Chapter 32

CHIARA

T he plan was audacious.

So bodacious, I was as skeptical as all hell.

It all hinged on the fact that Don Fabian Mariano was an infamous fine art aficionado and was willing to pay top prices for private sales of collectible masterpieces.

Like most collectors, he had a wish list, a high price tag one.

Through the art world grapevine, I discovered the top five canvases that were his cream of the crop. The items he desired most to own, the ones that would make him drop everything and come running.

Next, we hunted for the right piece.

Lorenzo came up with the goods.

We borrowed a wildly rare artwork from his amico , a discreet collector who had recently spent over $25 million to acquire it.

The anonymous lender agreed to the risky move only because Lorenzo called in the favor using his Calibrese name and diamonds in collateral to vouch for the risky gambit.

Seeing that masterpiece delivered to my gallery was surreal.

It was shielded under layers of protection—tags, sensors, cameras, and a new security feature specially designed for such situations.

The stakes were high. If we tempted Fabian with this artwork, we’d offer him a way out of his clusterfuck with Claudio.

He had the choice to either keep the painting, paying us $10 million for its $20 million value, or sell it for its true worth and give us the same amount back.

Regardless, he’d recoup his money.

I was confident he’d not be able to resist the piece. Not one so highly sought after.

With Rio looking over my shoulder, I emailed Claudio the irresistible hook.

I had an answer in 24 hours.

Don Mariano had taken the bait.

We staged the showing at my gallery.

It was 9 p.m. on a Thursday when Fabian finally arrived with his son, Damian, and Claudio.

In the low light of the Galleria, I studied the man.

The infamous Don filled a room with the clout of his presence.

His bulk, wrapped in an expensive, tailored suit that strained at the seams, radiated a brutishness that compelled me to step back.

His belly hung over his belt, but it wasn’t only his size that rendered him intimidating. It was how he carried himself, with a sense of entitlement and menace simmering beneath the surface.

His round face glistened with a slight sheen of sweat, and his collar only managed to contain his thick neck.

However, his small, dark, and calculating eyes gave me a shiver. They reminded me of a predator sizing up its prey. Despite the layers of flesh, there was nothing soft about him.

He was all coiled aggression, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Beside him stood his son, Damian.

The complete opposite in build, he was rail-thin and almost gaunt, but he was dressed in a designer suit that probably cost more than some people’s yearly salary.

His slicked-back hair and manicured beard gave him the air of someone who spent more time in front of a mirror than in any boardroom.

He had the kind of botoxed face that never moved, his lips curling into the barest semblance of a sneer.

Everything about him screamed privilege—the type of man who had never had to lift a finger in his life.

But behind that polished exterior was a serpent, like his father.

Though lighter than Fabian’s, his eyes carried the same dangerous glint, an unearned arrogance.

He was the variety who destroyed lives with a lift of his thin fingers and wouldn’t flinch while doing it.

Together, they radiated with dark energy that caused the hairs on my neck to prickle—a pair of snakes, coiled and ready to strike at the first sign of weakness.

It wasn’t only their wealth or connections that made them perilous to deal with. It was also the cold, methodical way they moved through the world as if it existed for them to take and devour.

Tale padre, tale figlio. Like father, like son , I thought.

Claudio hung back, his eyes darting between Fabian and me, his nerves on show.

He had every reason to be.

Mauri, my silent protector, stood by my side, playing his role as my second-in-command to perfection.

Claudio didn’t know him, which worked in our favor.

Rio and Alessio were nearby, hidden from sight but close enough to intervene if things went south.

The tension was thick, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Fabian didn’t bother with pleasantries.

His voice was sharp, laced with annoyance and threat. ‘You’re aware that our family paid Claudio—claiming to represent an anonymous seller—$2 million for a modernist artwork. The deal went into contract, but the pricey creation never arrived. If tonight does not pan out, we will nail you and your brother to the walls of this gallery until these funds are fully returned.’

His eyes bore into me, his intonation laden with menace and warning.

I didn’t flinch. ‘You won’t have to. As promised, we have the canvas of your dreams here in my gallery.’

I masked my anxiety with a calm smile and led him toward the central show space.

My heart pounded as I reached for the light switch, mindful that everything hinged on this moment.

The luminaires flickered on, illuminating the masterpiece on the wall.

Fabian’s reaction was instant—he went still, eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat.

