Chapter 221: "Partners In Crime"

Lucilla stumbled as more collectors lunged at her.

Within seconds, several strands of her beautifully arranged hair had been torn loose, while her immaculate couture gown was rapidly becoming an abstract work of art.

"Get away from me!" she shouted, swinging furiously at her attackers. "Let go of me, you lunatics!"

Through the chaos, she kept a death grip on her evening clutch, crushing it against her body as though her life depended on it — while somehow remaining careful enough not to break her acrylic nails.

Fortunately for Lucilla, the assault didn’t last long.

Bellini security threw themselves into the crowd, desperately trying to save both their heiress and their own jobs.

"Lady Lucilla!" one guard shouted. "You have to leave immediately! It’s not safe here anymore!"

Another seized her arm and began pulling her toward the rear of the stage.

"My lady, we need to evacuate you! Now! We’ll use the back exit!"

Farther back in the audience, Jordan watched the chaos spread through the hall with growing concern.

The outrage was no longer confined to the stage. With Lucilla being hurried away, collectors had turned on Bellini employees throughout the hall, shouting demands and trying to force their way toward anyone who might provide answers.

"Ariana, I think we should go." He squeezed Aren’s hand. "There’s nothing left for us to do here, and this is starting to get ugly."

Aren didn’t answer immediately.

Her attention remained fixed on Lucilla until the Bellini heiress disappeared behind the stage, surrounded by her security detail.

’I’ve got to follow her somehow. If she gets through the back exit, I’ll lose her.’

She glanced at Jordan.

’But Jordan is still right here. How am I supposed to get to that side of the gallery without making him suspicious?’

"Um... Jordan?"

She looked up at him with the most composed expression she could manage.

"Could you please go outside first and wait for me in the car? I think I forgot my... um... my lipstick in the restroom. I’ll go back very quickly and get it, then meet you outside."

She expected Jordan to agree as he had last time, but he didn’t. Instead, his expression hardened as he studied her face.

"Are you going after Lucilla Bellini again?"

Aren’s eyes widened before she could stop herself.

’He knows I’m investigating her?!’

She hurriedly tried to look innocent, although the effort felt considerably less convincing now that he was watching her so closely.

"W-why would I go after Lady Lucilla? I just need to return to the restroom. I’m sure I forgot my lipstick there earlier."

Jordan gave her a flat look.

"Ariana."

His voice had become dead serious.

"You do realize you’re extremely bad at lying, don’t you?"

"W-what do you mean?"

She tried to sound confused, but panic was already making it difficult to hold his gaze.

"Why are you saying I’m lying? I... I really did forget my lipstick."

"Yeah. Right."

He let out a long sigh, then lifted his hand and brushed his thumb gently across her lips.

"Like you ever wear lipstick at all."

Aren stared at him.

"I do wear lipstick!"

"And I’m your boyfriend."

He gave her an unimpressed look.

"I don’t know much about makeup, but I’m pretty sure I can tell whether you’re wearing lipstick. You haven’t worn any except at those ridiculous Castellano events, and you definitely weren’t wearing any earlier tonight."

That left Aren without an answer.

’Oh dear.’

’I should have claimed gastrointestinal distress.’

Her gaze slipped away as she frantically searched for a more convincing explanation. When she looked back at Jordan, however, something in his expression had changed.

The sternness had softened, leaving a vulnerability she found much harder to face.

"Ariana..." He gathered both her hands between his own. "You promised me you’d share more with me, didn’t you?"

Every excuse fled Aren’s mind.

There was no accusation on his face now. No anger. He was simply looking at her as though he desperately wanted her to let him in.

"So please, just tell me." His fingers tightened gently around hers. "Why do you need to follow Lucilla Bellini right now? What exactly are you hiding from me?"

Aren fell silent, guilt settling heavily in her chest.

She had promised to share more with him. She hadn’t made that promise lightly, either.

But this involved her contract with the Accardis. However much she wanted to ease the hurt in his eyes, she couldn’t simply announce that she was helping House Accardi undermine Ombra — and send him into an even bigger panic.

"You see... Jordan."

She searched for words that wouldn’t become another lie.

"I really do wish I could tell you everything, but the situation is complicated. It’s not just about me. There are other people involved, and this is supposed to remain private. There are things I can’t tell you without betraying someone else’s confidence."

Jordan studied her, trying to decide whether she was telling him the truth or attempting another clumsy evasion.

She looked up at him warily, her shoulders drawn in like a little rabbit waiting to find out whether it was about to be punished.

