Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“How many, Simon?”
“Eight. Mostly picked from the back yard. You know, all those statues you’ve been ignoring for years?”
I stare at him. He looks back. I’m much more comfortable with silence, but Simon’s gotten harder over the years. He was always strong, but there was a gentleness to him, an eagerness to make people like him, at least back before he became the Don. Most people never noticed it, but Simon’s always been transparent to me.
But his years as head of the family have shaped him. Now he’s granite, and staring him down doesn’t do a thing. If I weren’t so pissed off, I might have a little respect for him.
“I choose which ones you take.”
That surprises him. I’m guessing he expected a big fight, one that he’d win whether I liked it or not, since he holds all the power. And really, when Mom first told me about Simon’s scheme, that was my first instinct. Go ballistic, start fires, etc., etc. Then I drank more coffee, did some work on my jackal ear, and thought about it. One thing kept coming up: why did Mom tell me in the first place, especially knowing how pissed I’d be?
The answer was pretty obvious once I get over my initial reaction.
“You want to be involved?” he asks and squints at me as if he’s trying to see through a mask.
“It’s my gallery opening, isn’t it? Yes, I want to be involved, because I don’t trust you idiots to do it right. I pick the pieces.”
“Good ones,” he says, still extremely skeptical. “Also, why?”
I pace across the room, not looking at him. I’m jittery and on edge. “This is what I do, remember? These are my sculptures. The art is my life. I get it, you don’t like that I’ve been seeing Marco Vitale, but whatever. We can set that aside.” I stop pacing and look at him. “You’ll make more money if I’m there.”
“Nobody knows who you are,” he says, head tilted, and I can see him making his calculations.
“And they still won’t. I’ll debut as the masked artist.”
“The mask thing again?”
“It’s part of my brand.”
He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Could be good, actually. And I wasn’t kidding about the prices. One of your original pieces sold for triple what it went for at auction last week already.”
“I’ve got the juice.” I tilt my chin up. “I want masks. I want to pick which pieces get shown. And I want to be there. Those are my conditions.”
Simon pretends to consider it but we both know what he’s going to say. I’m right, my presence will only make the buyers spend more money, and this is about the money in the end. Simon doesn’t give a shit about building cultural cachet, only cold hard cash.
“Fine,” he says at last. “Work out the details with Angelo.”
“Good.” I turn and walk away.
“Hey, Laura. I’m happy you’re playing along. I really am.”
I flip him off as I leave, because otherwise he wouldn’t buy this. Also, it feels good, petty or not.
Once on the sidewalk, I pause in the late afternoon sunshine. It streams through a tree. Nearby, guards saunter in a tight formation, holding guns and smoking cigarettes. They laugh about something, and one of them nods to me, very respectful. I nod back, feeling grim, but that was good. That was what I wanted.
My phone rings as I start walking back to my house. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”
Jackal’s voice. Marco’s voice. “We need to talk.”
“You’re right. We really do. It’s been an eventful day.”
“Baby, you don’t know the half of it.” He sounds tired and stressed. I slow my pace.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this, but I think it’s best if I just say it.” He blows out a breath. “There’s going to be an attack on your family’s art gallery opening coming up, and you can’t be anywhere near it.”
I come to a complete halt on my porch and sink down onto a rocking chair. I feel cold all over. “How do you know?”
“Some of my associates are planning it. I tried to talk them out of it, but they’re not listening anymore. Your family tried to kill one of them. They also tried to kill me.”
I stare at the railing. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s fine. Didn’t work. But now my associates are angry, and they’re thinking this gallery opening is going to be a good chance to strike. You can’t be there.”
I lean my head back against the chair and close my eyes. “Marco, I have to be there.”
He’s silent. I hear him breathing and I can almost taste his confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m under house arrest, remember?” Desperation floods my stomach. “This gallery opening is my chance. I have this plan. I convinced my brother to let me go.”