Chapter 7 - THE VISITOR AT THE GALLERY|
By noon, I was at my art restoration studio in Chelsea.
Work was the only place where the mafia didn't exist. Surrounded by the scent of turpentine, old varnish, and canvas, I felt in control of my world.
I was carefully cleaning a sixteenth-century oil painting when the glass bell above the front door chimed.
I didn't look up immediately. "We're closed for private consultations until three."
"Even for family?" a soft, mocking voice asked.
I froze. I set my scalpel down and turned around slowly.
Standing near the display case was Vanessa Cole. She had replaced her wet clothes with a stunning cream-colored wool coat. The bruise on her cheek was covered with heavy makeup, but under the bright studio lights, it still looked nasty.
Two broad-shouldered men in dark suits stood outside my studio glass, watching the street.
"You have a lot of nerve coming here," I said, keeping my tone dead flat.
"I came to thank you," Vanessa smiled, stepping closer to my work table. "If you hadn't thrown your little tantrum last night, Adrian wouldn't have given me his full, undivided attention this morning."
I picked up a wiping cloth, cleaning my hands methodically. "Did he give you his attention, Vanessa? Or did he have Marcus throw you into an interrogation room?"
Vanessa’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, her dark eyes flashing with annoyance.
"He cares about me," she insisted, taking another step forward. "He always has. You're just a temporary distraction, Elena. A cute little civilian he picked up to pretend he has a normal life."
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I walked out from behind my work table, stopping two feet from her. I looked her up and down—the expensive coat, the carefully applied foundation, the desperate glint in her eyes.
"If he cared about you," I said softly, "you wouldn't have had to get punched in the face just to get past his front gate."