His face turned red. His hands balled into fists as if trying to contain the shock.

He almost had an apoplexy right there in front of me.

‘Is that -?’

He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

‘It is,’ I confirmed, a small smile on my lips. ‘The piece you’ve been after for years.’

All the bluster and menace drained from him, replaced by shock.

His son Damian stepped forward, mouth hanging open as he peered at the canvas.

Claudio stayed frozen, his relief palpable, though he tried to hide it.

Fabian turned to me, his voice gruff but tinged with bare desire.

He kept staring at the egg-shaped, bright yellow pock-marked surface in wonderment, his eyes bugging out. ‘Is that the -?’

I nodded. ‘Si, it is the ‘ Concetto Spaziale, La fine di Dio ’, Lucio Fontana’s iconic work. The La fine di Dio series is the aesthetic and conceptual pinnacle of the modern master’s celebrated oeuvre. Its equivalent works to the one at hand can be found in esteemed museum collections, including those of the Centre Pompidou in Paris. As well as the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia in Madrid.’

‘Is that right?’ he mused, leaning in, transfixed.

‘Indeed. The collection features massive, ovoid canvases. Richly oil-painted in bold monochromes and pierced with holes. Created between March 1963 and February 1964, the pieces reflect Fontana’s exploration of space and spirituality, merging scientific and religious themes in a neo-modernist style.’

Fabian was trembling with excitement. ‘ Dio , I’ve always wanted to own one.’

‘I know,’ I said with a smug smirk. ‘Now you can.’

Fabian drew even nearer, mouth agape.

‘It’s covered in punctures, or ‘ buchi ,’ I continued, ‘representing a radical break with traditional painting. The egg form symbolizes regeneration and cosmic principles, enhancing the work’s generative potential. Ultimately, Concetto Spaziale, La fine di Dio , transcends art’s boundaries, seen as both a sculpture and a portal to the metaphysical beyond,’ I added.

He came closer to the piece, still in wonder. ‘Tell me more,’ he grunted, enamored.

‘The elliptical-shaped canvas is about the artist’s height,’ I indulged him. ‘He used thick coats of bright yellow oil colorant to give the surface a shiny finish. While the pigment was still wet, he utilized a sharp tool to make the holes. He then employed his fingers and even his whole hand to make the apertures larger, sometimes creating deep indentations. He enjoyed how the color built up around the perforations and often added more paint to form raised areas, adding texture to the work.’

‘It’s a masterpiece.’

‘It’s a collector’s piece,’ I nodded. ‘The Concetto Spaziale , La fine di Dio last sold at Sotheby’s for an estimated value of $22.96 million. The current owner is looking for a quick sale in the same region or higher.’

‘Why are they selling?’ Damian drawled, bored as shit, like he’d rather be at a bar somewhere chatting up women or snorting coke.

‘He needs fast liquidity as his company hasn’t had a good run in the stock exchange,’ I murmured.

‘I’ll take it,’ Fabian announced in his triumphant tone, a far cry from the unveiled threats he had issued earlier.

‘Let’s talk terms.’

The power balance shifted.

We had him where we needed him.

He grinned, but when his eyes sliced to his son, I perceived a shift in his demeanor.

I detected malice in Fabian’s eyes.

The hunger in his gaze was unadulterated greed, the kind that could only lead to one outcome.

He wasn’t going to pay and didn’t plan to negotiate.

He was going to steal it all.

Damian jerked a chin to the pair of bodyguards they brought along, and in seconds, the two of them were brandishing weapons at me.

‘What’s this?’ I whispered, aware this had been one of the possible outcomes I’d played out with the Calibrese brothers.

‘Fabian gave me a cruel grin. ‘I have no plans to provide you with a share of it. Your fratello caused me immense pain with his delayed payments on our last transactions and several previous ones.

‘So you’re a regular of his?’

‘I was. But this find is the best yet and will keep my art soul sated for a while. I also don’t want to deal with Claudio any longer. I’m done with his inefficiency and fuckin’ uselessness.’

He turned, pointed a weapon at Claudio, and shot my brother.

Who happened to lift his hand and swivel, deflecting the hit.

It still caught him in his flabby flank, and he cried out and fell to the ground, bleeding.

‘I’ll finish you off later,’ Fabian snarled, turning to the precious artwork. ‘Get it,’ he growled to his men.

