Page 101 of Chasing Caine

Maybe Eva was the person Antonio was meeting with yesterday morning when he said he was in Pompeii. She was pretty. From what Océane said, she wasn’t happy with her thieving boyfriend. What better revenge for her than to take up with the boss Umberto was so obsessed with? And it would explain why he didn’t want me to go visit her.

I blew out a deep breath.

That was ridiculous.

If I couldn’t call Cass, who did I have? I’d pushed so many people away in my life, I had few left. That was how I liked it, though. Wasn’t it?

Tourists clogged the street and I had to dodge my way around several of them. No one was walking fast enough. They were all relaxed.

My shoulders fell. All these people were boneless.

I wanted to be in love. Have Antonio continue looking at me the way he did. But to be able to trust it. Trust that it was honest and pure.

My phone buzzed for what must have been the tenth time. Antonio again. So much of my trip to Naples had seemed easy. Being with him, exploring the ruins, touring the city and Capri. Just being present with him lit up my soul.

So why did it have to be so hard? He was right for me in so many ways. But what if… always what if? Why did Vincenzo’s promises ofI’ll be there next monthand Matt’sI dokeep drowning out Antonio’s voice? Why did their falseI love yous weigh so much more than his?

I was going to be sick.

My body fell into auto-pilot mode and I almost called Cass. Almost accepted Antonio’s next call. Almost called Janelle, my best friend growing up, who I’d barely spoken to in a decade.

The smarter call would have been to Eva, if Antonio weren’t the one with her contact information. I could have arranged a meeting when she had spare time to talk. Surely, she would have heard about Umberto’s attempted theft. The police would have questioned her. If he’d gotten in touch with her, would she know I was the one who caught him red-handed? How would she react to seeing me?

What if he’d gone missing, like she’d said, and was tying up loose ends? What if the threat was real? What if it was against Eva, not me? Or in addition to me? What if Océane and Umberto were working together and my accusations to Océane last night prompted the threat?

What if Antonio gave up on me after my outburst at the hotel?

Before reaching the front door of the gallery, I paused. There were too many unknowns, and I had to focus on what I did know.

We caught Umberto trying to steal a piece of the Minerva wall. Odds were that he stole the flower fresco, too. When we’d talked to his girlfriend three days ago, she was worried because she hadn’t seen him. Océane went to Rome inside our timeframe for the flowers being stolen. She said she’d met with Eva, who’d complained vehemently about Umberto.

And Antonio didn’t want me to return to the gallery. He was hiding something on that phone.

Everything else was conjecture.

I heaved on the thick glass door, plastering a smile on my face. At least my dress was appropriate for a high-end art gallery, despite being a little rumpled and the clutch not matching.

A young man met me barely ten feet inside the entrance, all polish and professional.

“Buongiorno. I was in the other day with my boyfriend, looking at some paintings with Eva Zabelle. I’d like to speak with her about them.”

“Sorry, but she’s not here.”

Dammit. That put a damper on my plans. “What time will she be back?”

“She’s out for the day.” He smiled politely. “But I’m sure I can be of service.”

“I really want to deal with her.” I folded my arms, doing my best impression of a woman with more money than courtesy. I’d worked with plenty of upscale galleries as an insurance adjuster and had witnessed displays like this. They usually got results. “You can talk to Riccardo. My boyfriend wants to buy me somethingveryexpensive.”

Sure enough, the young man nodded vigorously and headed for Riccardo’s office. Moments later, the owner joined me.

“I want Eva,” I said. “Today. Call her in.”

“You were in with Mr. Ferraro, yes?” Riccardo, in his white shirt with blue paint splatter at the hem today, placed a gentle hand to my back, the other ushering me further into the gallery. “Eva’s not available, but I’ll show you around my—”

I inched out of his grasp and stayed put. “I need to talk to her specifically. She made a recommendation I want to follow up on.”

“I can’t do that,” said Riccardo. “If you’d—”