Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“An interesting theory, but insurance takes time, and ashes don’t appreciate in value like a good Renoir.”
“We want there to be more opportunities in the art space. I’m sure you’re aware of how difficult Gray Wolf can be to work with. They control the high-end market right now, making it almost impossible to appraise and auction the most expensive pieces without them taking a slice. But if they were to be replaced and competition returned, I’m wondering if prices wouldn’t come down. Lower commissions could be worth the losses alone.”
Charlie seems interested. She taps a fingernail against the porcelain cup, her tongue lightly clenched between her teeth. “It’ll be a hard sell. My grandfather doesn’t like your husband very much.”
“I can only imagine what he thinks, but you’ll be dealing with me.”
“You’re not much better.” She smiles and shrugs. “Just being honest.”
“The Marino Family will muscle Gray Wolf out. They’ll take on some of their former functions, but maybe someone else clever and well-connected might want a slice of the future profits.”
Now Charlie is really listening. She said herself, her parents love this stuff, and now I’m offering her family the chance to get a direct line into the arts market, without the hassle of criminal middlemen. Well, aside from my husband, of course.
“I’m interested,” she says at last. “I’ll speak with my grandfather and see what he thinks. It’s a very fascinating proposal.” She stands abruptly. “Now honestly, the horses are waiting. I must get going.”
“Thank you for meeting with us.” I shake her hand. Kennedy does the same.
“Beautiful home,” Kennedy murmurs.
Charlie leaves the room like a breeze, and a staff member appears to escort us to the door. My palms are sweaty and my heart’s racing as we step out into the afternoon sunlight. Kennedy grins at me, and we walk fast, footsteps crunching over white stones, heading toward where Vinny’s leaning against the car with a big scowl on his face.
“You did it.” Kennedy slips her hand into mine. “I’m so stinking proud of you.”
“Thank you.” I barely get the words out because I’m stinking proud too. Charlie’s family represents everything that hates me. They might not have been the worst of them back when my parents died and Grandmother was left struggling to hold everything together, but they still were a part of the problem. The Westbrooks look down on us and always have.
But I just walked into their house and negotiated. I made them an offer that could benefit us both. A new market and new opportunities. All they have to do is whisper in the right ears, and suddenly the city won’t be against Adriano anymore.
I can do this. I can be useful. My connections might not be the best, but at least I can work them. Grandmother’s always been wrong about me. I could never live up to her perfect expectations.
But now that I’m free, it’s time for me to flourish.
“I was about to come storming in there with a gun,” Vinny grumbles as we get back into the car.
“Glad you didn’t,” Kennedy says, punching him in the arm. “Otherwise, you’d be dead, and it’d be a shame to get your cheap blood on their really expensive marble.”
He scowls at her and starts driving back home.
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.