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"Which painting do they want?"

Lucy glances around the room and, after a few seconds, points to the painting featuring a field of daisies. The colors are muted. The painting is an original but faded over time, and no one bothered to restore it because it probably wasn't worth a dime.

Why this painting?

"Nikita?" Dmitri's voice carries into the bedroom. "What are you doing in here?" he asks. He doesn't even ask about Lucy. Maybe he knows better than to question why she's here, and why I brought her back into the compound.

"I need you to watch Lucy for a bit, in the study."

"I'm not her babysitter," he glances Lucy over, "put her in the cellar."

I'm not going to do that. While tempting at times, Lucy doesn't deserve to be imprisoned. Not anymore. "Ten minutes tops." I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't necessary, and Dmitri knows that about me. Hopefully, he'll help.

Dmitri emits a heavy sigh and a huff under his breath. "Let's go," he says and points at the door, waiting for Lucy to accompany him.

She hesitates, glancing from Dmitri back to me. "Go with him. You'll be fine."

I turn to face the painting, and she retreats, following Dmitri. Her heels click against the wooden floorboards as she walks, the sound growing fainter the farther away she is from what was once Aleksandra's bedroom.

With Lucy out of sight, I step toward the painting and remove it from the wall, bringing it to the mattress to examine. What is it that Aleksandra could want with the picture? There's nothing remarkable about the frame or the painting. Not even the artwork itself could be deemed priceless.

It's unlikely that Aleksandra has any attachment to it.

I gently flip it over, examining the back of the frame. Nothing stands out, but if there were something valuable, wouldn't it be tucked away inside. Perhaps under the painting or inside the canvas?

Mikhail will kill me if I ruin his artwork for no reason. The paintings that he's procured don't come cheap.

Did he buy this piece, or had it been Mikhail's father who purchased the painting, and Mikhail inherited it upon his death?

I turn the painting back over to examine the front in more detail.

My fingers run over the frame. The gold is etched with swirls and decorative emblems, which doesn't feel quite right with the painting. It's almost as though another painting had been the original, and this one had been its replacement. Why would someone do that?

I retrieve my pocket knife and unsheathe the blade.

"What are you doing?" Mikhail's gruff voice startles me. He steps into the room, his footsteps heavy and brisk on his approach.

He must have just gotten back from the doctor's.

"The Italians sent Lucy to deliver this painting to them. But I can't imagine how she'd have carried it out." The painting isn't the least bit small or light. "How'd you know I was up here?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder at Mikhail.

"Your prisoner is having tea in my dining room."

"I sent Dmitri downstairs with her while I examined the painting more thoroughly."

Mikhail gestures toward the knife in my right hand. "With this?"

"There's nothing significant about the painting or the frame. There has to be something behind it."

"And you intended to decimate the heirloom without my permission?"

Shit, I fucked up. "I didn't realize it was an heirloom, sir."

"It's not," Mikhail says, "but it could have been." He grabs the knife from my hand and flips the painting over, ripping the brown paper that covers the back of the canvas.

Beneath the shredded paper is a flash drive and a manila envelope. Mikhail takes the flash drive, shoving it into his pocket before opening the envelope and revealing the contents inside.

"It was never about the painting," Mikhail says, staring down at the old stock certificates. "Some of these are worthless," he mutters, flipping through them until he lands on a handful of public companies still trading today.

"I'm guessing that's what Aleksandra was after," I say.

"How'd she know about the certificates and the flash drive?" Mikhail asks, although the question is rhetorical. "Follow me." He walks out of the bedroom and down the stairs, heading into his office.

Dmitri pokes his head out of the study, catching our attention in the hall as we head for his office. "Are you done?" His eyes are wide, and his hair is disheveled. Can he not handle Lucy for a couple of minutes?

There's chit-chat from inside the room. Lucy isn't alone. Hannah's laughter carries into the hallway.

"Almost," Mikhail says. "Keep an eye on our guest."

I momentarily hold my breath, not realizing the gesture until I exhale. Lucy doesn't sound under duress; she seems to be enjoying herself with Hannah. I doubt Mikhail will appreciate me bringing her under his roof after what transpired yesterday.

I follow Mikhail into his office, and he shuts the door before taking a seat behind his desk. "I want to know what's on the flash drive." He places the pages of stock certificates on his desk, momentarily ignoring them while his focus is on his computer.

I don't dare ask what the certificates may be worth, but a single glance at them earlier and I'd recognized several publicly traded companies. There's value in them, but is there enough to send a stranger into our home to rob us?

There's no way Lucy would have gotten out with the painting in hand, not unless she intended to strip it down, destroy the backing and discover the contents hidden inside like Mikhail had done.

I take a seat across from his desk. He attaches the flash drive to the USB port and taps his fingers on the wooden desk. "What does Antonio have on Lucy?" Mikhail asks.

"He's threatened her son." I hadn't wanted to mention that she has a kid, not that I believe Mikhail would harm the child, but he's not above hurting anyone who betrays him.

His gaze tightens. "What's her connection to them?"


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