Page 30 of Painted in Sin

Recognition starts to dawn on him and he stands a bit straighter, chest puffing out. "So this is a treasure map?"

"No," I say curtly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. "While there may be wealth that comes along with this, and perhaps there will be, it isn't about that. It's about my family history and the legacy I'm going to leave when I die. This hidden 'treasure' that map leads us to is about shifting our reputation forever. It's about making the Costa name what it should have always been."

There are still questions in his eyes, but he doesn't speak as I tell him what I know. "I've placed a tracking device within the frame, put there before I even took it to the gallery. I'm not risking losing it again. For a long time, I thought it was just the painting, our family legacy.

"But after having dinner with my father, I realize there is more. The diamonds are enough to make me want the frame, but with the alignment of the two frames, I can finally unearth the truth about my ancestors and pave a path into my future that is untainted by centuries of bloodshed." I'm determined to do just that, to give Isabella the life she deserves too, one I offered her but had no clue how to obtain until I began decoding the arrangement of the diamonds and the hidden ink on the frame.

"So we follow the tracker?" Rocco asks. He narrows his eyes at me, and I know what he's thinking.

"You do not lay a finger on Agent Marco Gallo. Do you understand me? He is not the root of this. This painting has been stolen over and over because of this reason. They want the map because they want what's mine. They assume that treasure is gold and jewels, a spoil to make them wealthy. To me, it holds more value than every treasure in the world." I reach for my drink and sip it while Rocco shifts and crosses his arms over his chest.

"So the Interpol agent isn't the one we're after." His musing aloud matches my thoughts.

"You're correct. Someone has put him up to it. He's had a good career, done a lot of good things, and suddenly, he switches sides and wants to play the bad guy?" I shake my head. "I don't believe it. The minute he gets that painting, he's taking it to whoever holds the gun to his head, and that is the person we want. Follow the trail and catch the real thief."

The whiskey burns my throat as I finish the glass, and Rocco nods, understanding his marching orders.

"Yes, sir."

"And Rocco?"

"Yes, sir."

"Keep an eye on Isabella too. The only thing more precious to me than the artwork is her. If he so much as lays a finger on her, I'm to hear about it." I have my own part to play in this madness. I want to find redemption, pay the devil's price and be free, but if it means losing Isabella, I'm not sure it's a price I'm willing to pay.

"Yes, sir," he says resolutely, and he ducks out of my living room. I stroll to the window where he stood watching and I see them climbing into the cars. They'll sit on the gallery and watch. Their task is to ensure her safety and follow the paintings if or when Marco shows up to steal them. With Vitale out of the picture, Gallo is the only one left to do this dirty work.

My phone chimes, and I pull it out, half expecting it to be Isabella calling me for more reassurance. She's not happy with the position she's in, and I hope to rectify that immediately.

But it’s not her. It's my father.

I swipe right to answer, and holding the phone to my ear, I say, "Yes."

"Victor, what's this nonsense I hear about you staking out the gallery? I thought I told you to get that painting back to my hands immediately." His anger is obvious from his tone, and I've half a mind to hang up on him.

"If we back down now, we will look weak, Papà. You know that. The Interpol agent is going to make his move tonight. I have this under control. We have to track him back to the men who are in charge and take this seriously. If not, they will keep coming, and eventually, the secret of the hidden message in the frame will become public knowledge and not just lore." I turn away from the window, prepared to pick Isabella up and whisk her away from the gallery for the night to let things play out with her safely by my side.

"Should I go down to that gallery myself and get the painting and bring it here?" He's fuming, raising his voice, and I chuckle.

"It's been a long time since you did any heavy lifting, Papà. Just take a pill and go to bed. It will all be over soon, and the painting will be back in my hands tomorrow. You'll see." I'm so confident my men will help me recover both paintings that I'm willing to risk angering my aging father. "Rest well, Papà. I'll call you in the morning."

Ending the call, I slide my phone into my pocket and head out. The driver is waiting for me to drive me to the gallery, and Isabella is probably biting her nails hoping for a miracle. I, however, feel as calm as I've ever been. Things are lining up just as I expected them to, and by this time tomorrow, I'll knowwhere the map is leading us. And it can't come a moment too soon.

25

ISABELLA

I've never felt more relief in the core of my being than when Victor picked me up from the gallery to shuttle me away from danger. Now, sitting across from him in this quiet restaurant, a different sort of tension chokes me. He holds my hand with such care, strumming his thumb over my knuckles while he studies my face with curiosity, but my heart, as much as it wants to be smitten and drawn into his charm, knows that being guarded is the best option for me.

"I bought you a gift," he says softly as he brings my hand to his lips to kiss it. I don't want any gift other than my life back. But he produces a small black box from his pocket, opens it slowly and carefully, and there it is—a bracelet with delicate gold links and a single emerald stone that glitters in the low light of our table. "It's not much," he says. “But it will protect you, let me know where you are if you need me.” There’s a knowing look in his eyes, and I pick up on the meaning. He thinks this isn’t over yet, that I may still be in danger. This is some way to track me or something.

“Here,” he says. His voice warms me, though I try to resist. It's like a symphony of honeyed whispers and velvet promises—all too good to be true. I open my mouth to reply, but he places the bracelet around my wrist before I can utter a word. The metal is cool against my skin but warms quickly as it adjusts to my body heat. The emerald catches the light just right, sparkling like a tiny star on display just for me, and I wonder what danger lurks in the shadows that he's afraid of. That's it, right? He's afraid I'll be taken too, as if I belong to him?

"It fits perfectly," I murmur as he returns his hand to mine, because I don't know what else to say.

"It's enchanted," he says with a devilish expression, "so if you ever need help, I'll come running." This time, there is no doubt. This isn't a hypothetical situation. His eyes are serious, and I find myself wondering what kind of trouble he's preparing for. He wants to make this sound magical, like a fairy tale and he’s my knight in shining armor, but art theft and smuggling are all too real. This small token adds to the sense of safety I feel around him, but I still feel reluctant to fall too far, too fast.

"I can’t accept this," I tell him softly. "I'm not sure where my life is headed right now, but it doesn't involve being someone's… partner in crime."

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