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Art
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Chapter 6: Art (Dante's POV)
For the next three days, I continued to lay low. Steadily, I took my meetings beyond the four walls of my office, and the more often I showed face, the faster word spread. Apparently, the Dante Rossi was finally back. Whatever that meant.
For the next few weeks, I had no choice but to accept invitations for every social gathering that came my way, and with people knowing I was no longer underground, they flooded into my mailbox. Tonight's, however, was a first. The launch and opening ceremony of a new art gallery on Wall Street.
It caught me off guard when I opened the invitation and found no name or address of the host, simply an invitation, but the pool of people in this circle was too big to be counted. It could be from anybody. It hardly mattered who the host was at social gatherings like this. People who received invitations always showed up; it was just an excuse to show off yourself and your success and wealth.
"Where do you suggest we meet then?" Mr Jameson asked.
I held my phone to my ear as I entered my apartment. "There's an inauguration ceremony tonight. A new art gallery, it's called The Vault. Have you received an invitation?" I asked.
"I don't think there's anybody in this city who didn't receive that invitation," he scoffed. "Who is the host?"
"It hardly matters," I replied. "All we need is a place to meet. A place where the crowd is too immersed in their conversations to overhear ours, Mr Jameson. The Vault would be perfect."
"But wouldn't it be too—"
"If you decide to attend, you can find me there. It shouldn't be too hard." I hung up without waiting for a response. The man had been on my ass for the past few months, making every bargain possible to hire me for a job.
I hated working for other people, being at someone else's mercy, doing everything at their beck and call. I'd rather have someone at my mercy instead.
It was already late in the afternoon, and the event began at seven o'clock, so I moved up to my room and took a quick shower before taking out a suit for the night.
I couldn't help but wonder if she'd be there tonight. Seeing Anastasia always seemed to do a number of unfathomable things to me simultaneously. I could never decide if I despised it or not. It was certain that I despised her for several reasons that got on my nerves.
Anastasia was a woman with far too much power over me in the past, and if I hadn't gotten rid of her then, it would have destroyed me. We simply weren't good for each other. I didn't know why it was so hard for me to accept that we could never be anything. We would only ruin each other again.
With one final spritz of cologne, I grabbed the car keys and headed out, taking out the Aston Martin Vantage for tonight and slipping into the driver's seat, heading down to the address given for the gallery. When I arrived there, the place was lit up with warm yet dim lights to create an ambiance.
Only invited guests were granted entrance for the night, and a long queue of us were lined up at the doors. There sure were an awful lot of people attending, considering nobody knew the host.
I got in line, the chatter continuing around me after a few glances at me. The first person I recognized was Marshall as he climbed up the short steps and paused, turning to wait for someone. I knew it was her the moment my gaze landed on her. But she was with someone else. A man.
I couldn't help the annoyance that surged through me, and I couldn't afford to express it in this crowd, so all I could do was look away as my jaw ticked and my hands twitched to ball up into fists.
My eyes drifted back to her the way they always seemed to, never losing her in the crowd. She looked as tempting as always. Her hair was drawn back into a low bun, revealing her backless white dress. The silk flowed down to her heels, with two strings of diamonds crossing between her shoulder blades and then continuing down to her tailbone, where the fabric began.
It wasn't until I actually glanced at the man she walked in with, arms linked together, that I realized it was Scott. Scott was another agent still working with the FBI, and he'd worked with both Anastasia and me in the past.
Handing my invitation in as I reached the front of the queue, I told the guard my name, and once it was checked off on the list, I stepped into the gallery. Several paintings and sculptures were on display, being unveiled one by one.
The crowd dispersed around the hall, roaming from one spot to another, photographing and whispering about the paintings. Despite the event having started, there was no host in sight.
"Dante!" came a familiar voice.
I stopped in front of a sculpture and spotted Mr Jameson heading my way. Lifting a hand, I lightly scratched my brow before tucking my hands into my pockets, my eyes scanning the room. As he began approaching me, I found Anastasia again.
It was almost as if my body and mind would search for her in a crowded room subconsciously. My eyes always seemed to find her, like a moth drawn to a flame. It enraged me that someone, especially her, influenced me so much.
