Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,59

things a person could do. More than just a crime, it was a violation, pure and simple.

With a deep sigh, Charley put the bracelet back, grateful the only thing she’d be taking tonight was information.

Through an open archway at the back of the closet, Charley entered a small dressing room, just large enough for a chair, a full-length mirror, and a chest of drawers.

On the wall above the chest was a painting of a dour woman gazing into a mirror. The reflection staring back at her was that of a young girl. Though Charley couldn’t make out the true vibrancy of the colors in the dim light, she knew the woman’s hair was dark, the child’s light, their eyes the same haunting shade of pale blue.

She knew the painting by heart.

Memory’s Memories, by Viola LaPorte.

It was one of her father’s. From the missing cache.

Tentatively Charley reached for the painting, tracing the frame with a trembling finger. Tears blurred her vision as she realized with shocking clarity that she’d been searching for something like this for the last five years, ever since Rudy had shown up at her father’s penthouse with his head down, unable to meet her eyes.

He’s dead, Charlotte. I’m so, so sorry…

All the auctions, the high-society events, the fundraisers… It wasn’t just because she was afraid of Rudy, afraid of ending up on the street, afraid of losing her sister. It was because she’d hoped, on some deep, impossible level, she’d find the missing cache, piece together the clues, and follow the trail to her father’s murderer.

And here, tonight, was her first clue.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. With a $70 million street value, a cache like that didn’t just vanish. It might go underground awhile, but it always resurfaced, usually in pieces. A painting here. A vase there. Even one piece could lead them to the rest.

This was it. Her one piece.

Charley blinked away her tears and looked again at the painting. If this one had shown up, others would follow. Maybe they already had. Maybe they’d even be in this very house.

She tried to text Rudy, but her brain kept tripping up, her hands shaking, the gloves making it all the more difficult. She needed to get out of there, get some air, and get her head on straight.

Because after tonight, everything was going to change.

Out beyond the Hudson, the rolling hills of the Catskills turned lavender beneath a curtain of mist and moonlight, an ethereal sight that only made Charley feel more alone, more confused. She’d wandered out to the gardens, trying to decide how to tell Rudy about the painting, but now that the cool night air had cleared her head, she was rethinking it.

Rudy had always believed Charley’s father had double-crossed them. He and the others had agreed they couldn’t waste precious resources seeking vengeance for a man who’d betrayed his crew, no matter that the man was their own flesh and blood. As far as Rudy was concerned, it was a business decision, plain and simple. She didn’t have to like it, but she had to live with it.

Now, Charley leaned against a maple tree at the edge of the garden, its leaves shivering in the breeze, and closed her eyes.

What the hell should I do?

Rudy was hell-bent on stealing the artwork in this house. It was worth a fortune—probably the biggest score the crew had ever attempted. If he discovered the painting and anything else from the missing cache, he’d likely fence it, no love lost. Charley could try to reason with him, but in the end, he’d just tell her to let it go. To move on.

And after five agonizing years, the only piece of evidence in her father’s murder would vanish again.

No. She couldn’t let that happen. If Charley was going to trace that painting back to her father—to whoever killed him—she needed to do it alone.

And that meant going back inside, finishing the job Rudy had sent her here to do, and coming up with a solid plan before he and Travis made their next move.

She’d just decided to head back to the event when she was unexpectedly corralled against the tree, strong arms encircling her from behind, a dark command whispered hotly in her ear.

“Come with me. Don’t make a sound.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The New York art scene was small and incestuous, Dorian reminded himself. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for Charlotte to be here. A coincidence, yes—but not impossible. She seemed intimately familiar with the inner