I pulled my car into the gallery's driveway, still rattled from the encounter with my brothers. Thomas had cornered me about the building, insisting I tapped into Mother's finances for this new revenue stream. While she funded its initial days, I funded its current operations. I learned from her how to squirrel away money in various places, hidden from our father's financial grip. Her escape plan, I suppose. Death became her unexpected exit, but she dreamed of a different fate for her daughter.
Slowly but surely, I chipped away at my father's control, convincing him the gallery was too small and ultimately sinking. I curated exhibits using money from investments tucked away in an extensive stock portfolio managed by accountants he wouldn't recognize. I kept it concealed like Mother did, knowing my brothers wouldn't sway me.
Exiting the car, I listened for the familiar chirp of the alarm and glanced at the window behind me, almost expecting to see my father's ghost. Maybe selling it wasn't a bad idea; the place reeked of my parents' earlier ambitions. And it was here that I first realized I was a pawn in a carefully orchestrated game.
My thoughts shifted to one of the Don's many Charity Gala's. My father had been unusually insistent that evening about me donning a gold dress, its hues bolder and more lavish than our usual circles wore. I would stand out like a smashed finger freshly bashed from a hammer.
It was where I first spotted Nis on the fringes, his eyes too curious for someone who belonged to this high society gathering. I followed his gaze, noting it mirrored how I had scrutinized the attendees when I first entered.
Patrons couldn't wander off the streets. The gallery wasn't easily accessible; its underground location required an invitation and entrance through a covert utility cover. If pressed in the right spot, a button would lift the cover, revealing a cleverly concealed staircase come escalator that moved, transporting the person to the main event area.
It was a silent testament to the idea that art is often unpredictable and inaccessible to those unwilling to try to understand and appreciate it. As I observed Nis's presence, I couldn't help but find humour. We had netted an uninvited guest for all the elaborate subterfuge required to reach this exclusive space.
This evening, we even added an extra layer of contrived intrigue. With a masked theme, we were to produce a mask that identified our favorite artists. I had only played along with my father because the dress suited me. Its tones and structure mimicked Klimt's Kiss.
As the crowd swirled around us, I felt the weight of his lingering stare. I met the intense eyes of Nis Gyali with a fierce look of my own. Outwardly, I smiled until the temperature rose when he leaned in.
"You enjoy navigating the shadows, don't you," I recalled my first words to him, the deception of sexy starlet still intact.
"Only when there's something worth discovering. May I?"
Seeing his line of sight, his fingers grazed my shoulder, his touch electric. The quality of his voice warm yet deep. "I wonder if you understand the value of your presence here this evening."
I blinked, considering his words for the moment.
Sensing my shock, Nis continued, "Your father, with his overbearing ways, uses everything as a chess piece. The dress is a declaration of his influence and control. Are you catching my meaning? He's playing a power game; that dress is his move.
I pasted what I hoped was a vapid, clueless look onto my heavily made-up face. "Oh, Daddy. He loves to buy me such things. Would you like something to drink?" I offered, turning away to grab two flutes of champagne to regain my composure.
"No, thank you. I'm driving this evening. If you'll excuse me?"
As he retreated, I sipped the first flute and left the second on a table nearby. Standing within earshot of the man and woman.
I listened as they spoke of art, losing interest when my father's circuit around the room neared mine. Hoping to avoid further interaction, I sought the balcony to escape the crush of the evening.
Inside, Nis greeted Artemisia's father.
"Your daughter, quite an innocent. That dress she's wearing. She thinks it's simply a fancy outfit, with no clue regarding the message it sends."
The Don regarded Nis, his eyes narrowing. "Clueless for now, but not for long. I hope you're prepared to weather the fallout when she puts it all together. Outwardly, she's calm. But then again, so is the ocean on a good day. Bad days will rake you over the corals, drag you through the undertow and smash you against the stones."
Nis' eyebrow arched. He wondered if the man before him had gone senile or the Don knew something of his daughter that many failed to see.