Page 42 of Burning Caine
Her voice became smaller still. “No.”
Her not-uncle returned and interrupted our conversation, polite, but an obvious challenge. “I hope you’re not bothering my date.” So much for ‘Um.’ So much for her never dating again.
I stood slowly, returning the chair, keeping my eyes on hers, the fire building in my belly. “And if I am?” I turned to him and took a step forward, stretching my height to prove I was taller. Only an inch, but I had him in height and breadth. Based on his pretty, polished appearance, I had him in experience, if it came to a fight. We stood eye-to-eye, engaged in a simple, unspoken conversation.
‘She’s mine.’
‘No, she’s mine.’
“If you’re bothering her, then I’ll have to ask the nice gentlemen here—” A few of the larger staff inched closer, their attention on the two of us. “To escort you out.”
I kept my eyes on the competition. “Am I bothering you, Samantha?”
“No.” Her voice quavered, and I wanted to hit him in his smug face for doing that to her. She was strong. Fiery. Not small.
“I came to tell her I was finished a contract I’m doing for her. Nothing more.”
“Prosecutor Nathan Miller.” He flashed a broad smile and extended his hand into the small gap between our chests, emphasis on his title.
I could play that game. “Doctor Antonio Ferraro.” I took his hand, squeezed harder than he could, and pumped one time before letting go. “PhD.”
“Yes, I know.” There was a hint of superiority in his voice. “I’m…familiar with your family.”
“How is that?”
“Not a concern for this evening. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit back down with my date and finish our meal. I hope you’ll do the same with whomever accompanied you.” He smiled again, the smile of a man who had won the battle.But not the war, my friend. This woman was mine.
I turned back to her and hesitated for a moment, taking her hand, whileProsecutorNathan Miller moved closer. “I’ll call you Monday when you can come by for the painting.” Her eyes locked on mine, those pale sea-like eyes. She put her free hand to her breast as we stared longer than we should have. I could have picked her up and taken her away right then. I couldn’t be done with her on Monday. “And you can bring the Chagall at the same time. I’ll take care of it for you.”
I let go of her and shouldered my way past her date. Past Nathan Miller.
As I walked, my phone rang. Before I looked at it, I leaned toward one of the servers and requested my check.
It was my father. Marone, why did I agree to take the Chagall without speaking to him first? Pettiness. Jealousy. Those two never result in good choices.
“Papa, finally! Why didn’t you return—”
“Antonio, my boy!” He was always so full of life and joy at the first hello.
“Did you get my message?”
“I did. I can’t talk long, I’m exhausted. Missed flights and jet lag.”
“Where are you?”
“Napoli! And don’t ask why, it’s a surprise!”
“It’s the middle of the night there.”
“Yes, yes. And I did receive your message. Good for you and Sofia deciding not to take that contract.”
Cazzo! I squeezed my mouth shut.
“Here’s what I need you to do. Take the copy ofLes amoureuxfrom my house and redo the authentication. You did it three months ago when we bought it, so it should be easy. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tried to pull a fast one on us and switched it at the last moment.”
“Then what?”
“Then we decide what to do next based on the answer.”