Marco Gallo is even more intimidating up close and personal, dressed in his dark navy suit with polished shoes and his Interpol credentials pinned to his chest on his badge. Mr. Giani, however, doesn’t seem fazed by the sleazy man who keeps poking his nose around this gallery.
‘The painting should go in the work room to be authenticated by Ms. De Luca and our team,’ Giani instructs, pointing toward the back of the gallery where Paolo leads the team of agents finally returning the stolen forgery after Policia officials picked it up at the airport three days ago. He is happy as can be about this situation, though I’ve already been given several lectures on the matter. His story has shifted now, and he swears he told me to put the painting in the vault after the warning. Paolo knows how crooked this man sounds, but I can’t say a word about it.
‘Mr. Giani, I can’t help but wonder,’ Agent Gallo says, gesturing at Victor’s Raphael in its display case. ‘How do you intend to protect these other masterpieces? You’ve had a few other attempts recently, and this one was successful.’ Gallo narrows his eyes at my boss while I roll mine. He’s fishing for information and Giani is handing it out like gifts at Christmas.
‘Mr. Gallo, I assure you—’
‘Ms. De Luca,’ Mr. Giani says, cutting me off, ‘he was speaking to me.’ His eyebrows rise in annoyance, and I can tell the lectures about the entire event aren’t over yet. I warned him. I told him Costa was going to lift the painting himself and he didn’t believe me. I was right, and the real Sister was never in any danger, but I will never be able to gloat or throw it in his face.
The best I can do is take my lumps and switch the forgery out for the real painting and hope Giani doesn’t wise up or go to the vault before me.
‘Now, Agent Gallo, you’ll notice our cameras mounted in the gallery. There are more in the studio and workstations.’
The questions come one after the other, sharp and deliberate, designed to make me feel cornered. He asks about the gallery’s security—where the cameras are, how many exits, how to access the vault. I don’t flinch. Giani, standing next to me, doesn’t break his calm exterior. He’s too comfortable. Too confident. He doesn’t see the lie in Gallo’s eyes, the way Gallo’s questions seem to have more of a personal agenda than a professional one. It doesn’t escape me how carefully he’s looking around the room, assessing everything—every corner of the gallery—like he’s mapping it out.
I try to keep my expression neutral, but my gut is telling me this isn’t just about art. The more Gallo asks, the more uneasy I get. I glance at Giani, expecting some reaction, but there’s nothing. He’s giving Gallo everything he wants. It’s sickening. I can feel a tightness in my chest that won’t loosen.
“Do you know anything about the people coming in and out of the gallery?” Gallo asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as they land on me. I swallow hard. I know exactly where this is going, and it doesn’t feel good. The sick feeling in my stomach grows.
Giani, without missing a beat, answers smoothly. “Not on a personal level, no. We have a guest list for events, and anyone who enters the gallery is logged by the front desk, but outside of that, we rely on our security team to monitor the general flow of traffic. We don’t track individual visitors unless they raise a concern or are part of a private viewing.”
His voice is calm, confident, as though this is just another routine question, and it’s clear he’s had this conversation before. I can feel the subtle tension building, but Giani’s demeanor doesn’t falter. He’s completely at ease, assured of his position, believing Gallo’s every word.
Gallo seems to accept the answer, his eyes flicking briefly toward me before he speaks again. “Good. I’ll still want to take a look at the security footage later. Make sure everything checks out.”
Giani gives a casual nod, unfazed. “Of course. We’ll have everything ready for you.”
After a brief pause, Giani straightens up and glances at me. “I’ll excuse myself now and help escort the painting to the workstation. If you need anything, Isabella, I’ll be nearby.”
With that, he turns and walks toward the studio, leaving me standing with Gallo. The door clicks shut behind him, and the air between Gallo and me grows heavier. Gallo’s posture shifts slightly, his gaze now firmly fixed on me.
When Giani’s footsteps fade, Gallo doesn’t waste a second. He turns to me, a small, calculating smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You know, Ms. De Luca,” he says, his voice smooth and almost too relaxed, “I’ve done my homework. I know about your past, your little… mishap with the forgery. The one that nearly cost you everything.”
I freeze, the words hitting me like a punch to the stomach. I swallow hard, my throat tightening, but I try to keep my expression neutral. He steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. For now.” His eyes flicker with something darker. “But I wonder how long you’ll be able to keep it hidden from everyone else.”
The threat isn’t taken lightly. Giani knows I’ve had a past indiscretion, but largely, the secret has been kept under wraps, and I’m not going to let this crooked cop ruin my reputation. I’m the one doing the right thing here.
I meet his gaze, unwavering. “Matthias Winslow,” I say, watching closely for any sign of his reaction. “Funny, I just visited him in his hospital bed. He had a lot to say about you.”
Gallo’s eyes narrow immediately, his face paling just a shade too quickly. The subtle shift in his expression, the tightness of his jaw, it’s all the confirmation I need. I know how he ended up in the hospital—how Gallo was likely the one who put him there. The memory of Matthias’s bruised and battered face flashes in my mind, and I feel a surge of anger.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gallo mutters, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness, but he’s trying to mask it, to play it cool.
