Chapter 218: "Where I Should Find You"

Lucilla Bellini sat on one side of the low coffee table, amusement dancing in her eyes as she surveyed the row of men standing opposite her.

They were inside her private meeting room now, far removed from the crowd of the exhibition, yet Ylenia’s escorts somehow still looked just as unfriendly as they had outside.

Dark suits. Straight backs. Impassive faces.

Typical Ombra men.

Lucilla’s gaze shifted instead toward the Ombra heiress herself.

Ylenia sat in an armchair in front of them, wearing an expression every bit as severe as those of her men.

Equally boring.

"You took your time," Lucilla observed, leisurely swirling the tea in her cup. "Ten minutes later than usual."

"Considering the number of people out there who would happily rob me if they knew what I was carrying," Ylenia replied evenly, "you can survive waiting ten minutes."

Lucilla laughed softly.

"Fine. Let me see it. It’s not as though I have all night."

"Before that," Ylenia said, staring at her over the rim of her cup, "I want my payment."

Lucilla sighed and rolled her eyes.

Of course.

How could she possibly forget that Ylenia Ombra was the kind of woman who could turn the simplest transaction into a hostage negotiation?

"Tch. You’re becoming tedious." Lucilla set her cup down with an irritated click. "You’ll have your money after I have what I asked for."

"And you’re purchasing something that could save your own face," Ylenia replied, her voice turning colder. "I think I’m entitled to be tedious."

Lucilla’s mouth tightened.

As irritating as Ylenia was, Lucilla knew perfectly well which of them held the advantage in this particular transaction. She picked up her phone, authorized the transaction, then tossed it back onto the table.

"There. Check your account."

Ylenia didn’t so much as glance down.

One of the men behind her checked his own device. A few seconds later, he leaned forward and murmured something close to her ear.

From across the table, Lucilla couldn’t make out the words, but the gesture told her enough.

"Wonderful." She smiled brightly. "Now stop behaving as though I’m trying to cheat you and give it to me."

Only then did Ylenia set down her teacup. She reached into a concealed pocket of her gown and withdrew a tiny black memory card.

"One recording. The only copy currently in existence, exactly as you requested."

She placed it on the table between them and slid it across the polished surface toward Lucilla.

"The subject is Isaac Accardi himself. If you release it properly, nobody in Borgata will be discussing anything else for weeks."

Directly above the two women, hidden inside the ventilation duct, Aren’s attention sharpened. She lay perfectly still in the narrow space, watching the meeting below through the gaps in the vent panel.

The communication device Isidore had given her was already recording, capturing every word exchanged beneath her. Until Ylenia mentioned Isaac Accardi’s name, Aren hadn’t fully understood what Lucilla and Ylenia were actually trading.

Now she did.

’So they’re trading the compromising material on Don Isaac that Master Accardi told me about.’

’Nothing they’ve said actually establishes that Bellini is "B." I’ll let Master Accardi decide after he hears the recording.’

The memory card, however, presented a more immediate opportunity. Ylenia had just claimed it was the only copy in existence.

’If that’s true...’

’Then I should retrieve it for him.’

’One less piece of compromising material for House Accardi to hunt down.’

’I’ll just need to take it from Lucilla somehow.’

Below, Lucilla picked up the memory card between two fingers and examined it with obvious fascination.

"Now that’s exactly the sort of thing worth what I paid for."

She didn’t even bother inserting it into a laptop to confirm that it worked.

When House Ombra conducted business, there was a certain standard expected of its deliveries. Knowing Ylenia, Lucilla suspected the woman had probably checked the damned thing twenty times herself before allowing it anywhere near this room.

Satisfied, Lucilla opened a narrow silver case, slipped the card inside, then tucked the case securely into her evening clutch.

"Now, if you’ll excuse me, being Bellini’s gorgeous heiress is unfortunately a full-time occupation. I have a family business to run. Feel free to stay for the auction."

She rose from the sofa, already preparing to leave, but Ylenia’s voice stopped her.

"One last thing."

Lucilla paused halfway through smoothing her gown and scowled.

"What?"

"You’ve met Ariana Lombardi three times since the Summit, including tonight." Ylenia’s eyes sharpened. "Have you noticed any significant changes in her behavior?"

Lucilla’s scowl deepened.

Of all the questions she’d expected, that clearly wasn’t one of them. Still, she folded her arms and considered it.

"The bitch has definitely changed," she said eventually. "There’s something creepy about her now. I can’t explain it. It’s like she disappeared into the mountains for six months, joined some spiritual-awakening retreat, and came back after having her brain rearranged by whatever woo-woo shit they fed her."

Lucilla shrugged.

"Other than that, she still looks dumb and has horrible taste in gowns to me. Why do you even ask?"

Calculation moved coldly behind Ylenia’s eyes.

"Hm. Interesting."

Her fingers tapped once against the armrest.

