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Her hands roam up his stomach, the act infuriating me.
“I’m out for the rest of the night,” I dismiss myself, walking toward the door.
“But it’s opening night,” Levi reminds me.
“And the faces of the club will be able to show themselves off.” I’m one of the silent owners of the club. The other puppet owners can party and enjoy our opening night. I’m not in the mood, nor do I want anyone to know I own this establishment.
Myhouseisdarkwhen I get home. A toddler toy sits in the middle of the entrance, and I bend down, picking it up. The light flips on, its sudden brightness causing me to squint at Eva standing in the hall in her nightgown.
“I wasn’t expecting you home until much later.” She eyes me with curiosity.
“I’m tired. I did what I needed to, and now I just want to veg out.” I loosen my tie and toss it on the counter.
“Do you want company?”
“No. Go to sleep. I’m sure Charlotte will be up early.”
She looks hesitant to go. “I left some dinner in the oven for you. I wasn’t sure if you would be hungry or not.”
“Thank you, Eva.” She turns to go back to bed, and I speak up, “Wait.” She pauses and turns back around. “I’m going to need you for a job.”
She immediately perks up and smiles. “What type of job?”
“I need you to install cameras in an art gallery. I want to monitor every inch. No blind spots.”
“Your wish is my command.” She blows me a kiss.
I head to my massive kitchen. A plate with tinfoil over it is sitting in the oven. Eva is one hell of a cook.
Years ago, we saved each other. She was part of a human trafficking ring, and I was able to save her. A week later, my parents were both shot and killed. Then they went after the rest of my family. I came home to my sweet baby, Charlotte, in a pool of her own mother’s blood.
Eva instantly became part of the self-made family I have. She’s my four-year-old daughter’s nanny and my personal assistant. She does whatever I need of her, plus she cooks and cleans, and in return, I’ll make sure no one will ever hurt her again—along with giving her a generous salary.
I turn on the TV and watch some mindless shows. I doze in and out, never really falling into a deep sleep, until my phone dings, and I check it. It has the information on Katrina’s gallery. In the document, there is a price tag for every piece of art she has in stock.
It seems unfair that her family gets to skim off the top.
It’s time I remind them who I am.
My nerves come alive as new excitement courses through me. I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes a Russian outsmarted her, as I plan to steal every single painting but hers. My own little jab at her work.
It’ll serve her right for running away from me.
But it’s not like we would have worked, I tell myself.
Right. In the end, we’re just two people who know how to fuck. We just happened to be very good at it. Nothing more.
Chapter 7: Demetri
Katrinahasastrictroutine. She rarely alternates what she does each day. I can tell you what she’s doing without even looking, just by knowing the time. At this moment, she’ll be in her gallery. Music turned up loud while painting in a room closed off to the rest of her space.
I know why she picked it. It’s the only spot with a skylight, and she likes being in the dark, so she only turns a small lamp on while the moon takes over the rest.
My cargo truck pulls up to the back, where the loading dock is. I open the garage-style door, feeling a jolt of exhilaration knowing I’m robbing her while she’sinthe gallery. My men have been instructed to take every painting except for hers. I can’t wait to watch her reaction on the cameras Eva installed. I crave Katrina’s attention, and this is the most entertaining way I know how to get it.
Her music can be heard as I get closer to her room. Her door is closed, allowing the vibrations to bounce off the walls. Lifting my phone, I check the monitoring app and see her, just as I predicted. Tonight, she’s using her whole body to paint. The way she bends and moves looks erotic as hell.
My men move swiftly, taking the art off every surface. Painting after painting—the walls turn from colorful to beige. I’m left between watching her and studying her works. The longer you stare at her art, the more mesmerizing it becomes. Slipping my phone into my pocket, my hands glide down the frame of one of her pieces. I can’t resist—I could use it to taunt her.
