Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Was Never Supposed to Fall in Love|
I felt every eye in the room turn toward me.
Dominic stepped in front of me instinctively.
"What does Mia have to do with this?"
Vincent looked exhausted.
He had dark circles beneath his eyes and a healing cut along his cheek.
"More than she realizes."
I stepped around Dominic.
"Then explain."
Vincent looked at Gabriel.
Gabriel nodded.
"She deserves to know."
Dominic's expression hardened.
"Know what?"
Vincent took a breath.
"Eleven years ago, our father was involved in an operation that moved money through private art collections."
I stared at him.
"Art?"
He nodded.
"Paintings were purchased through shell companies, transferred between collections, and sold at inflated prices. The paperwork made the transactions look legitimate."
My stomach tightened.
I thought of the painting at my gallery.
The inconsistent ownership dates.
The signature that didn't match the artist's documented records.
"That's why Dominic came to see me."
Vincent looked at his brother.
"Partly."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"Vincent."
"She needs the truth."
I looked between them.
"Tell me."
Vincent continued.
"Your gallery received a painting connected to the original operation. Someone changed the provenance, but they missed a detail."
"The restoration date," I whispered.
Vincent nodded.
"The canvas was supposedly restored in 1998. But the adhesive beneath the frame wasn't manufactured until years later."
I remembered.
I'd pointed out the inconsistency in my report.
Two days later, Dominic appeared.
Vincent looked at me.
"You were the first person outside the organization to notice the fraud."
I swallowed.
"And?"
"Someone decided it would be easier to keep you close than to let you keep asking questions."
Silence.
I slowly turned toward Dominic.
His face was pale.
"Did you know?"
"Mia—"
"Did you know?"
He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
The word struck harder than I expected.
I stepped backward.
"So you approached me because someone told you to?"
"At first."
My throat tightened.
"At first."
Dominic reached for me.
I moved away.
"Don't touch me."
"Mia, please."
For eight months, I'd told myself the fear was worth the love.
That Dominic's jealousy meant he cared.
That his guards were protecting me.
Now I understood something unbearable.
The beautiful penthouse might have been a cage from the very beginning.
Vincent looked at his brother.
"You should have told her."
Dominic turned on him.
"You think I don't know that?"
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because I fell in love with her!"
The room went silent.
Dominic's voice broke.
"I was supposed to find out what she knew and make sure the painting disappeared quietly. Instead, I kept coming back because I wanted to see her."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"She made me laugh. She challenged me. She didn't care about my money."
His eyes filled with something raw.
"She looked at me like I was a person instead of a name."
My chest hurt.
I remembered late nights in the penthouse.
Dominic cooking terrible pasta because he didn't trust anyone else in the kitchen.
Dominic falling asleep with his head in my lap.
Dominic telling me he'd never imagined wanting a home until he met me.
Had any of that been real?
Vincent stepped closer.
"Mia, there is something else."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Your gallery director knew who Dominic was."
My stomach dropped.
"Elizabeth?"
Vincent nodded.
"She arranged for the painting to reach your desk."
I stared.
"Elizabeth Monroe has known me since graduate school."
"Yes."
"She's the one who recommended me for the gallery."
"Yes."
My hands began shaking.
"Why?"
Vincent exchanged a glance with Gabriel.
Then he answered.
"Because your father worked on the original financial records."
I froze.
"My father was a high school teacher."
Vincent shook his head.
"That's what you were told."
I thought of Michael Harrison.
A gentle man who loved crossword puzzles and taught American history.
He'd died when I was nineteen.
A sudden heart attack.
Or so I'd always believed.
"You're lying."
Vincent's expression softened.
"I wish I were."
He opened a folder.
Inside was a photograph.
My father stood beside Anthony Russo.
Both men were much younger.
Behind them was a painting I recognized.
The same painting I'd appraised at the gallery.
I pressed a hand against my mouth.
"No."
Vincent pointed to the image.
"Your father wasn't a criminal, Mia. He was an accountant who discovered what the operation was doing."
I stared at him.
"Then why was he working with Anthony Russo?"
"Because he believed he could expose the people behind it."
My eyes filled with tears.
"What happened to him?"
Vincent hesitated.
Dominic stepped toward me.
"Mia, sit down."
I turned on him.
"Don't tell me what to do."
He stopped.
Vincent took a breath.
"Your father collected evidence. Before he could give it to investigators, someone learned what he was doing."
My heart thundered.
"Who?"
Vincent looked at Dominic.
Then at me.
"Elizabeth Monroe."
I felt dizzy.
"My boss?"
Vincent nodded.
"She was part of the operation long before you met her."
I stared at the photograph.
For years, Elizabeth had been like a second mother to me.
She attended my college graduation.
She brought food after my father's funeral.
She helped me get my first job.
And now Vincent was telling me she'd known who my father really was.
I whispered, "Did she kill him?"
Nobody answered.
That was answer enough.
I turned toward the door.
Dominic followed.
"Mia—"
I stopped.
"Stay away from me."
He froze.
I looked back.
"You didn't fall in love with a woman you met by chance. You fell in love with someone you were sent to control."
His face crumpled.
"Mia, please."
I shook my head.
"You don't get to decide what happens to me anymore."
Then I walked outside.
But before I reached the driveway, my phone vibrated.
A message from Elizabeth Monroe.
Mia, sweetheart. I know you're with the Russo brothers. Please don't believe what they're telling you.
May you like
A second message appeared.
Your father isn't dead.
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