I take a small step forward, my gaze never wavering from his. “Oh, I think you do.” I let the silence linger between us for a beat. “Matthias isn’t the only one who knows what you’ve done, Marco. I know exactly who you are and what you’re capable of.”
He swallows hard, his color draining further. The last shred of his composure cracks, and for the first time, I see the true face of the man I’m dealing with. The one who’s been hiding behind a badge and a lie.
Gallo stands there for a long moment, his eyes still lingering on me, his expression cold, like he’s weighing something in his mind. Finally, he shifts and takes a step toward the door. His fingers linger on the doorknob, but he doesn’t look back. The door clicks shut behind him, and I’m left alone in the quiet, my mind still buzzing from everything that just happened.
When I hear a chime, I pull my phone from my pocket, half-expecting another text from Gallo, but instead, Victor’s name lights up the screen. I swipe to open it, already bracing myself for what’s coming next.
Victor 3:12 PM: Gallo’s planning to steal both paintings tonight. He’ll try to take them when you’re not looking. Tell Giani.
I read the message twice, my mind catching up with the words. So that’s it. He can’t push me into giving them up, so now he’s just going to take them. Gallo’s been playing the long game, but now he’s ready to make his move.
I can feel the anger starting to rise in my chest. If he thinks he can just walk in and take what doesn’t belong to him, he’s got another thing coming. I won’t stand back and watch him pillage this gallery, and I won’t let him get his hands on whatever that map leads to.
I rush into the workstation and see Mr. Giani and Paolo already setting up the painting. He’s not smart enough to recognize that it’s a forgery, and for that I’m grateful. I have time to swap out the canvas with the authentic one easily, but Victor’s warning is more pressing.
“Mr. Giani, Paolo,” I say, my voice tense. “There’s another credible threat.’ My lip trembles as I speak, not sure if he will believe me.
Mr. Giani looks up from the canvas, brow furrowing slightly. “What kind of threat?”
I glance around quickly, lowering my voice. “I can’t go into details, but we can’t be too careful tonight. We need to secure the paintings.”
Paolo looks alarmed, clearly unsettled by the urgency in my voice. “What do you mean? Is someone—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I cut him off, moving closer to the painting. Paolo looks hurt, but I need our boss to listen to me. “We just need to make sure everything’s locked down in here. I’m going to authenticate this and get it off the table for now.”
Mr. Giani sighs and stands straighter, his voice calm as ever. “Isabella, knock off the drama. We have a gallery to run. Do your job and authenticate the painting. No one is going to come near this gallery again with Interpol all over the place. I’ll have another expert come in tomorrow to double-check your work.”
His words sting more than they should. I swallow down my frustration, pushing it aside. This is bigger than him and his orders. If he’d only have listened to Victor’s warning the first time, maybe that crooked Interpol agent would have gotten the message.
“If you’d have followed my instructions and put it in the vault like I told you,” he adds, his tone sharp, “none of this would be happening.”
I bite my lip, holding back a retort. I hate that he switches the story so easily, as if he knew all along what would happen. He is stubborn and infuriating, and more and more, I’m hating the idea of working here for the rest of my life. I give a curt nod and press my lips into a thin line, waiting until he leaves to exhale.
Paolo starts to ask a question, but I ignore him, already pulling my phone from my pocket. My fingers are quick as I swipe to Matthias’s name in my contacts, my mind still racing through everything. I move to the corner of the room, trying to focus.
The phone rings once, twice, and then I hear his voice, weak but familiar. “Isabella?” Matthias coughs lightly, and I can hear the roughness in his voice.
I pace over to the far side of the workstation, trying to put some distance between myself and Paolo, who’s already starting to ask questions. “Matthias, it’s me,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, but the tension is already in my chest, tightening. “Listen, I need your help.”
“What’s going on?” His voice is quiet, but I can tell he’s still trying to stay alert, despite whatever he’s going through right now.
“I’ve got a problem. Marco Gallo… he’s planning to steal both paintings tonight. He’s coming back for them.” There’s a long pause on the other end, and I find myself pacing
“What do you mean he’s coming back?” Matthias finally asks, his voice still hoarse but sharper now. I can almost hear the thoughts running through his head. “How do you know this?”
I stop pacing for a moment, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know, exactly, but I’m sure of it. He’s been pushing me to authenticate the paintings, and now, I’m certain he’ll try to take them tonight. He’s coming back for them.’ I don’t let on that I’m working with Victor Costa. God only knows what trouble that would get me into.
Matthias lets out a slow breath, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the quiet hum of the phone. “Don’t give him anything,” Matthias says firmly. “I wish I could get to you, but I can’t. They’ve taken me off the case.’
I lock my eyes on Paolo as Matthias continues, unraveling details about my father, about how he was trying to work with Interpol to stop men like Gallo from getting the paintings. He tells me details about the diamonds and the frame, and my mind is spinning as I take it all in. One thing is for sure. Gallo is not getting these paintings or their frames. I’m going to see to it.
And when this is all over with, I’m done. I want no part of this life anymore. I can’t take it anymore.
