Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,94
and contacts me when something that may be of interest crosses his path.” He sipped his Cognac, relaxing deeper into his chair. “He acquired the LaPorte for me about three years ago, Hermes… maybe six or eight months later. They both came from separate estate auctions, I believe.”
“You believe? Or you know?”
“Does it matter?”
Charley closed her eyes, returning the glass to her lips. She really didn’t want to disclose anything else, but she sensed Dorian would make things a lot more difficult if she didn’t at least give him a breadcrumb or two.
She just needed some liquid courage first.
After a few more sips, she said, “What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room. Do I have your word?”
Dorian’s eyebrows lifted. “I can’t imagine what could be so secretive about a perfectly legal transaction I made years ago, with a broker who’s made dozens of similar transactions before and since.”
“Your word, Dorian.”
Concern warred with curiosity in his eyes, but eventually, he gave in. “Fine. It won’t leave this room.”
“At one time, both pieces belonged to a single collector in the West Village.”
“Really? I didn’t acquire them together. As I said, I’m fairly certain they came from different estates.”
“Prior ownership isn’t the only thing they have in common.” Charley stared into her glass, firelight dancing in the amber liquid. She tried not to think about the fires of hell. “The LaPorte and the Hermes, along with the rest of the man’s collection—approximately seventy million dollars in art and artifacts—were stolen from his apartment five years ago, never recovered. As far as I know, yours are the first pieces to surface.”
“That’s… impossible.”
“I wish it were.”
Dorian leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “Charlotte. How on earth do you know about this?”
“It’s my job.”
“So you investigate art heists for a living? I thought you were a consultant.”
“I am a consultant. And in my line of work, sometimes I come across stolen pieces. It’s not as unusual as you might think.”
“Why haven’t I heard of this before? An art heist of that magnitude should’ve made the papers.”
Charley’s cheeks heated, and she took another sip of Cognac, unable to hold his gaze. “The theft was never reported. I suspect the collector wanted to keep his name out of the spotlight.”
“Which brings me back to my question. How did you find out about it?”
“I—”
“Dorian,” a voice from the doorway called. “Ms. D’amico.”
Dorian sighed. “Good afternoon, Gabriel. Is there something we can assist you with?”
“Found this at the bottom of the hill. Thought you might want it back.” He crossed the room and handed Charley her cell phone, scuffed up but still functional.
“Thank you,” she said, not sure if she was more grateful for the recovery of her phone or the break from Dorian’s scrutiny.
“Anything else?” Dorian asked his brother.
“Malcolm and I are heading back out now—I just wanted to return the phone.”
Dorian nodded. “Keep me—”
“Informed,” Gabriel said, already turning his back. “Of course, your highness.”
He was almost to the doorway when Charley spoke up again. “Gabriel, wait.”
He stilled, one hand on the doorframe, but didn’t turn around.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said.
“You’ve already done so.”
“Not for the phone. For last night. You and Dorian… You saved my life. I know you took a big risk. So… thank you. Again.”
He let out a sigh, then turned his head, glancing at her over his shoulder. It was the first time she’d seen even a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “You didn’t deserve what they did to you.”
And then he was gone, leaving a chill in his wake.
Charley pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders.
“No one ever accused my brother of being a gracious host,” Dorian said. “Be grateful you’ve only got a sister, love. Brothers are more trouble than they’re worth.”
Charley smiled, but beneath the irritation, Dorian’s tone held a note of softness. Sadness too, but it was clear to her that whatever their shared resentments, the brothers cared deeply for one another.
She thought of what Dorian had said earlier, about how his brothers and his vampire house were one in the same. He hadn’t wanted to talk about how he’d become a vampire, but Charley suspected whatever had happened that fateful day was at the root of their fractured relationships.
Tragedy cast long shadows. She could only imagine what that meant for immortals.
“Sasha’s the best,” she said, trying to inject some lightness into the conversation, hoping to avoid any more questions about her so-called career.
“Sasha, the erotic vegetable photographer?” Dorian finally smiled, his eyes