Gian (Trassato Crime Family Book 1)(60)
My spine stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he whined like the man-child he was. I had no clue what Evie saw in him. “I never cheated on Evie with anyone else.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Do I have sucker written across my forehead?”
“No. You’re right. I wasn’t a choirboy by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve had protégées hit on me. Granted, I’ve crossed the line a time or two, but it never went too far if you know what I mean. Ana was different, though. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d strip naked and ask me to demonstrate a painting technique on her body. She’d drag me into closets at parties and stick her hand down my pants while Evie was in the other room. She was everywhere, and I couldn’t get away from her. Every time it happened, I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again—only, she was like a shot of heroin. I was hooked, and I couldn’t stop.”
“Where’s Ana now?”
“I don’t know. She disappeared after that night we ran into you guys at that club. She disconnected her phone and vacated her apartment.”
“Did you ask Alix?”
He groaned. “Yeah, and he won’t tell me shit. He said we both did our jobs, and my debt was forgiven.”
“That’s it?”
“He said he’d end me if I ever turned up at one of his poker tournaments, again.”
“Has Ana’s artwork showed up in another gallery, or is she working with another artist?”
“No.” He shifted in the seat. “That’s the strange part. The day after we ran into you and Evie in the bar, she went radio silent. A few days later, someone broke into my studio. They took all her work and stuffed it into the dumpster out back.”
I frowned. That didn’t make sense unless Ana’s appearance didn’t have anything to do with being mentored. “Was Ana talented?”
He grinned. “In bed, yes. As an artist, not so much. Don’t get me wrong; she wasn’t awful, but under different circumstances, I would’ve never agreed to mentor her. It was clear she’d taken some painting lessons, and with the right exposure, she could’ve made some money. That’s it.”
Impatience stirring in my gut, I pressed the gun to the side of his head. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”
“No. I swear.” His voice quivered. I flipped open the pocket knife on my keychain and cut the cable tie around his wrists. He scrambled to his feet. “Is that it?”
“Yeah.” I stuffed my gun in the holster. “Unless you contact Evie or tell someone I paid you a visit.”
His shoulders slumped with defeat. “I won’t tell anyone.”
His ripped jeans and white t-shirt were crumpled and blood stained. The bun at the back his head had come undone. One of his eyes had swelled shut, and I didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. He made his own bed, and he’d never win Evie back. He had his chance, and he pissed it away by getting involved with the soul-sucking Russians.
“Good, because if you fuck with Evie or me or even whisper either of our names, I won’t hesitate to kill ya.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Gian
Evie kicked, dipped, and twirled, or whatever a dancer did, and wisps of sunset red hair floated around her face. She didn’t have on any makeup. Her eyes were dreamy. A soft melody poured from her lips. It was hauntingly beautiful, and I couldn’t look away.
She was like a cold beer on a sweltering day. I never thought I’d find myself so wrapped up in one woman, yet it was true. I didn’t want anyone else, and I was pretty damn sure my feelings wouldn’t change anytime soon, if ever.
After a long, drawn-out note, she froze in place.
I clapped my hands together, showing my appreciation. I may have confessed that musicals bored me to death, but if Evie was on stage, I was positive my opinion would do a one-eighty.
She whirled around, her hand pressed to the center of her chest. “Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?”
“I missed you.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You missed me?”
“Yeah, do you have a problem with that?”
“No. I’m surprised. That’s all.”
I closed the door to the dance studio and moved through the tiny room. With every step, her dark eyes drank in my soul, and with it, every coherent thought in my brain fled.
“You’re going to nail this audition. You know that, right?”
A rose-colored blush spread up her neck to her cheeks. “You don’t know that. You hate the theater, remember?”