." I can still feel his talons around my throat, and I touch it unconsciously.

Gio scowls at the red marks I'm sure are there, but I can't see them. I don’t have a mirror. I don't even want to see it if it's there, anyway. I don’t need any reminders of what Nicola and the men he runs with are capable of doing to me.

"If it's all well and good, Ms. De Luca, I'd like to walk you to your place." He narrows his eyes on me, and I nod, acquiescing. I’m not likely to fend him off after this, and I know he has a good heart.

"Thank you, Giordano." With a fake smile and my hand trembling around his bicep, he leads me to the elevators. We ride up to Mrs. Amhurst's floor, and she exits with a note of caution to carry pepper spray with me, then we ascend higher to my penthouse. Gio waits, back turned, as I input the code for my penthouse door and then holds the elevator doors open while I saunter off.

"You just have to dial the star from your intercom if you need me." His reminder puts me at ease. I'm on the fourteenth floor, no way for anyone, outside of sheer acrobatics, to get to me unless they have a helicopter to land on my roof.

"Thank you, Giordano. I appreciate your concern." Keeping it as professional as possible, I turn and wait until the elevator doors slide shut and then kick off my heels and turn straight for the kitchen.

I know I've drunk too much this evening, but there is far too much in my head to care. I fucked Victor Costa in the back seat of his fucking limo and moments later, I was assaulted by Nicola Vitale, a man I never want to see again. Life is spinning out of control and I'm not sure what to do with it. It's not okay. I'm not okay.

The cork breaks off in the bottle and I curse it. Then I spend the next ten minutes finding a screwdriver and a hammer to jam what's left of the dumb cork down into the bottle to allow the wine to flow freely. When I have a glass poured and a large swigfrom the bottle, I carry both into my bathroom and turn on the water for my shower.

I want to wash this entire evening out of my hair the way women do in sappy romance novels when the hero treats her poorly or lets her down. I'm sloppy drunk, tired, and emotional. Nicola is in my past, and that's where he should stay. Matthias's warning came too late. With such short notice, I've not been able to even make an attempt to protect myself or prepare for it.

I eye my phone, left on the counter in the bathroom where I set it as I dressed for dinner with Victor. I could've refused, stayed inside my penthouse and made Gio send him away, but something inside me wanted to go.

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