Dimitris’s face changed. “You cannot breach it.”
“No,” Luke said. “But explosives can make your confidence very expensive.”
Rafe’s gaze found mine.
I looked down at Max.
His ears were forward. His body had gone rigid. He wasn’t looking at the door.
He was looking behind us.
My heart dropped.
Dimitris said, “If you destroy my collection, you destroy pieces older than your bloodline.”
“You should have thought of that before you bought things people would kill to possess.”
“Oh, spare me the morality,” Dimitris said. “You’re stealing stolen goods and calling it justice.”
A soft laugh came through the phone. “Open the fucking door.”
The call ended.
Dimitris turned to Rafe, outrage bright in his face. “Say something.”
Rafe stared at him. “To whom?”
“To him.”
“He hung up.”
“About the principle.”
“The principle is that your arrogance invited a sorcerer into your house.”
Dimitris pointed at him. “You understand this. These are my things.”
Rafe’s expression went colder. “Your things?”
“My collection.”
“Objects acquired because you liked owning them, not because they truly belonged to you.”
Dimitris spread his arms. “And now a thief wants to take them. Surely, as a man obsessed with reclaiming family objects, you can grasp the agony of being wronged.”
Rafe and I stared at him in disbelief. Even Max looked unimpressed, and he had once tried to eat a receipt.
“You’re comparing your trophy room to Rafe’s stolen family heritage?” I asked.
Dimitris lifted his chin. “I am saying the wound has similarities.”
“No,” I said. “It does not.”
Rafe looked at me then. It was the worst possible time for his eyes to do anything to my knees.
A thud sounded above us. Then another. Footsteps, coming fast.
I looked from Rafe to Max to the open alarm panel. My brain snapped through the pieces we had. Explosives outside. Luke hiding somewhere. Thieves inside. Dimitris needed to be alive to open the door. The corridor was too narrow for Rafe to shift. Max was alerting behind us, not at the vault door.