2. Michelangelo

Penelope Ramsey was the strongest, most independent, and most stubborn woman I’d ever met. That was saying something, considering Tara, my half sister, was almost as bad. As were the other three women she’d mentioned who made up their tight-knit circle of friends. The very ones she was insisting shouldn’t have to cover the cost of the refunds.

The five met at boarding school when they were still in single digits—maybe seven or eight? I couldn’t recall exactly since I hadn’t known Tara existed at the time.

Each of them came from broken homes. In Penelope’s case, her father had been on his fourth marriage when he divorced her mother. Last I knew, he was up to seven. Divorces, that was. I wasn’t sure if she was aware, but the new girlfriend was a well-known actress, famous enough for one of the online entertainment magazines to write about the engagement to her dad.

Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention to shit like society gossip, but prison was damned boring. I shook my head. Actually, gossip of any kind held zero interest for me, no matter how bored I was. Butterfly, on the other hand, consumed my thoughts almost constantly. She had since the first day we met.

Penelope had been sixteen; I was eighteen and happened to be having lunch with my mother the day she and Tara stopped by her father’s office. He was my father, too, although I didn’t know it yet.

I remembered every detail about the moment I first laid eyes on her. Long hair the color of sable, and chestnut eyes, with a body far more developed than Tara’s. Pen at sixteen was a woman. Tara looked ten years younger.

I couldn’t recall exactly what she’d said when we were introduced, but I’d never forget the way I felt. Her voice had swirled around me like a warm breeze or a song that married the perfect melody and lyrics. Its tone had soothed the angst inside my eighteen-year-old body but lit my libido on fire.

Her eyes had bored into mine, and she smirked as if she’d picked up on my attraction and was challenging me to act on it. When I smiled, her eyes trailed down the length of my body. I would’ve done the same to her if my mother’s voice hadn’t ripped me back into reality.

“Your dad is in a meeting. Is there something I can assist with?” she’d asked Tara. I didn’t catch her response, but the next thing I knew, my mother had suggested I escort the ladies downstairs and hail a cab for them. While I did as my mother asked, as I’d anticipated, the two were far more adept at securing a ride than I was.

“I’m okay,”Penelope said, wriggling out of my arms, bringing me back to the present. “It’s just a piece of land, right?” She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and put her hands on her hips. “So, what else do you need from me in terms of the investigation? Like I said, I doubt there’s much beyond what I’ve already given to the agents.”

It was an abrupt change of subject, but I’d go along with it if she was done talking about her dad—for now, at least. I cleared my throat. “K19 Security Solutions will be conducting an investigation of our own.”

“I wish you the best of luck, and I mean that sincerely. Insurance or not, once word gets out, the gallery’s reputation will be left in tatters. It won’t matter if we have evidence the forgeries of the certificates of authenticity and provenance were just as good as the artwork.” She groaned and turned her head in the opposite direction. “God, this is so fucked up. We’ve worked so hard to build up a respectable client base—Tara especially. We should probably just close now. I’ll figure out a way to pay her, Aine, Ava, and Quinn back for their investment. You know, after I refund our clients.”

I doubted her friends would agree to what Penelope was suggesting, but she didn’t need to hear that from me. Regardless, I had something more proactive in mind.

Before going to prison, I’d made a name for myself in the world of forged art. It’s what had gotten me arrested. What I’d learned, though, was what led to my release.

Dealing in stolen art was commonplace among crime families, particularly in Italy. Possession of artistic masterpieces was considered great wealth. Sure, those pieces couldn’t be sold through legal means, but that was true with most everything that changed hands on the black market.

Often, the art was used as collateral, or even currency, to fund other criminal enterprises like moving drugs and weapons. Which meant the pieces often passed from one crime family to another and sometimes back again.

But why trade or sell the original when a forgery might be just as good? That’s where I’d come in.

When I graduated with my masters from the Art Institute of Chicago, the last thing I intended was to enter the world of crime. But a year later, that’s exactly what I did. My agenda had little to do with money. Then, I’d wanted to ruin the life of my business partner, who just so happened to be my biological father.