I faked my protests, inching back and moving closer to Mauri as Fabian’s thugs surged forward, barreling toward the glass-encased canvas, ready to whisk it away.

I braced, my stomach twisting in anticipation.

They were fast, but so were the defenses we’d put in place.

As soon as they got within range of the bulletproof enclosure wired with electrical charges and reached for the painting, the air around the creation crackled, and a high-pitched whine filled the gallery.

There was a sudden flash, and the next thing I knew, both men flew through the air and crumpled on the floor, twitching from the electric charge the security system emitted.

Fabian turned me, enraged. ‘The fuck?’

Only to find himself facing off with my weapon, a Beretta, retrieved from under a sculpture pedestal where Rio had taped it earlier.

Fabian’s eyes widened in shock, but it only lasted a moment.

Then, his gaze shifted, his face darkening with rage. He moved faster than I expected for a man of his size and, with a roar, lunged at me.

I didn’t delay.

I aimed for his gun arm and squeezed the trigger.

He cried out when the bullet sheered off his thumb, causing him to let go of his firearm and scream. His blood spurted in the air.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mauri tackle the pair of bodyguards who had drawn guns.

I tagged a shadow to my right and instinctively ducked.

Just in time as Damian’s hand slapped my firearm from my hold.

It clattered to the floor.

‘Think you can play games with us, bitch?’ he snarled, righting and readying himself to come at me. ‘You have no idea who you’re dealing with.’

‘Oh, I know who I’m fucking with,’ I shot back, my voice steady despite the fear racing through my veins.

I wasn’t about to let him intimidate me. Not now. Not after everything.

He swung at me once more, and I managed to duck in time, the force of his fist grazing past my cheek.

My heart pounded, but instinct took over.

I kicked out hard, my foot connecting with his knee. He stumbled back, snarling in pain, his face twisting in fury.

Mauri was still tangling with the Mariano capos like a force of nature, moving faster than I’d ever seen him.

His fists were precise, his movements fluid, holding off Fabian’s goons with a flurry of hits that sent one of them crashing into a display.

Rio and Alessio rushed from the shadows.

My lover’s face was hard, his eyes locked on Damian.

The Mariano scion fell to the ground and scrabbled for his gun.

He swung it up, aiming at Rio, who tilted his head and shot his Wilson.

Damian’s chest bloomed into a crimson canvas, and he lurched, then sunk back onto the floor.

Alessio darted like a whirlwind, taking down one of the larger bodyguards with a well-placed punch to the gut, followed by a quick uppercut that sent the man sprawling.

‘Chiara!’ Rio’s voice cut through the noise as he moved toward me. He was by my side in a few swift strides, his arm encircling my waist.

His eyes flicked to Fabian, who crawled to his son’s body, moaning under his breath.

Rio sucked his teeth and turned to me. ‘You OK, amore ?’

I nodded, breathless but unhurt. ‘I’m fine,’ I managed, trying to steady my racing heart.

Fabian, clutching Damian’s head, keening in agony, glaring at his fallen men, fury boiling in his gaze. ‘You think this is over?’ he spat, wiping blood from his lip and crimson-coated mouth. ‘You just shot my son. You have no idea what you’ve started.’

Rio stepped forward, his eyes narrowed in brutal menace. ‘I think we do, Fabian. But it’s over for you.’

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

The adrenaline still coursed through my veins, my hands trembling as I witnessed them get hauled out.

Fabian glared at me one last time as Mauri pulled him to his feet, but I met his gaze with all the strength I could muster.

Rio turned to me, his grip resting on my shoulders, grounding me. ‘It’s over,’ he murmured, his thumb brushing against my cheek.

I nodded, leaning into his touch, the tension draining from my body. ‘I can’t believe he tried to take it,’ I whispered, shaking my head. ‘He thought he waltz in and steal it.’

Rio gave a small, wry smile. ‘Men like Fabian always think they can take whatever they want. But he underestimated us.’

I smiled back despite everything. ‘Maybe. But I’m glad I didn’t have to face him alone.’

Rio’s eyes softened, his hand moving to cup the back of my neck. ‘You’ll never have to face anything solo again, Chiara. Not as long as I’m in your world and by your side.’

I let his words sink in, the truth of them enshrouding me like a protective shield, wrapping them around me.

My soul resting in their surety.