Page 107 of Vow Of Fire

Mikhail was still glowering at Dante’s back.

“I live here now.” He broke into a pleased grin. His English carried only the faintest trace of an accent. “But I’ve heard of you and the Agora, Evelyn. Uncle Sergei speaks highly of your gallery. As does Mikhail.”

Before this last weekend, I would have been flattered by the compliment, but now I knew better. Still, I smiled politely. “That’s good to hear. Maybe you’ll visit sometime.”

“I plan to.”

“I’m introducing him to the New York art world.” Mikhail gestured toward the art on display. “Alexei studied art history at the Royal Academy in London.”

“You did?” I blinked, surprised. The Royal Academy was one of the most prestigious art institutions in the world, its art history program notoriously selective and favored by wealthy international collectors and curators alike.

Suddenly Alexei looked less like a privileged rich kid and more like someone being carefully groomed for a very specific future.

Alexei gave a quick nod. “Yes, and while I appreciate the classics, I prefer contemporary American artists. They’re less restrained. More honest.” His pale gaze drifted toward the Varela across the room. “Case in point.”

It was an interesting answer.

Unlike his uncle, Alexei’s expressions came easily, but there was confidence beneath the charm too. The kind that came from growing up protected by enormous power and knowing exactly who his family was.

Mikhail’s attention had shifted toward Nocturne in Red. I knew he was hoping to acquire it for Malakov.

“It’s extraordinary, isn’t it?” I murmured, following his line of sight.

“That it is,” he replied. “Sergei wants it badly, but you already knew that.”

I smiled, reaching for a champagne flute from a passing tray. “I did. And I hope he gets it. There’s been a lot of interest in these contemporary pieces lately. I heard Ricardo Sánchez was lining up a bid as well.”

At the mention of the Colombian intermediary’s name, Mikhail frowned. “I wasn’t aware we’d have competition from that far afield.”

I shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “Word spreads. They’ve expressed interest in several high-value pieces through my gallery over the last few weeks.”

The frown deepened.

I sipped my champagne. “I’m not sure what sparked the sudden interest, but I can’t complain. It’s good for business.”

Alexei chuckled. “Not if you’re a competing buyer.”

I let my gaze drift meaningfully back toward the Varela. “Indeed. Your uncle may end up paying considerably more for the piece than he wants.”

Mikhail looked toward the painting again, thoughtful now.

I had him worried. Or if not worried, then contemplative. Exactly as I’d intended.

Alexei seemed less concerned. “If Uncle Sergei wants something, he usually gets it.”

Mikhail didn’t respond.

“I wish you luck, then.” I nodded to them both. “Excuse me. I should circulate before the auction starts.”

Neither man tried to stop me. But as I walked away through the glittering crowd, I could feel Mikhail’s stare boring into my back.

29

NOCTURNE IN RED

Dante

Vincent played his role to perfection.