The sight hurt more than he wanted it to. It also stirred an inconvenient tenderness in his chest when he was trying very hard to remain firm.

"Fine," he said at last, exhaling. "I won’t ask for details."

Relief began to brighten her face, but he kept hold of her hands.

"But you’re going after Lucilla anyway, and it’s dangerous. So tell me what you need. I’m coming with you."

Aren blinked at him.

"You are?"

He nodded.

"Those security guys with her are armed. I’m not letting you go after her alone."

This time, a small, mischievous smile curved Aren’s lips.

"I do need to go after her, but I’m not going to confront her. I just need to retrieve something from her without her knowing."

─ •?• ─ ? ─ •?• ─

Deep in the backstage corridors of the Prism, Lucilla Bellini ran for her life in sky-high heels, her evening clutch slung across her body.

The sharp clicks of her stilettos ricocheted off the walls, accompanied by the heavier thunder of boots as her security detail rushed around her.

They were moving as fast as they could toward the gallery’s rear exit, yet somehow Lucilla — whose heels were designed for champagne, not evacuation — was still managing to stay ahead of half of her men.

"Faster! What the hell are you doing?"

Lucilla shouted over her shoulder.

"I’m in heels, and I’m still faster than all of you! And where is Jeremiah Castellano? Someone send a fucking crew to grab that motherfucker!"

The men gritted their teeth and kept running.

They’d already spent the past several minutes protecting their heiress from a room full of furious billionaires, wrestling collectors off her couture, and preventing them from beating her to death with their auction paddles, but apparently, that hadn’t been enough exercise.

One of the guards clenched his jaw as he ran.

’Yes, excellent. We’ll just capture the heir of House Castellano in the middle of a gallery full of Dons. Wonderful plan, my lady.’

Another nearly slipped as they rounded a corner.

’If I survive tonight, I’m asking for a raise.’

A third had already progressed beyond optimism.

’If I survive tonight, I’m quitting.’

They were approaching a sharp turn when two figures appeared ahead of them.

Jordan Marchetti stood squarely in their path, his broad shoulders nearly filling the corridor, his expression making it clear that he had no intention of moving.

Right behind him stood Ariana Lombardi, looking considerably smaller and, as usual, almost harmless by comparison.

The Bellini men stopped almost in unison, exchanging uncertain glances.

Lucilla noticed the pair as well.

She marched ahead of her men and planted both hands on her hips.

"Jordan, honey, what is it now?"

Her gaze flicked dismissively toward Aren.

"I don’t recall arranging a private dinner with the two of you after the exhibition. If you’re looking for somewhere to kiss and grope each other, could you please find another corner? I’m a little busy here."

Jordan held her gaze without amusement.

"We’re not here for dinner, and we’re not looking for a private corner, Lucilla. We need to talk about Don Massio."

The condescension vanished from Lucilla’s face.

"Y-you want to talk about Don Massio? About what?" She glanced from side to side, suddenly searching beyond them. "Did he send you? Is he here? I need to speak to him immediately."

"He’s already left." Jordan shook his head. "But you know he and my father are close. He’s given my father several things he bought from your family. I want an explanation. Something I can actually tell my father when I get home."

Whatever fear had briefly subdued Lucilla gave way to fresh anger.

After what she had just endured in the hall, she plainly had no patience left for another dissatisfied customer, regardless of his surname.

"What explanation?" she demanded. "There’s nothing to explain! Jeremiah Castellano framed my family with his ridiculous little magic tricks. House Bellini has sold authentic art for generations, whether you believe it or not! Now get out of my way before my men move you!"

She turned on her guards without waiting for a response.

"You! Move this unreasonable client and his little girlfriend aside. Now!"

The men exchanged uneasy glances.

This was the Marchetti heir, not some collector they could shove back into his seat. Laying hands on him would create an entirely different disaster, and none of them seemed eager to be the man responsible for adding it to the evening’s accomplishments.

Before they could decide which form of unemployment they preferred, shouting erupted farther down the corridor.

"There she is!"

The collectors had broken through the security line at the auction hall, and a furious crowd came pouring into the backstage area.

"Don’t let her leave!"

"Bellini! Come back here and explain the Renaissance plastic!"

"I paid eight million for a masterpiece, you bitch!"

"I want my fucking money back!"

Lucilla spun toward the noise, horror stripping the anger from her face.

"What are you dumbasses waiting for?" she shrieked at her men. "Stop those lunatics! Do what I pay you for!"

As the guards surged forward to intercept the crowd, Aren stepped quietly out from behind Jordan.