I could never decipher what it was about her that pulled me in, there was never a right answer, never an explanation. People always wanted what they couldn't have. I wondered if I was so tempted by her simply because I knew nothing could ever come of it or because the idea of playing with fire enticed me so much.
Anastasia was incredibly difficult at times. She was stubborn and rigid in her words and beliefs. She was persistent, so much that it would vex anybody. Not to mention, she was rather high maintenance. She challenged me like no one ever could, so even if she was high maintenance, I used to like... maintaining her.
But her stubbornness often made her uncooperative. Whenever we were assigned to work together, she knew how to make me listen but also to listen to me. It was whenever we competed at work that things unraveled, and the control slipped from our grasp.
She would stop at nothing to win, and I had never lost at anything in life until she came around. It was addicting. Working against her came with a thrill of its own. She was the one person who evoked something unfamiliar within me, stirred something up inside of me, and I despised it.
We were alike in many ways. She hardly showed emotion to those around her, like myself, but once she walked into my life, I started to lose control over that. I was adamant to do the same to her. I wanted to watch her lose control around me.
We both were always so wrapped up in our own little game that we lost sight of everything around us. For a while, everything started and ended with her.
The shrill ringing of my doorbell pierced my ears as it rang not once, not twice, but at least five separate times in rapid succession. Irritated, I paced to the door and swung it open. The moment my eyes landed on the woman in front of me, that exasperation slowly trickled out of my body and was replaced by satisfaction.
I should have expected her to barge in unannounced. "What brings you here, Ms Vitalio?" I smirked, leaning against the door as I folded my arms across my chest and crossed my ankles.
Her hands were on my chest before I could fathom as she shoved me back into the apartment. "How dare you?" she demanded.
I took a few steps back, letting her push me as she entered the apartment and slammed the door shut behind her. "How dare I win?" I mused.
"You knew I was in the lead, you knew I would solve my case faster than yours. You played a dirty game, Mr Rossi."
"I played no games, Ms Vitalio."
"Then how did you do it?" She gave me another hard shove, and I stepped back cautiously, entering the kitchen.
My back met the countertop with one final push from her. Before I could even move forward, she came closer, her body brushing against mine as she cornered me. "Tell me," she ordered, "what's your secret?"
My gaze traveled across her face, grazing over every inch, taking in every feature. "My secrets come with a price," I told her, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of her hair away from her face.
Her hand shot up to smack mine away, but I caught her wrist before she could and placed my free hand on the small of her back, tugging her closer until our bodies were flush together.
"Are you willing to pay for it?" I asked, my eyes drifting to her lips. "Hmm?"
Her breath hitched in her throat as she seemed to snap out of the fit of rage she had marched into my apartment with. "I like it better when you're working with me," she mumbled. "You're much less of a pain in the ass."
For weeks now, if not months, I'd been controlling myself. I'd been denying everything when the truth was that every second our eyes met, every moment our fingers touched, every time her body brushed against mine, something ignited within me. I wanted her so bad it consumed it.
It had been a few months since Anastasia joined the agency. She learned everything within the first few weeks, and soon enough, Marshall trusted her enough to handle cases on her own. In the beginning, we worked together on cases that were assigned to both of us. Slowly, the cases coming our way often drove us to compete. We would cross paths in every rival case, and she started to become an obstacle in my job.
I started to despise her. She thought far too highly of herself. She thought she was undefeatable. I wanted to prove her wrong.
After months of holding myself together, something felt inherently different tonight. She was right here in my apartment, her body pressed against mine, where I could feel every shaky breath she took.
The more time I was forced to spend with her, the greater temptation grew until it was finally too hard to resist.
I traced her skin, my knuckles sliding down her bare arm until I dropped it, both hands now on her waist. "For the first time since I've met you, Mia Cara, you seem afraid," I smirked, my fingers slipping beneath the hem of her top, tracing her waist. Her hands shot up to grab my arms, and I half expected her to stop me. But she didn't.
Her breaths grew slow and heavy as she held my gaze. "I'm not afraid of you," she said.
I lightly ran my thumb across her skin. "You're practically shaking," I teased.
"Out of anger," she gritted out.
"Is it anger?" I asked, pulling her impossibly closer until she had nowhere to run to, until there was nothing between us until I couldn't remember where I ended and she began.
