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“My dad’s the con man, not me. I swore to myself a long, long time ago that I’d never be like him, and now you’re forcing me to commit fraud. You’re dragging me down where I never wanted to go. I can’t do it.”
“You refuse to paint for me out of some moral pride?” He seems genuinely confused. “You realize the alternative is death?”
“I can’t do it.”
He stands silent, studying me. A chill runs down my spine at the way he seems to eat up all the light and attention in the room like a charming black hole. A very muscular, very scary black hole. I slam closed the reference book, hands trembling, trying not to look at him, because the more I stare at Erick’s mouth, at his eyes, the more tempted I am to find out what it would feel like to be hisfuck doll.
“You have to understand what I’m offering you here.” He taps a finger on one of the easels. “If Frost catches you, he won’t only end your life. No, he’ll do it slowly in some suitably horrific manner. Something painful and terrible. You won’t like that.” He runs a hand over a blank canvas, not looking at me. “Gallo will give you to his men as a prize.” He shrugs and glances over. “That’s simply how it’s done among men like him.”
I bite my cheek to keep from making a sound. “I can’t,” I whisper. “There has to be another way.”
“I’m offering you that other way. Paint me masterpieces. I’ll sell them on the underground art market. We’ll earn back what you owe, pay the others, prove that you’re useful enough to keep alive. That’s my offer. Paint for me and live. Refuse and die. There’s not much more I can do.” He walks to the door, opens it, and is about to leave.
“Wait,” I say, panicking. “What about me? I mean, what am I supposed to do?”
“You have freedom in this house. Do not go outside. Beyond that, take tonight and tomorrow to think about what I said. But remember, I’m not exaggerating what will happen to you, and itwillhappen if you don’t accept this opportunity.”
He leaves. The door clicks shut. I’m alone in the studio, in the pristine place, this dream of a room. It’s everything I’ve always wanted, but it’s my prison cell and my personal hell.
This isn’t the person I want to be. Painting forgeries, becoming my father. I’ve avoided that for so long.
Now Erick Costa’s forcing that life on me, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Except keep my head down, play the role he expects, and take my chance when it appears.
Chapter5
Erick
Iwalk through the crowded halls of the Shadespring Hotel with Ren by my side. The place is all motion, color, light, and distraction. “You know that rumor about casinos pumping pure oxygen into the place?” I ask as we follow the carpeted path around a slot machine forest. People sit in front of the huge, bright edifices, staring at the screens, jabbing at buttons, essentially playing nothing more than a random number generator. I still don’t understand the appeal.
“I’ve heard that once or twice,” Ren says, giving me a look like he’s wondering why I’d even mention something so stupid.
I choose to ignore the attitude and continue. “We obviously don’t do that. It’d cost way too much money, and besides, people are amped up enough already.”
“I’m aware. I’ve been working in casinos as long as you.”
“But, we do pump this place full of something else. Can you guess?”
He holds up a finger. “Desperation.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m thinking more along the lines of surveillance. Every inch of this place is covered by a camera. Every face is run through an AI algorithm searching for bandits, thieves, and con men. Everything from the sub-basement to the top penthouse is covered. So how the hell did Hellie’s father manage to fuck everything up so bad?”
Ren grunts in response. “That’s why we’re having this meeting.”
I stop outside of a conference room. We’re in one of the back halls, away from the action. “No, we’re having this meeting because I don’t want to see that girl get her throat cut. I need you to solve the theft issue.”
“I have people working on it already.”
“You work on it personally.” I squeeze his shoulder. “You’re the only guy I trust on this.”
He nods once. “I’ll figure it out.”
I turn to the door, take a deep breath, and shove my way inside.
It’s a gorgeous space. Sleek, modern, updated. A big table dominates the middle with a presentation screen at the far end. Two men sit across from each other at the center, while their associates are spread out covering them from all angles. I pause, taking in the scene, before walking to the head of the table.
On my left is Clifton Frost. Late forties, graying hair, blue eyes, thin face. He looks like he could coach a German soccer team. On my left is Alberto Gallo, in his seventies, wearing a cheap pinstripe suit, big nose, dyed black hair. Looks like he’s an extra from a gangster movie.