"At first, I thought she might be a replacement, so I obtained a sample of her hair and ran a DNA test. Same person. No substitution. Apparently, whatever drug she’s taking is very strong."

Lucilla stared at her in horror.

"Jesus Christ, Ylenia! That’s creepy even for you!"

Her hand immediately rose protectively toward her own hair.

"Have you ever done that to me? Taken my hair? My nails? Skin cells?"

Ylenia offered no answer whatsoever.

Judging by the look that slowly spread across Lucilla’s face, the silence was considerably worse than a denial.

"Just don’t lose the card." Ylenia rose from her chair. "It’s worth more than your clutch."

Lucilla clicked her tongue sharply as Ylenia and her men began filing out of the room.

"Please. You’re talking to Lucilla Bellini herself."

Once they were gone, she muttered something unpleasant under her breath, adjusted her gown, and lifted her chin, restoring herself to full Bellini elegance.

The transaction was satisfactory enough, though she would gladly deduct one star from the service review for the creepy revelation. Now, she had an auction to host and, apparently, one final trip to the restroom to perfect her makeup before doing so.

Meanwhile, above the now-empty room, Aren finally stopped the recording.

The information she’d gathered was valuable. She knew exactly where Lucilla had put the memory card now, and she could find some way to retrieve it later in the evening.

She should have been pleased.

Yet, the final part of the conversation had left a persistent unease crawling beneath her skin.

’Ylenia Ombra obtained my hair and ran a DNA test?’

’She suspected I’m not Ariana?’

’But why? I’ve barely interacted with her outside the last mission.’

That was very concerning.

Concerning enough that Aren immediately moved Ylenia Ombra to the very top of her mental list of people requiring considerably greater caution.

For now, there was no reason to remain. She waited until the nearby corridor had emptied before silently retreating through the ventilation system.

─ •?• ─ ? ─ •?• ─

The private section of the Prism was considerably larger than the public exhibition space.

Fortunately, the carpeting was thick enough to swallow the sound of Aren’s footsteps. Navigating her way back to the exhibition now required little more than patience, careful observation, and timing her movements between passing security guards.

Just as she was about to leave the private wing, however, the sound of heavy footsteps reached her from an adjacent corridor.

Aren slowed.

There seemed to be several people ahead of her. Their footsteps were accompanied by low, coordinated voices and the occasional scrape of something heavy being maneuvered across the floor.

’What are they moving?’

Curiosity tugged at her.

According to the map she’d memorized, that corridor led toward the backstage area of the hall where the auction would be held later that evening.

Carefully, she approached and peered around the corner.

Several workers were moving large armored cases through the corridor. They were handling each one with the care reserved for something either extremely valuable — or extremely troublesome.

Standing among the activity was a familiar figure.

Light-blond hair.

Spotless white suit.

Jeremiah Castellano stood with one hand tucked leisurely into his pocket, the other gesturing through the air as he pointed out where everything should go.

Aren raised an eyebrow.

’Mister Castellano?’

’What is he doing here?’

’Isn’t this section supposed to be restricted to gallery staff?’

For a moment, Aren considered simply leaving. She’d already been away from Jordan longer than intended. If she stayed any longer, he might start worrying about her absence.

Unfortunately, curiosity won.

’Just one more minute, then I’ll run back to Jordan.’

With that in mind, she straightened her clothes, relaxed her posture, and stepped into the corridor with the most natural expression she could manage.

"Um, Mister Castellano?" Aren asked as she approached. "You’ve arrived?"

Jeremiah paused halfway through an elegant sweep of his arm and turned. The moment he recognized her, pleasant surprise bloomed across his face.

"Ariana, my dear!"

Then, with all the restraint of a man encountering his dearest friend after several decades apart rather than a week, he swept toward her.

"What a delightful surprise! I wasn’t expecting to see you back here. Were you looking for me?"

"Um, no. Not at all." Aren glanced briefly toward the armored cases. "I was only looking for the restroom and then I saw you. Why are you here when the exhibition is outside?"

Jeremiah looked tragically disappointed, though upon seeing the curiosity on her face, he recovered rather quickly. Immediately, he leaned closer, lowering his voice as though about to entrust her with a state secret.

"Oh, just preparing for the spectacle I promised you, darling. It requires quite a few stage props, you see, so I’ve got to make sure everything is ready."

Aren frowned.

"Lucilla Bellini let you bring people backstage?"

Jeremiah merely waved a hand dismissively.

"Perhaps you haven’t heard, but our two Houses go quite a long way back, my dear. Lucilla advertises my clubs through her media companies, I introduce wealthy customers from my establishments to her exhibitions, and everyone makes a disgusting amount of money. A wonderfully functional relationship, really."

His smile sharpened.

"So yes, the bitch is quite accommodating with me. Just as I, apparently, made it very easy for her people to gain access to my press conference and hijack the entire fucking thing."

Aren stared at him.

That explanation only made his behavior more confusing.

’They’re basically close business partners... and yet he’s willing to destroy her?’

