Page 51 of Chasing Caine

Samantha’s FBI Art Crimes boss in town. With the TPC. A missing piece of the Mars wall and the pigment pots. The Carabinieri knowing of my family. Were they all related like Samantha thought—and claimed she didn’t?

Cristian leaned back. “So you’re not coming to visit?”

“Sorry, but you can’t make everything happen.” I pushed back the chair, scraping it across the stone floor, and stood. “My work’s important, and we need to get started. If I can recoup the lost time, I’ll visit later.”

If he was behind the delay in shipment, my message would be clear. If not, it would sound innocent.

He stood with me. “Hopefully, the missing equipment will arrive soon. As soon as… Monday?”

I embraced him when he put his arms out. “My girlfriend’s leaving Wednesday morning. I hope it arrives after that.”

He nodded as we let go, as clear as he would be. He had arranged the delay. No doubt at my uncle’s orders. It left me with too many questions. How did he know what to delay? How would he know what would have been an inconvenience versus what would put the project on pause? Did he have someone spying on me? Someone on my team?

I stalked back to the door, hauled out my phone, and called my father. I needed answers.

“Antonio!” Papa knew two volumes. Loud and louder. Fortunate, given my proximity to the doors into the club. “How’s Napoli treating you?”

“Ask how he’s feeling.” My sister’s voice was barely audible in the background. It was late in Napoli, but they were likely at the office together in Michigan.

“Papa, I’ll be brief.” I ducked against the wall by the door, out of Cristian’s view, and with some privacy. The pounding bass inside would make a call impossible. “What was going on when you were here?”

There was silence on the other end until my sister’s voice sounded again. “Put it on—”

The sound changed in the background as she switched the call to speaker.

“Antonio! How are you? Is everything alright? Is Mario looking after you?” Sofia was the best big sister I could’ve had, and yet stifling at times. “We’re in Papa’s office, so you don’t have to put on the brave face.”

This was not what I wanted to speak of, but she wouldn’t listen to anything until she heard it. A smile tugged at my lips, all the same. “Thank you for giving Samantha Mario’s contact information.”

“Did she call you?”

“She said you gave her the address and drove immediately to the airport.”

“Oddio! No!” Sofia squealed, an excited sound which was almost enough to nudge me past the original reason for the call. “She’s there?”

“She is, and it’s wonderful.” I leaned my back against the wall, clapping a hand over my right ear to drown out the party goers, which made Sofia’s cheer of triumph hurt my ear. “However, I just saw Cristian.”

Two gasps on the other end of the call.

“He says he’s in town to convince me to come visit, but I don’t believe that. He also knows about the stolen painting Samantha and I discovered at the auction two weeks ago.”

A woman swayed in my direction, eyes full of intent, but my glower stopped her ten feet away. I had to get back to Samantha before some man did that to her.

“Papa, he or your brother are also responsible for a delay in some of my equipment, putting the project behind.”

“Marone!”

“You told us you would explain when you got home, but I heard nothing.” The door opened and the music grew louder, so I had to turn away and speak up. “There was something going on when you were here.”

“You’re right,” he sighed. “We came across a stolen painting at the Rome studio. We reported it, but the TPC accused your Uncle Andrea of working with the painting’s owners. They said he was trafficking in stolen goods.”

“What? With everything we’ve done to combat—” Sofia paused, likely at a motion from my father.

“They were wrong and cleared him, but things were touch-and-go in Rome while you were dealing with the copied Chagall here.”

“What do those two things have to do with each other?” I asked. Two separate studios. Two different continents, let alone countries. Different paintings, conservators, and owners.

Papa sighed again. “I can’t talk about it over the phone. You know that.”