I shook my head. That was in the past, and my focus was on the future. I’d been given a chance to lead a life entirely different from the one I had been, and I’d be an idiot not to take it.

“I have a proposal for you.” When Penelope raised a brow, I chuckled. “Something that will help us both.”

“Let’s hear it.”

I’d always admired her direct approach. There was no beating around the bush, no tiptoeing around a subject, and no bullshit. “We buy more art.”

“We?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “No way.”

“No? Just like that? You don’t even want to hear my idea?”

“I did hear it, and first of all, weren’t you listening? I don’t have money to invest in art. Second, whoever is behind the forgeries must have some idea the FBI is onto them. The auction houses have to know about the investigation if the galleries do. I wouldn’t risk selling anything right now, other than Tara’s work. What are they going to do? Keep holding auctions and look the other way?”

“How many different sources were twenty-four forged pieces purchased through?”

She opened her laptop, closed it, and looked at me with wide eyes. “Multiple brokers but only one auction house. I can’t believe I didn’t realize this before.”

I nodded.

“So, they’re in on it?”

“It appears that way. Now, let me address your first concern. We wouldn’t be using your money.”

“What about your recent release from prison?”

“The people who I strongly believe are responsible for the forgeries aren’t the sort to think anything about the minimal time I served. In fact, I guarantee they’ll want to work with me again. We made a lot of money together before my arrest. They’ll see me as a way to expand their business.”

She shook her head again. “You’ve lost me, but I actually consider that a good thing. I don’t need or want to understand the way you used to live, Brand.”

“Nor do I want you to. Kade Butler is offering me a job that will allow me to turn my life around. He’s giving me a second chance, and he and I have no history. Why won’t you?” My eyes bored into hers, and her cheeks flushed.

“What would I have to do? Attend auctions and bid on art?”

“Yes, but I would be with you.”

“Why?”

“Because of our new relationship status.”

When she raised a brow, I couldn’t mask my grin. I was going to love this. Her, maybe not so much.

“Which is?”

“I’m your fiancé.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “No one will believe that in a million years. I haven’t been dating, and yet suddenly, I’m engaged to you? It’s ludicrous.”

“I was just released from prison. Perhaps we reestablished a connection, then.”

“No one in the tribe will buy it. Especially, Tara.”

“The only people who will question it, will be looped in.”

“My dad?”

I raised a brow. “If you’re asking whether your father will be apprised of the true nature of our engagement, the answer is no.”

“Right. It probably won’t surprise him at all,” she mumbled.

I wanted to pull Penelope into my arms and assure her that even though both her parents were narcissistic assholes, she had other people who cared about her—loved her—and I was one of them. However, I thought better of it. She was on the verge of agreeing to work with me. I could sense it. If I confessed my true feelings now, she’d withdraw. I’d known her long enough to have seen it happen. Or heard about it, at least.

“I don’t know if Pen will ever get married,” I remembered my sister telling me. “Both her parents are just as fucked up as mine are.” She hadn’t known then that we shared one biologically. Actually, I hadn’t yet, either. “Anyway, the minute someone gets too close, she suddenly finds a multitude of things she can’t stand and breaks up with them.”

My end game with Pen was a long one. I wasn’t interested in something temporary. I wanted to grow old with her.

My plan involved spending time together. The twenty-four-hour-a-day kind if our cover was to be effective. There was no question we were attracted to each other physically, but I wanted more from Penelope. A lot more. I wanted it all.

If she agreed to this, which I was beginning to think she would, we’d have time to really get to know each other. From there, maybe she’d see the new me. I went from being an angry twenty-five-year-old bent on revenge, to a man who wanted more out of life. A real life. A good life. A life with love. And that meant a life with my Butterfly.

“I have to think about this, Brand.”

“Understood.”

“So, um, if there’s nothing else, I should call my dad.”

“I’ll take a look around while you do. I’ve kept up with Tara’s work on the gallery’s website, but this will be the first time I’ll see any of it in person.”

Penelope cocked her head but didn’t say anything. I was sure she expected me to leave, but I had no intention of doing so. I hoped she’d agree to have dinner with me tonight. Even if it was under the guise of planning our “engagement strategy,” I’d make the most of every moment I got to spend with her.