Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,68
valuable—or more secret.
Charley’s skin tingled. She knelt down on the floor and peered underneath the gap, confirming her suspicions; in addition to the keypad and scanner, the elevator was alarmed with a laser security system.
There was no way she could crack it—not without more time.
For now, the chamber below would remain a secret.
Unless I can convince him to give me a tour…
No. It was bad enough she was facilitating the robbery of Dorian’s art estate. Whatever lay hidden below could stay hidden. She’d just have to tell Rudy the basement was a bust. Hopefully, he’d buy it; time was of the essence during a heist, and they’d have their hands full on the main floors, especially if Travis wanted the cars…
Charley’s insides burned.
It’s not going to happen. I’ll figure something out before it gets that far. I won’t let Dorian suffer.
Rising from the floor, she smoothed out her dress and took a deep breath, eager to move on. But when she returned to the staircase that led out of the basement, her eyes landed on a narrow library table with a protective glass top. The table itself was unimpressive, but the marble statue under the glass was anything but.
Charley gasped.
It can’t be…
But it most definitely was. The missing dick was a dead giveaway.
Heart in her throat, Charley approached the table for a closer look at the sculpture—a first-century Roman statue of Hermes, carved in marble after a style favored in Greece hundreds of years prior.
The dick was filed away in antiquity, a mystery the art world had never solved. The statue was absolutely authentic—the mismatched wings on the sandals, the ornately carved hair and musculature, the missing member. It was exactly as Charley remembered from her art books.
It was the real deal.
It was priceless.
And—mindfuck of all mindfucks—it was another piece from her father’s missing cache.
Charley’s heart hammered, her palms sweating inside the satin gloves. Why did Dorian Redthorne—her Dorian Redthorne—have two pieces of art from the heist that had basically killed her dad?
Had Rudy known about these pieces?
Was he home sipping his martini, laughing his ass off as he sent her out to chase after her father’s ghost?
Was this all a fucking game to him?
Questions rushed at her from the deepest, most fearful parts of her heart. Charley was so lost in thought and worry, she didn’t even hear the man behind her until it was too late.
“Is something wrong, Ms. D’Amico?” he asked. “You seem a bit… confused.”
Charley jumped and spun around, coming face-to-face with Malcolm, his mistrustful gaze boring straight through her.
“No, I…” She took a step back, bumping against the glass-topped table, her mind whirling as she tried to recalibrate.
She should’ve apologized. She should’ve acted drunk. She should’ve turned the charm on full blast, forced out a nervous giggle, and invented another excuse about getting lost on the way to the powder room.
But with Malcolm towering over her, all she said was, “I need to speak with Dorian.”
“And you thought you’d find him down here?” He glanced over her shoulder at the table behind her. “Under the glass, perhaps?”
“Please, Malcolm. If you could let your brother know I’m looking for him—”
“Well, well,” he said suddenly, his gaze shifting to the elevator. “It seems the devil’s ears are ringing.”
The door slid open, and Dorian walked out alone, his tie undone again, eyes red, jaw tight. His hair was a hot, sexy mess.
“Dorian,” she whispered, fingers curling at the thought of running her hands through it.
And though he shouldn’t have been able to hear her all the way across the room, he glanced up immediately, his eyes and mouth softening at the sight of her.
“Ms. D’Amico,” he said, approaching them so gracefully, he practically glided. “Is my brother harassing you?”
“Hardly,” Malcolm said. “I found her here, looking as if—”
Dorian cut him off with a raised hand, the two brothers glaring at each other over the top of Charley’s head.
Were they always at odds, or was it just her? She was starting to get a complex.
After another few seconds of silent dick-measuring, Malcolm finally retreated, heading back upstairs and leaving them blissfully alone.
Charley had a million questions now—where were you? What’s down there? What’s up with your crazy family? Why didn’t you tell me about your father?—but she couldn’t hold his gaze.
Instead, she turned toward the table and pointed at the statue beneath the glass. “Where did you get this?”
“Hermes?” Dorian slipped his arms around her from behind, resting his