Page 102 of Broken Pieces
I place my hand on his jawline, brushing it softly with my hand. “Damian, I—”
“Damian Romano?” a male voice behind me interrupts.
“Yes?” Damian answers, looking up to address the man.
As I turn around, the man lifts his FBI badge as he walks toward Damian. “You’re under arrest for possession of stolen property,” he says as he grabs Damian’s arms, putting them behind his back.
“What?” Damian asks, confused.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything—”
“This has to be a mistake,” Damian interrupts.
The agent places the handcuffs, ignoring Damian as he continues, “You say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You—”
I interrupt this time, “Sir, I think—”
He continues to ignore us as he continues, “Have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Let’s go,” he finishes as he pushes Damian toward the exit.
My eyes fill with tears as I run after them.
Isabella is hot on my heels, trying to get a sense of the situation. “What is happening?”
I’m hyperventilating, breathing becoming harder and harder with every second that passes. “I-I-I don’t know. One second w-we were talking and th-then…” I can’t finish the sentence, my words caught between sobs and the need to breathe.
Isabella takes her phone out, firing out some texts, to Matteo or his lawyers, I suppose. “It’s okay, Ari. Everything will be okay.”
Then why do I have the feeling everything will be far from okay?
I haven’t slept one bit, just going through the motions these past seventy-two hours. Right after they took Damian, I went into panic resolution mode. The gala had to be canceled, obviously, and Isabella contacted Damian’s lawyer as soon as the agent walked out that door with him in handcuffs. As soon as everyone was out of the gallery, I went to the station to try to find out more information, but of course, they refused. He also wasn’t allowed any visitors except for his lawyer. The first twenty-four hours was all of us—Isabella, Lorenzo, Matteo, and even Sophia—who showed up at some point when everyone else had gone home. I was the only one that refused to. I stayed there, in my gown, my eyes swollen from all the crying and confusion. Granted, Sophia was there mostly for emotional support and trying to get me to eat or drink anything, which I didn’t do. That dread in the pit of my stomach simply didn’t allow me to.
Sophia and Isabella pretty much forced me to go home to get some sleep and a much-needed shower about a day and a half in. They insisted so much I caved in, not that I got any sleep anyway.
And now, we’re here. I’ve been pacing back and forth outside of the station as Liam—Damian’s lawyer—is inside, waiting for him to come out. I’m a blubbering mess. The press has been lurking around trying to find why he got arrested, because the information has been kept under wraps.
Liam has been nothing but vague at providing any further information, so I still don’t exactly know why he got arrested. For stolen property, right, but what exactly are they claiming he stole? I’m trying not to spiral right now, because he’s walking out of that door at any moment, but I am hanging by a thread. Do I think he did anything? Honestly, I don’t know.
You do know. Come on, Aria, it’s Damian we’re talking about. He wouldn’t do anything like this.
I just have a feeling of dread I can’t pinpoint, but can’t seem to shake nonetheless. All I know is that I trust him, and I trust that he’s a good person. All that he has shown me these past months has been nothing but kindness and patience.
And Love. So much love.
Idon’t know how to explain what has transpired these last seventy-two hours of my clusterfuck life. Let’s start by the fact that I poured my heart out to Aria, and damn it, I don’t regret it for one second. What transpired seconds after the happiest moment of my life has just been a shit show.
I got arrested.
I’m in fucking jail.
Why am I in jail? That’s the biggest clusterfuck of it all. I’m the prime suspect for the stolen painting that happened in Romealmosta year ago. Apparently, they’ve been looking into me after they got a couple of anonymous tips that I was the mastermind behind the heist.
Listen, I’m a ruthless businessman. I’ve pulled my fair share of tricks over the years but stealing isnot one of them.
The first twenty-four hours werehell. All I could see every time I closed my eyes was Aria’s face, drained of color. Lost. Confused. It fucking shattered my heart.
The following forty-eight hours was me, in a interrogation room, two FBI agents drilling me into admitting guilt for somethingIdidn’t fucking do.After much back and forth between the authorities, my lawyer, and me, they got enough grounds to get a warrant approved to search the gallery.
Which leads us to today. Seventy-two painful hours later, I’m getting out on bail. I don’t have to present myself in front of a judge until later this month, so it’s just a matter of proving my fucking innocence. But none of that matters to me, I know I’m innocent. That will be easy to prove.
