The hum of the black SUV filled the silence as Rachel stared out the window, her mind racing. She clutched her bag tightly, feeling the weight of her decision sinking in. Luca's offer wasn't a choice—it was a trap, one she'd walked into willingly to save her brother. But the thought of working for a man like him, navigating a world she didn't understand, filled her with dread.
"You'll be staying in one of our properties during this arrangement," Luca had said before she left. "You'll be safer under my protection."
Safer. The word had felt like a thinly veiled threat.
The car stopped in front of a townhouse in Manhattan's Upper East Side. It was elegant but unassuming, the kind of place that blended seamlessly into the city's affluent streets. A man in a suit opened the door for her.
"This way, Miss Bellini," he said, leading her inside.
The interior was starkly modern—glass, steel, and neutral tones. Rachel's eyes darted to the security cameras discreetly positioned in the corners. She was being watched.
"Make yourself comfortable," the man said. "Mr. DeLuca will send it to you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" she asked, surprised.
"Your work begins then," he said simply, leaving her alone.
Rachel wandered the townhouse, her unease growing with every step. The place was beautiful but sterile, as if no one had ever lived there. She found a bedroom upstairs and sank onto the bed, pulling out her phone to check for messages from Marco. Still nothing.
"Where are you, Marco?" she whispered to herself, fighting back tears.
The next morning, a knock on the door jolted her awake. She opened it to find another suited man holding a black envelope.
"Mr. DeLuca has instructed you to meet him here," he said, handing her the address.
Rachel arrived at an art gallery in SoHo, its minimalist exterior masking the opulence inside. Luca was waiting, dressed in another immaculate suit, his presence commanding the room.
"Miss Bellini," he greeted her, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I trust you found the accommodations satisfactory?"
"They're fine," she said curtly, folding her arms. "What's this about?"
Luca gestured to a small, ornate sculpture on a pedestal. "This is The Weeping Madonna, a piece stolen from a private collection in Florence last year. It recently resurfaced, but I have reason to believe it's a forgery. Your job is to confirm my suspicions."
Rachel frowned, stepping closer to examine the sculpture. She ran her fingers over the surface, noting the texture, the faint discoloration in the marble. Her trained eye quickly spotted the inconsistencies.
"It's a fake," she said confidently. "The original was carved from Carrara marble. This isn't."
Luca smirked. "Impressive. Looks like I made the right choice."
As they walked out of the gallery, Luca's demeanor shifted. "You're good at this, Rachel. But this was just a test. The real work starts now."
He handed her another folder, this one thicker and more ominous. Inside were photos of a high-profile auction happening that evening.
"There's a painting being sold—a Caravaggio. It was stolen years ago, and I have an interest in acquiring it. You'll go to the auction and verify its authenticity before we make a move."
Rachel's stomach tightened. "You mean you're planning to steal it?"
Luca raised an eyebrow. "I prefer to think of it as reclaiming what's been taken. Are you in or out?"
She hesitated, but the thought of Marco kept her rooted. "I'll do it," she said quietly.
Dressed in an elegant black dress provided by Luca's team, Rachel blended seamlessly into the opulent crowd at the auction house. Wealthy patrons sipped champagne, their conversations a murmur of power and privilege.
Luca arrived shortly after, his presence magnetic as always. He offered her his arm, and though she hesitated, she took it, the heat of his touch sparking a strange mix of emotions.
They moved through the room, their banter sharp and tense. But when the Caravaggio was revealed, Rachel's focus shifted entirely. She stepped closer, studying the painting intently.
"It's real," she whispered, her voice tinged with awe.
"Good," Luca said, his voice low. "Now we just have to ensure it ends up in the right hands."
Before Rachel could respond, the lights suddenly cut out, and chaos erupted.