Page 66 of Kissing the Villain

“Dad,” Luca groaned. “You should see the piece first.”

“You don’t know what I want to recreate,” I pointed out.

“I know you, Drea. And what my mother left behind was personal.”

“Art is personal. Your mother understood that. She bared her soul to the world for the sake of her art.”

Arlo glanced at Marcello. “Do you care?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“You don’t even know what she’s talking about.” Luca turned his hardened gaze on Marcello. “It will reveal truths about our family.”

Arlo raised his glass in front of his mouth. “How so?”

“It paints all of us, including Mom, in a bad light.”

“I would never disgrace your mother’s memory,” I assured him. “Come by my room later and see what I have planned.”

His jaw tightened.

“So it’s settled,” Arlo said as the dining room doors opened. “Alexandrea, you can paint in Eva’s studio as often as you wish. I want to see the painting before you submit it to the Franco Foundation board for approval.”

I had a long history with the Franco Foundation and knew everyone at Evangeline’s charity. They did fantastic work, spreading her art around the globe, all while helping young artists find their way. Arlo and his sons did an excellent job keeping her legacy intact.

Servers exited the kitchen, ending our conversation. They set plates on the table with filet mignon, baked potato, fresh asparagus, and a side of Bearnaise sauce. My mouth watered as I lifted my fork and knife from the table and cut into my steak.

No one spoke during dinner.

Luca’s phone rang. His father gave him a nasty scowl because he did not allow cell phones at his dinner table. He ignored the call, but the person was persistent.

Then Marcello’s cell phone beeped. One after the other, the Salvatores checked their messages.

“Motherfuckers,” Luca growled.

Marcello stilled beside me, eyes on the screen as he took a few deep breaths. He wasn’t the type to blow up, not like Luca. I could see why Marcello handled the security for Salvatore Global.

I attempted a glance at his phone, and he shoved it under the table, out of my view.

What the hell was up with them?

Scowling, Luca handed his phone to his father. The already shitty vibe in the room shifted to somber within minutes. We shoveled food in our mouths at record speed. Everyone refused dessert, a welcome relief because I could not wait to leave the table.

As I exited the dining room, Luca grabbed my shoulder. He pushed me up against the wall and cupped the side of my face. “Look, baby, I’m sorry about how I acted. I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m under a lot of pressure.”

Marcello tapped his shoulder. “Luca, we have to go. This can wait until later.”

Another guard, a dark-haired man named Roman, appeared beside Marcello. He was tall with dark hair and dressed in a black suit. A gnarly scar ran down his neck, dipping beneath his dress shirt. With his head down, Roman whispered something to Marcello.

“What’s going on?” I asked Luca.

He stroked my cheek. “Nothing you need to worry about. Go upstairs and paint in my mother’s studio.”

“Stop manipulating me, Luca.”

He grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Do this for me, Drea. Please.”

“Be careful,” I whispered.

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