There was something almost unsettling in the way Jeremiah seemed to distinguish familiarity from loyalty.

Deciding she’d learned enough, Aren turned to leave, but Jeremiah caught her hand before she could take more than a step. When she looked back, he’d already lifted her fingers with practiced elegance and bowed over them.

"If you’re pleased with tonight’s performance," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers with effortless charm, "would you come find me afterward, my lady?"

Aren regarded him cautiously.

"...And where should I find you?"

Jeremiah glanced toward the doors leading back into the exhibition, amusement glimmering in his eyes.

"Let’s see... why don’t we meet beside the most beautiful painting in the exhibition tonight?"

Aren frowned.

"And... exactly which one is that?"

Jeremiah’s amusement deepened.

"Surely you don’t need me to tell you that, darling. With taste as particular as yours..." His thumb brushed lightly across her fingers. "...I’m sure you’ll know exactly which one it is."

With that, he bowed over her hand once more, leaving one final kiss against her knuckles before releasing her. Within moments, he was directing the workers again, his white suit disappearing farther down the corridor amid the bustle of armored cases and moving figures.

Aren remained where she was for another second, suspicion tightening her expression.

’The most beautiful painting?’

Whatever Jeremiah meant by that, she had the uncomfortable feeling he expected her to understand eventually.

─ •?• ─ ? ─ •?• ─

By the time Aren returned to the exhibition hall where she’d left Jordan, the room had become noticeably more crowded.

Guests were gradually drifting toward the auction hall, catalogues tucked beneath their arms, bidding paddles already distributed among those intending to participate.

Jordan remained exactly where she’d left him. He stood near the same section of the gallery, two fresh flutes of champagne in his hands.

Aren brightened the moment she saw him.

"Jordan!"

She approached as though nothing unusual had happened.

"I’m sorry I took so long. I’m not familiar with the gallery’s layout... so I got a little lost."

She smiled brightly at him, eager to put the investigation aside and continue their date. Yet when she reached him, something seemed to have changed.

Jordan didn’t brighten when he saw her.

He simply looked at her.

There was no smile, no teasing glint in his eyes, not even the immediate greeting he usually gave her. He merely stood there holding both champagne flutes, studying her in complete silence.

Aren’s smile faltered.

"...Jordan?"

Tentatively, she reached out and touched his arm.

"Are you all right? Did I take too long?"

The contact seemed to pull him out of a trance.

"No."

His eyes dropped from hers.

"It wasn’t too long."

A small smile finally appeared on his face as he extended one of the glasses toward her.

"Here. I got you a fresh drink while you were away."

Aren’s gaze dropped to the champagne, relieved that everything seemed fine after all.

"Thank you." She smiled again. "That’s very thoughtful of you."

She accepted the glass, and their flutes met with a delicate clink.

As Aren turned slightly to take a sip, however, she didn’t notice that Jordan never raised his own.

Instead, he watched her.

Silently.

Studying every detail.

Her breathing was perfectly normal. Not a strand of platinum hair was out of place. There wasn’t so much as a crease in her gown to suggest that, less than fifteen minutes ago, she’d been crawling through the gallery’s ventilation system.

Jordan had followed her.

After seeing a flash of platinum hair disappear into a corridor that most definitely did not lead to any restroom, of course he had to follow her.

At first, he’d only wanted to make certain she wasn’t walking blindly into danger.

Then, he’d watched her avoid a security guard before the man had even turned the corner.

Then, he’d seen her position herself outside the angles of surveillance cameras, as naturally as if she’d already mapped every one of them.

And finally, from farther down the restricted corridor, he’d watched his girlfriend — for reasons completely beyond his understanding — climb straight into the ventilation system and disappear above the ceiling.

Jordan had known she could fight.

He’d known she was hiding things from him. What he’d never imagined — not for a single fucking second — was that she could move through a secured building like someone trained to infiltrate places.

For several seconds afterward, he’d simply stood there, staring at the place where she’d disappeared and trying to process what he’d just witnessed. At least, until Lucilla Bellini’s unmistakable voice had carried faintly through a nearby door.

Unable to see inside without exposing himself, Jordan had remained near the rear entrance and pressed his ear against the door.

He’d heard everything.

Lucilla Bellini.

Ylenia Ombra.

Isaac Accardi.

The DNA test.

And somewhere above their heads, apparently, his own girlfriend.

Now, that same girlfriend stood in front of him, calmly sipping champagne as though she’d merely returned from the restroom.

’Turns out there’s still so much about her that I don’t know.’

The realization hurt more than Jordan wanted it to. Especially after the conversation they’d had before she left.

’How am I supposed to even start talking to her about any of this?’

Eventually, Aren noticed him staring at her again.

"Jordan, what is it?"

Jordan quickly summoned another smile, though this one didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Nothing."

He offered her his arm.

"The auction’s about to begin. Shall we go inside and find a good seat?"