Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
My hands trembled, forcing me to hold them on my lap. I considered reaching over and grabbing Marcello’s hand but thought better of it. He’d consoled me at night, helped me sleep after my nightmares. But he would not show me the same kindness in front of his family. No, that version of Marcello he reserved for me.
“Evangeline’s twentieth-anniversary show is coming up,” I said to Arlo, hoping to break the tension in the room. “I would like to add a new painting to this year’s collection. Something no one has ever seen before.”
Arlo rubbed the dark stubble along his jaw. The serpent ring on his finger, platinum with onyx chips, gleamed under the fluorescent lights. If I could find the Salvatores link to The Serpents, I could prove their guilt.
“What did you have in mind?”
I dropped the napkin onto my lap. “Have you been in Evangeline’s studio lately?”
“No,” Arlo sighed. “Not in a long time.”
“There’s a fresco on the ceiling.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with it.”
Biting down my fear of discussing what could be a sensitive subject, I said, “I’d like to recreate one element from the fresco, which would mean spending more time alone in her studio.”
Luca shot daggers at me from across the table.
“Not a problem,” Arlo intoned.
I smiled. “Great. There’s just one thing. You’re in the piece. So are Luca and Marcello.”
“And you want my approval?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “You have it.”
“Dad,” Luca groaned. “You should see the piece before you agree.”
“You don’t know what I want to recreate,” I pointed out.
“I know you, Drea. And what my mother left behind was personal.”
“Art is personal. Your mother understood that. She bared her soul to the world for the sake of her art.”
And her story deserves to be told.
Arlo glanced at Marcello. “Do you care?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“You don’t even know what she’s talking about,” Luca protested. “It will reveal truths about our family.”
Arlo raised his glass in front of his mouth. “How so?”
“Alex explained it to me years ago,” Luca continued. “It paints all of us, including Mom, in a bad light.”
“I would never disgrace your mother’s memory,” I assured him. “Come by my room later and see what I have planned.”
His jaw tightened.
“So it’s settled,” Arlo said as the dining room doors opened. “Alexandrea, you can paint in Eva’s studio as often as you wish. I want to see the painting before you submit it to the board for approval.”
I had a long history with the Franco Foundation and knew everyone who worked for Evangeline’s charity. They did amazing work, spreading her art worldwide, all while helping young artists find their way. Arlo and his sons did an excellent job keeping her legacy intact.
“Of course. Thank you, Arlo.”
Servers set plates in front of us, ending our conversation. I tilted my nose up and drank in the delicious scent of the ten-ounce filet mignon served with a baked potato, fresh asparagus, and a side of Béarnaise sauce. My mouth watered as I lifted my fork and knife from the table and cut into my steak.
No one spoke a word during dinner.
Luca’s phone rang loudly in his pocket. His father gave him a nasty scowl because he did not allow cell phones at his dinner table. He ignored the call, but the person was persistent. Then Marcello’s cell phone rang beside me.
One after the other, they checked their messages.
“Motherfuckers,” Luca growled, crushing the phone in his hand. “I’m going to smash their fucking skulls.”
He was more on edge than normal. It was unusual for Luca to have outbursts in front of his father. Marcello stilled beside me. His eyes pointed down at the screen as he took a few deep breaths. He wasn’t the type to blow up, not like Luca. Composed and calm, I could see why Marcello handled the security for Salvatore Global.
I attempted a glance at his phone, and he shoved it under the table, out of my view. What the hell was up with them? Luca handed his phone to his father with an irritated look on his troubled face. Arlo took it from him, his teeth clenched. The already shitty vibe in the room shifted to somber within minutes.
We shoveled food in our mouths at record speed. Everyone refused dessert, which was a welcome relief because I could not wait to get away from the table.
After I left the dining room, Luca grabbed my shoulder and pulled me to the side. My back hit the wall as he pressed his chest against mine.
I shook him off. “Don’t manhandle me, asshole.”
He cupped the side of my face, peering into my eyes. “Look, baby, I’m sorry about how I acted. I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m under a lot of pressure… and you’re mad at me for the wrong reasons.”
Marcello tapped him on the shoulder. “We have to go.”