Page 113 of Vicious Heir

Chapter 43

Adriano

There’s something sweet about the stink of burning oil paint.

I’m not sure what it is. Maybe the dyes they use to make the stuff? Whatever it is, I’ve grown fond of the reek after ripping my way through Philadelphia’s stock of priceless artifacts.

Which is why I’m almost regretful that I’m missing all the fun.

The suburban night is quiet again, as always. I’m alone in a beat-up old truck, daydreaming about my wife wearing a perfume of burning Pollocks and Picassos. Weirdly, it gets me hard. Which I think says a lot about my psyche. Lucy in my bed drowning in the ashes of destroyed paintings. Nothing could be better.

My phone buzzes.

Vittorio: You should see this place, man. The shit they call art these days?

Adriano: Focus on the mission.

Vittorio: I’m not kidding though.

Vittorio: You ever heard of some Alec Monopoly guy?

Adriano: Pretty sure he’s got a board game of some sort.

Vittorio: Nah, he’s a pretentious DJ prick who makes paintings of dollar signs and the Monopoly man and shit. All real colorful. Total bullshit.

Adriano: Is it burning yet?

Vittorio: Got my guys gassing it up right now. You should seriously see this shit.

My phone buzzes, and a photo comes through. It’s the Monopoly man holding an AK-47 in front of what looks like a wall spray-painted with the artist’s name. If it’s supposed to mean something, I have no clue what. Probably just a commentary on how shallow rich idiots will pay anything for canvas these days.

Adriano: Ugly as hell.

Vittorio: Right! We’re doing the world a favor here.

Vittorio: This is the downfall of Western civilization, my friend.

Adriano: Just burn it.

Vittorio: Roger that, boss.

Another text. This time, an image of the same painting, very much on fire.

I lean back in my seat, smiling to myself.

I’ve got nothing against Alec Monopoly personally. I think his art sucks, but under other circumstances, I wouldn’t order my Capos to destroy it.

Only I’m happy to destroy this whole city if it means finally getting what I want.

I stare at the house. Nothing moves. We’ve been surveilling the house for the last few days, ever since I put a bullet in Richard’s head, and haven’t seen anything stir. Nobody’s come, and nobody’s gone, which means Demir has to still be inside, holed up in one of those rooms.

But he can’t hide forever. Without Richard, he’s going to have to clean up this mess. Thanks to Lucy and the meetings she’s been taking with some important society folks, there is going to be extra pressure on Demir to show his face this time.

Nothing gets a criminal moving like an angry phone call from a billionaire.

I sit and wait. My gun sits in my lap. But nothing happens. Five minutes, ten minutes, and nothing. Finally, I can’t take this shit anymore. I kick open the truck door and step out into the night, my heart a steady cannon. I shoot a text off to Vittorio.

Adriano: I’m going in. He’s not moving.

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