Page 33 of His Untouchable Heart

Confirmed. Transfer of ownership discovered. Will require authentication. Call me.

I stared at it for a breath too long. Then I turned it face down and slipped it back onto the nightstand. Anthony hadn’t stirred.

Good.

Because the truth was… I wasn’t ready for him to know everything.

Not yet.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

Anthony

The sun hadn’t come up yet. The sky was still stuck in that sleepy gray hour just before dawn when the only sound outside the cabin was the steady hush of wind moving through the pines. I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Gabrielle. Her breathing was soft and even, one arm thrown over the empty side of the bed where I’d been just moments ago. She looked peaceful, and for the first time in many months, I did too.

I moved quietly through the room, gathering my keys. No creaking floorboards, no slammed doors. Just the soft rustle of the fabric of my suit and my thoughts.

I didn’t want to leave her, not even for a few hours, but I had to. As far as the foundation knew, I was still checked in at the hotel a few miles away—and the foundation’s vehicle, the one I was supposed to be using, was still parked in its lot.

When I arrived at the hotel, I parked one car and climbed into another, like I was living out some second-rate spy movie. The road into town was nearly deserted. I passed a lone pickup truck, a jogger in a reflective vest, and a white-tailed deer that paused just long enough to meet my headlights before disappearing into the trees.

It was quiet here. A different kind of quiet than I was used to. Not like Miami. Not like New York. Not like any of the places I’d called home.

And for once, I didn’t mind the silence.

As the Dallas skyline began to rise in the distance, I dialed the gallery’s call-out number and waited for the tone. Rather than speaking, I used the system’s SMS prompt—a feature I’d memorized when I first joined the gallery, back when I made it a point to learn every protocol they had.

I entered Gabrielle’s name, typed out a brief note about her feeling under the weather, and added that she’d be working remotely for the day. Professional. Non-specific. Just enough to discourage questions. I hit send and slid the phone back into my pocket.

It wasn’t really a lie. Shedidneed to stay where she was—for both our sakes.

By the time I pulled into the foundation’s parking lot, my thoughts had already shifted. Not to Curtain. Not to the photo. Not yet.

What I felt instead was something I hadn’t felt in months.

Stillness.

Not the kind that came from avoidance, repression, or those long nights I used to spend holed up in my apartment, staring at the same untouched bourbon. No, this was something quieter. Something steadier.

I’d told Gabrielle the truth. About my past, about everything. And she hadn’t flinched. She didn’t run. She met me where I was, saw me fully—and for once, I didn’t feel like I had to apologize for who I used to be.

When I stepped into the foundation’s field office, the place was already alive with the kind of quiet, productive energy that came just before a full day of digging through the past. A few staff members stood in the break area with steaming mugs of coffee, chatting in low voices. The scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries—strangely comforting, like the calm hum of a machine that still had all its parts working.

Wilma caught sight of me from across the open-concept space and waved briskly. “Morning, Anthony,” she called. “I thought you might be in early, so I placed the dossiers with questions on your desk.”

I offered her a nod and a faint smile. “Just wanted to get a jump on the dossiers.”

“Good. You’re in for some dense reading,” she said, already halfway back to her office. “But it’s exciting. We’re almost there. If you have any concerns, I’ll be at my desk.”

Hmm, perhaps this is the reason for expediting my arrival.

Other team members greeted me as I passed—familiar faces behind screens and spreadsheets, people who’d dedicated years of their lives to tracing stolen art, inch by inch, back to its rightful homes.

It wasn’t glamorous. Most days were slow and methodical, the breakthroughs rare and hard-won. But this? This was why I’d come on board in the first place. To help untangle what others had ignored. To see something returned that never should’ve been taken.

I made my way to my assigned workspace and booted up the secure system, watching as the familiar display of icons came to life. The top of my task list blinked with three names—three separate claimants whose cases had emerged after months of validation, cross-referencing, and legal vetting.

Three pieces. Three families. Each had decades of silence behind them. And now, maybe, resolution.

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