With Lucilla’s attention fixed on the approaching collectors, Aren struck the narrow stem of Lucilla’s stiletto sharply with the tip of her own heel.

Snap.

Lucilla’s ankle wobbled, and she tipped backward before she could recover. Her mouth opened in horror as she realized every security guard had moved ahead of her — there was no one close enough to catch her.

"AAAAAAAH!"

Lucilla never hit the floor.

A slim, steady hand slipped behind her just before she fell.

"Careful, Lady Lucilla," Aren said, her voice calm. "That heel seems a little too delicate."

The fall sent Lucilla’s evening clutch swinging around her body and straight toward Aren. For the few seconds it took to steady Lucilla and guide her upright, Aren remained pressed close behind her.

One hand supported Lucilla.

The other opened the clutch just far enough to slip out the narrow silver case before closing it again.

By the time Lucilla had found her balance, the case was out of sight and Aren was releasing her.

Behind them, Jordan stared at the backs of both women, his expression flat with suppressed disbelief.

Apparently, his sweet little girlfriend didn’t merely know how to wield a machete like a professional, clear obstacles like a soldier, or crawl through ventilation systems like some kind of government operative.

She could also steal something from a mafia heiress under the noses of armed security detail, without her victim noticing a thing.

Lucilla, meanwhile, stood frozen for a few seconds, blinking as she absorbed the fact that her ass had somehow never hit the floor.

Relief barely had time to register before she realized who had saved her, and she straightened immediately.

"My goodness. Well, thank you, Ariana darling!"

She drew a breath, attempting to recover her usual elegance.

"My God, if you hadn’t caught me, I might have ruptured an ass implant."

Aren blinked, wondering if she’d heard that correctly. Behind her, Jordan had already decided some things were better left unexplored.

Lucilla’s composure, however, proved difficult to maintain.

Being indebted to Ariana Lombardi was irritating enough. Discovering that one of her expensive heels had snapped did nothing to improve her mood.

More importantly, the collectors were getting dangerously close, and her security guards were looking increasingly miserable down the corridor.

"Well, I’d love to stay and thank you properly, my dear." Lucilla produced a strained smile. "But as you can see, I’m rather busy. Have fun with that cute boyfriend of yours. I’ll see you both another time."

She limped past them and hurried away as quickly as her uneven shoes permitted, leaving her men to contend with the crowd.

Jordan watched her go for only a moment before taking Aren’s hand.

"Come on. Let’s go."

He pulled her away before either the Bellini guards or the enraged collectors could pay them any more attention.

Once they had reached a separate passage, away from the immediate chaos, he leaned toward her. There was amusement in his voice, although it hadn’t quite displaced his disbelief.

"Did you just pickpocket the heiress of House Bellini in, like, three seconds?"

"Technically speaking," Aren replied with perfect dignity, "I retrieved something she wasn’t supposed to have."

Jordan gave her a pointed look.

"That’s still stealing."

"Well... in this particular situation, I don’t think ownership is that straightforward."

She looked up at him, a hint of mischief returning to her eyes.

"And let’s not forget that you’re officially my accomplice now. Willingly."

Jordan shook his head, but a quiet laugh escaped him.

There was something about that prim, little tone she used while saying utterly outrageous things that made it difficult to maintain a suitably disapproving expression.

"I suppose I’m officially your willing accomplice, then."

Aren laughed with him, relaxed for a moment, but then the amusement on her face softened into something more uncertain.

She kept hold of his hand as they walked, glancing up at him before finding the courage to speak.

"You know... um, since we’re partners in crime now, there’s something I need to ask."

Her fingers tightened around his.

"Could you please keep this a secret? It’s very important to me that this stays private. For, um... professional reasons."

Jordan slowed, then stopped altogether. For several seconds, he simply looked at her, waiting until her eyes met his.

"Ariana."

He leaned a little closer.

"You know I can keep more secrets than this one."

Aren faltered.

There was no teasing left in his expression, and the gentleness of his voice made it harder to retreat behind another careful answer.

He didn’t say the words, but she could hear them all the same.

’Tell me more.’

She lowered her gaze to the floor.

Part of her wanted to answer him — to offer something that would ease the quiet longing in his eyes — but wanting to tell him and knowing what she could safely say were two different things.

"I... don’t think this is the right place for more secrets." She glanced up at him uncertainly. "But I promise I’ll think about... what I can tell you."

It was a hesitant answer, with none of the certainty she wished she could give him. Still, a small smile appeared on Jordan’s face.

"I know."

He leaned down and kissed her, then lingered close enough that his next words were meant only for her.

"That’s good enough for now."