39. Jenn

Chapter 39

Jenn

I stared up at Emmett, who seemed to be somewhere else. His eyes were distant, focused on something other than the auction or me. It was as if he’d suddenly transported to another world, leaving me behind.

Frustration bubbled up inside me. Was this more of the spy stuff I’d teased him about yesterday?

Emmett’s jaw tightened, an internal struggle playing out across his face. He was holding something back, something big.

“I said, should we lea—” I began, but Emmett’s face snapped toward mine.

He gave me a brief kiss on the cheek. “I need to talk to somebody about the man who won the scarab.”

I barely had time to say, “But can’t you just talk to him? He’s right here,” before Emmett strode out of the auction room.

Was I supposed to go with him? Stay here? Sit at the blackjack table like a good little girl?

Everything else in the room was completely normal. The auction continued, people drank, and the staff milled about the room. So why did I feel so completely lost?

The auctioneer dropped his gavel on a ruby-encrusted necklace and moved on to the next item.

“ Wheatfield on the Lock , a stunning painting by John Constable,” the auctioneer announced, reciting information about the original first in French and then in English. Year painted. Medium. Highlighting the characters and the clouds. “As you can see from our provenance documentation, this lovely piece has been in the possession of royalty and celebrities around the globe. The current starting bid is two hundred thousand euros, certainly a steal for such an illustrious piece.”

It’s a steal, all right.

Dante should have had it removed from the auction, like he swore he would. But what else could I expect from a man working for an organization that kidnapped and beat people to get what they wanted?

Rage built inside my chest, hot and immediate, demanding action. I marched around the perimeter of the chairs and up the center row, landing in the seat next to Dante. “Are you going to do something about this, or am I?”

Dante’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as he processed my words. “Jenn, I?—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Don’t give me more excuses. That painting is a fake, and you know it. You promised me you’d take care of this.”

The auction staff didn’t know me from a hole in the wall. What could I do with my little accusation? Even if they believed me, Emmett said black market items were common here. Would they care? They should care, considering the copy wasn’t worth a fraction of what the winner would pay.

Dante’s surprise gave way to anger, and he growled, “He swore?—”

“Yeah, yeah, your dad swore. You keep saying that, but it’s nothing more than words. The copy is still up there, about to be sold to some unsuspecting buyer for a small fortune.”

Small fortune? I’d been in Monaco too long if hundreds of thousands was small.

Dante’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, I expected he’d argue with me. But he stood abruptly, maneuvering around me and stepping up to the front of the room.

He walked right up onto the platform, causing a stir among the other bidders. The auctioneer’s microphone cut out, and they had a brief, hushed conversation. What felt like minutes ticked by until Dante waved for me to join him.

You go, girl. Twice in only two days, I’d stood up for what I believed in, told people what I wanted, and they did it. I rose from my chair, smoothed out my dress, and joined the men at the front.

As I approached, the weight of dozens of curious stares hit my back.

The auctioneer turned to me, his expression a careful mask of professionalism. “Monsieur De Rosa tells me the authenticity of this painting is in question?”

I nodded. “I had a firm in the States confirm it was a replica. The most telling feature is the signature—the letters are slightly off compared to an auction catalog we uncovered from 1956.”

“And the name of the firm?”

“Caine-Ferraro Fine Art Investigations,” I said.

The auctioneer nodded and gestured for one of his assistants to join us. “Show them to the preparatory room and record her details.”

The assistant nodded and made her way down the steps, toward the door Massimo had taken. To the water door? That’s what Emmett had called it, wasn’t it?

“Once we have the information, we’ll take it to the coordinator to confirm,” said the auctioneer. He turned toward another of his assistants and pointed to the screen behind them. “For now, we’ll move on to the next item in the auction.”