"What else would it be?" she asked, lifting a brow at me.
"Is that all you feel around me? Anger?" I asked instead. "Frustration?"
"Yes."
"Is that all I make you feel, Anastasia?" I whispered, not knowing where the distance between us had gone.
"This is a terrible idea," she mumbled, tearing her gaze away as she looked down, avoiding my eyes.
"Your mouth is telling me one thing, but your body says something different," I said, glancing at the way her hands fisted my shirt against my torso.
Her fingers loosened slightly, but she didn't pull back. "This is a bad idea, Dante," she repeated.
"Disastrous," I agreed.
"Catastrophic," she exhaled roughly, arching into me.
I couldn't help but trail my fingers along her spine, stealing her breath again. "Calamitous," I added, nodding slowly along with her.
Her eyes lifted to mine. "Dangerous," she breathed out. A second passed between us. The green of her eyes had grown a shade darker, her pupils dilated, her chest rising and falling with each breath she took.
"Very dangerous," I agreed yet again. I was agreeing, but every nerve in my body screamed at me to go against my own words.
Her gaze dipped to my lips briefly before meeting my eyes again as she gently flattened her palms against my chest. I was certain she could feel my heart pounding against her hands.
"Fuck it," I whispered, closing the distance between us as I pulled her into me and smashed my lips against hers. A sigh escaped her as she leaned into me completely, pulling me impossibly closer, her fingers gliding down each button, undoing them all.
Pushing the shirt past my shoulders, she tossed it on the ground, resting a hand on the nape of my neck as I tugged her top higher, both of us pausing as I took it off, dropping it on the ground before I leaned back and took my glasses off, setting them on the counter.
"This is still a bad idea," I reminded her.
"I don't care anymore," she shook her head, silencing me with another kiss.
"You'll have the contract by tomorrow evening, Mr Jameson," I said, suppressing a sigh of annoyance.
"Very well. It's always a pleasure working with you, Dante," he smiled, shaking my hand firmly before walking away.
After circling the entire room once, when an hour had passed, there was only one painting still left to be unveiled, which awaited the crowd in the center of the room. Joining the guests in the middle, I lingered in the back, anticipation buzzing through the crowd.
The paintings on display truly were phenomenal. Anastasia probably loved them too, if I knew her at all. After all, she was a painter herself.
The black fabric still concealing the work of art shook at the voices dropped to silence. My eyes drifted down, looking for her in the crowd subconsciously.
She looked better than anyone or anything else in this room tonight. She was a work of art amongst all these paintings and sculptures, the most beautiful one at that...
The black veil finally dropped to the ground, and for a minute, no one made a noise. A beat later, the whispers began. People gasped in shock and grimaced at the sight of it, shaking their heads in disapproval.
My brows furrowed as I looked up at the painting. It was brutal and gruesome in every possible way.
The man in the painting had been hanged, his upper half bare and bloodied, with a hundred knives stabbed into his chest and torso. It was disgustingly grotesque and put off every single person in this room. It looked... real. As if it were painted by a madman.
A loud thud echoed in the hall as the attic above the painting opened on its own. Screams erupted in the room, and every single person ran toward the door as a body dropped to the ground, one that was identical to the painting.
The body swayed, the man still hanging by his neck, now lifeless and slowly turning blue as blood trickled onto the floor below the painting, dripping from the hundred knives stabbed into his body. The crowd frantically raced to escape, almost trampling one another to get out. I
barely managed to spot Anastasia as she struggled to hold still, the crowd forcing her out with them. A gasp escaped her as she stumbled, and I stuck out a hand, grabbing her arm and pulling her against me beside the pillar where I stood firmly.
Her breath hitched as her eyes met mine while she braced her hands against my chest. Snapping out of it, she pulled away and spun around to look at the body in shock. She turned back to me. "What is going on?" she whispered.
I let out a breath, eyeing the body and the painting behind it. He was painted exactly the way he was killed...
"I don't know," I mumbled.
.
.
.
.
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Chapter 6
I'm going to add a trigger warning in the book description because adding it in the chapters that have murders kind of spoils the chapter. But there WILL be a lot of brutal murders and violence in this book, so please keep that in mind.
I've also added the outfits
next ch: madman