Chapter 2 - THE PAINTING ABOVE TABLE FOUR
Sadi wanted to leave.
Immediately.
That was the sensible reaction to discovering that the fake boyfriend she'd brought to humiliate her ex might be connected to a stolen seventeenth-century painting.
Roman disagreed.
“We stay.”
“Of course you think that.”
“If we leave now, Price notices.”
“He already noticed you.”
“He hasn't noticed you.”
Sadi laughed quietly.
“Believe me, men like Arthur Price do not notice women carrying serving trays.”
Roman looked at her.
“You aren't carrying one tonight.”
The sentence hit strangely.
Then Derek appeared.
“Everything okay?”
Sadi smiled too quickly.
“Perfect.”
His eyes moved toward Roman.
“You two been together long?”
Roman answered:
“Long enough.”
“How'd you meet?”
“At home.”
Sadi nearly choked.
Technically true.
Derek misinterpreted it exactly as Roman intended.
His expression changed.
Roman calmly lifted his wine.
Sadi whispered:
“You're enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Dinner began.
Her mother had somehow moved them to table four.
Derek and Madison were now seated beside them.
Sadi expected awkwardness.
Instead, Madison leaned toward her.
“Can I ask you something weird?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know anything about paintings?”
Sadi looked at her.
“A little.”
“My dad brought that one yesterday.”
The stolen Madonna.
“He said it's family property.”
Sadi's heartbeat accelerated.
“Has he owned it long?”
Madison frowned.
“I don't think so.”
Across the table, Arthur Price looked toward them.
Sadi immediately changed the subject.
“Your earrings are beautiful.”
Madison smiled.
Roman listened silently.
Later, when guests moved toward the terrace, Sadi found Roman near the fireplace.
“You were right,” she whispered.
“About?”
“Price didn't inherit the painting.”
Roman's face hardened.
“What makes you sure?”
“The frame.”
“What about it?”
“Too new.”
“That sounds insufficient.”
“It is.”
She stepped closer.
“But the conservation work isn't.”
Roman waited.
“There's a tiny repaired tear beneath Mary's left hand.”
She pointed subtly.
“I saw it in photographs from the Sicilian church archive.”
“You're certain?”
“Ninety percent.”
Roman nodded.
“Good enough to investigate. Not good enough to accuse.”
Sadi stared.
“That sounded surprisingly responsible.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Then Roman's phone vibrated.
One message.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“The Moretti representatives never arrived at the original meeting.”
Sadi felt cold.
“Where are they?”
Roman looked toward Arthur Price.
“I suspect here.”
A waiter passed.
Behind him, Sadi saw two men enter through the private-club corridor.
One was Carlo Moretti.
Roman's rival.
The other she didn't recognize.
Roman did.
His body became very still.
“Who?”
“Elliot Vane.”
“Should I know him?”
“Customs broker.”
That was enough.
Art.
International shipping.
A customs broker.
Arthur Price.
Sadi suddenly understood why Roman needed an alibi.
“You knew someone was moving stolen art through your freight companies.”
“Suspected.”
“And tonight was supposed to be a meeting.”
“Yes.”
“To discuss it?”
“To stop it.”
She looked at him.
“By killing people?”
Roman's expression became almost offended.
“I said complicated.”
“You said your lieutenants would handle the Morettis quietly.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds murder-adjacent.”
“It was intentionally vague.”
Sadi stared.
“Why?”
“You were already frightened of me.”
“So you made yourself sound worse?”
“I am discovering that was poor strategy.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
Roman continued:
“My attorneys and internal security were supposed to confront the brokers with evidence while I remained elsewhere.”
“Legal evidence?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Sadi.”
“Fine.”
Then something happened near the fireplace.
Arthur Price removed the painting from the wall.
Not casually.
Quickly.
Carlo Moretti stood beside him.
Sadi whispered:
“They're moving it.”
Roman already had his phone out.
“No.”
She grabbed his sleeve.
“What?”
“If you send your people in now, they know you knew.”
“And?”
“They'll deny everything.”
Roman looked at her.
“What do you suggest?”
Sadi stared at the painting.
Then smiled.
“Let me embarrass myself.”
Ten minutes later, Chloe tapped a spoon against her champagne glass.
“Before dessert, Sadi apparently wants to say something.”
Her mother looked horrified.
Sadi stood.
Roman's eyes narrowed.
He had not expected public.
Good.
She lifted her glass.
“I just wanted to congratulate Chloe and Ben.”
Normal.
Her mother's shoulders relaxed.
Then Sadi turned toward Arthur.
“And thank Mr. Price for bringing such an interesting painting.”
Arthur stopped smiling.
“There aren't many opportunities to see a lost Sicilian devotional work in suburban Illinois.”
Silence.
Roman slowly leaned back.
Arthur's face changed.
“What did you call it?”
Sadi smiled.
“A lost work.”
Guests began looking toward the painting.
Arthur laughed.
“It's been in my family for decades.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“That must make the 2014 restoration photographs from San Corrado rather awkward.”
No one moved.
Madison looked at her father.
“Dad?”
Sadi continued calmly.
“The tear beneath the left hand is unusually distinctive.”
Arthur's smile disappeared.
Carlo Moretti stepped backward.
Roman noticed.
So did Sadi.
She raised her glass.
“But I'm probably wrong.”
Then sat down.
Roman leaned toward her.
“That was your plan?”
“Yes.”
“You accused an art dealer of trafficking in front of seventy witnesses.”
“I said I might be wrong.”
Roman's mouth twitched.
Across the room, Arthur was already making a phone call.
Perfect.
If innocent, he would prove provenance.
If guilty—
he would panic.
He panicked.
And twenty minutes later, Roman received confirmation.
Arthur Price had ordered three crates removed from a storage unit immediately.
Roman looked at Sadi.
“Congratulations.”
“For?”
“You just turned your sister's rehearsal dinner into an international art-crime investigation.”
Her mother appeared behind them.
“Sadi Miller, what have you done?”
May you like
Sadi closed her eyes.
Some threats were more frightening than mafia bosses.
