Page 4 of Painted in Sin

"He's here," Paolo hisses, and my attention snaps to the outer door, where the gallery gives way to the studio.

The lights are dim, but I can see the large painting being carried by two barrel-chested men. They hold it horizontally, draped in a thick green cloth, and maneuver it carefully around the easels and tables set up for the art classes we host every afternoon. Around them walk four men, all carrying a large weapon in hand, each of them wearing black T-shirts and jeans, sporting sunglasses like a true crime syndicate.

I roll my eyes, but their security measures aren't unwarranted. If someone like my ex were to learn this painting is here, they'd expect no less. The lost Raphael is valued at over thirteen million. No one has ever laid eyes on it, though it's rumored to be one of his finest creations, commissioned by a farmer for his wife's birthday over five hundred years ago.

"Look at the muscle," Paolo croons under his breath, and I hear the hint of awe in his tone as he admires the thick-chested men with biceps as large in girth as my thighs. I'm not impressed, not even as I see Victor Costa himself walk into the studio carrying his own weapon. At least he has the sense to have his gun on a strap draped over his shoulder, not pointed in the air haphazardly.

"Control your urges, Paolo," I say, fighting back a smirk as they push through the glass door to the workspace and enter. I stand a bit straighter, wondering how Costa convinced Nico to allow me to authenticate this painting in the gallery or what sort of deal they've worked out. I'm assuming he'll demand to keep it on display here for a while. That may be difficult, given my plan.

"Ms. De Luca, I want you to meet Mr. Victor Costa." Mr. Giani gestures in a wide, sweeping fashion and points at the wealthy man I've come to learn is a criminal entrenched in what I believe is art theft and possibly other white-collar crimes. Perhaps some more sinister crimes, too.

"We've met," I say, extending my hand in a professional manner. Victor takes my hand gently, again bringing it to his lips to kiss my fingers delicately, which makes me blush. Dammit, I hate how attractive he is. It makes this so painful, to know what I have to do to secure this painting should it be the real thing. I learned my lesson with Nicola. I won't get in bed with someone like that again.

"So pleased to see you again, Bella," Costa croons, eyes dark and sultry the way they were the other night.

I retract my hand and nod at the work table where the men are placing the painting. It appears heavy. I'll probably need Paolo's help hefting this thing around when I get to it. Old paintings likethis often weigh between thirty and fifty pounds each, and given the size of this one, I'd say it's on the heavier side.

"May I see it?" I say curiously. My eyes trace up to meet Victor’s. He gives a nod to his men who carefully unfold the green cloth, which I can see now is a tablecloth, used to cover the painting.

The instant my eyes lay hold of the image, I know it's genuine. I've done this long enough to recognize Raphael's work. It's like a fingerprint. I can almost tell which brushes were his favorite, which paintings he was painting at the same time based on the shape and depth of the paint on the canvas. It's mesmerizing, and I'm going to very much enjoy reimagining how every dab of paint fell on this canvas to create this art.

"Well, what do you think?" Costa asks. I see Paolo out of the corner of my eye with his magnifying monocle against his eye, craning his neck to get a closer look. I'm teaching him what I know, and he's a fast study. Even he can probably tell this is real, but I won't give it away just yet.

"It's definitely Raphael's style, but I can't say right now." Tearing my gaze away from the image is painful, but I offer a firm plastic smile at Costa and then my boss. "I will take roughly a week to assess this painting. I have to take a sample from the paint—don't worry, it won't harm the painting or its value. And then I will age the frame, and I'll take a thread of this canvas and we'll do carbon dating on it as well. I'll be able to tell you not only if Raphael painted this, but definitively what approximate year and the region of Italy he was staying in when it was painted." Clasping my hands so I'm not forced to touch him again, I look him in the eye.

The fire I see there, a spark of desire and intrigue, matches my own. How a man like this came into possession of such arare work is beyond me. He's most certainly done it illegally, which makes me more certain that my plan must prevail. He's devilishly handsome, though, and that bit is distracting, making my heart and belly feel flustered and confused.

"I trust your expertise," Costa says, nodding at me. If only he would smile, it would destroy any sense of moral uprightness I maintain. Thankfully for me, he's too serious of a man—at least when it comes to this painting—to offer me that privilege, and I'm spared the sin I may commit if it happens. "Mr. Giani, I'll leave it to your very capable employees." He turns to me. "Ms. De Luca, such a pleasure."

Paolo and I stand shoulder to shoulder watching them make their exit. The door swings shut, and I don't move a muscle until they're in the outer gallery, beyond sight of my absolutely shell-shocked frame. Then my hands fly to my mouth and I cover it, eyes wide as I turn to Paolo.

"It's real?" he asks in a whisper.

"Bonafide," I say behind my hands.

"What are you going to do?"

I've already let Paolo in on the secret. If this thing is real, Costa isn't getting it back. Both of us know he's the son of one of the most powerful Mob bosses in Rome. There is no legitimate reason for their having this.

I stare down at the painting and lower my hands, exhaling slowly as I lean on the edge of the marble table and let my head droop.

"I'm going to do the only thing I can. I'm going to create a forgery, replace it in this frame, hide it, and send the real painting to Interpol where it belongs. They'll know how to findthe true owner, and it will be safely tucked away from Costa and his thugs." The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight as I realize what I'm getting myself into. Nicola may have already ruined my credibility within certain circles, but if I let this real Raphael go back to the hands of the Mob, I'll never be taken seriously again.

"I'm gonna wash my hands and get started," Paolo says, giving my wrist a squeeze. He walks out, headed to the wash station to prepare for our initial examination before we begin cleaning the painting, and I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone.

It rings only once before my contact picks up, saying, "Matthias Winslow, who's this?'

"Matty, it's me, Isabella." I bite my lip and glance nervously after Paolo. "You're not going to believe this."

"Bella," he coos softly. "It's been so long. How are you doing?"

His genuine concern puts me at ease. When things with Nicola went sideways, it was only this man who protected my reputation from being destroyed. His work at Interpol to stop art thieves from smuggling priceless works from country to country is why I'm calling him.

"I'm okay. Listen, I have something I need to discuss with you. It involves a very rare Raphael and Victor Costa. Do you have time to meet with me?" My hands are shaking just thinking of what I may have to do to secure this painting. Men like Nicola are scary enough. Men like Costa are deadly.

"Yeah, I do. Costa… that's a scary name in Italy. Are you okay?" His tone takes on an edge, and I shudder to think what he knows, things I may not want to hear or I'll lose my nerve.

"I'm okay. I just need your help, and I don't want to talk about it on the phone." I suck in a breath and blow it out as he continues.

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