Alexander closes the door behind us and leans against it, arms folded.
No one sits at first.
Viktor looks at me. “Alexander messaged. Your unexpected guest. What happened?”
I take a breath, steadying myself. “Milo came in. Sat down like nothing was wrong. Asked where I’d been. I told him I’d been with a relative out of town. He bought it. Well, I think he did. Anyway, he said the show could be rebuilt once I make new work.”
Ivan leans against a stack of boxes, arms crossed, listening. He nods at me, and then at Robbie. There’s a cold, calculating edge to him. I can tell that he’s here for serious business.
“Then I asked about the building,” I continue. “Whether he was still selling. He said no, the original offer fell through after the shooting. But there’s a new buyer on the horizon. A better offer, a better buyer… no offence. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Viktor and Ivan exchange a glance—quick, knowing. They already suspected Milo. I can see it in the way Viktor’s jaw tightens, the way Ivan’s eyes narrow just a fraction.
“Good,” Viktor says. “That tracks. Ivan?”
“Tracks all the way to the bank,” Ivan agrees.
I swallow. “He put his hand on my wrist when he left. Like… I don’t know. Like… he expected something. It was gross.”
Viktor’s expression darkens, but he keeps his voice even. “I want to get him one-on-one again.Soon. Corner him. Get answers.”
“I’ll arrange it,” I say before I can second-guess myself.
Viktor’s head snaps toward me. “No.”
“Viktor—”
“You’re not bait,” Viktor says. “Not again.”
“I’m not asking permission,” I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. “I’m telling you I’ll do it. He trusts me. He thinks I’m still the grateful little artist he discovered. If I message him, say I want to talk about new work, about the show, he’ll meet me at the gallery. Alone. You can be there. Waiting.”
Viktor’s eyes search mine.
I see the war inside him—protection versus necessity. He doesn’t want me anywhere near Milo. But he also knows I’m right.
Robbie steps forward from the doorway. “I’ll go with him.”
Everyone turns. He lifts his chin, defiant. “Eddie’s not going alone. I’ll be there. Backup. Distraction. Whatever you need.”
“Let them help,” Ivan says. “We need every edge we can get.”
Viktor studies Robbie for a long moment. Then he looks back at me. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say. My heart is hammering, but it’s not just fear. There’s something else… excitement, maybe even pride.
I’ve spent so long running from danger, hiding behind my art. Now I’m stepping into it. Willingly.
Maybe this is a whole other side to me that’s been waiting to unlock.
Viktor exhales through his nose. “Fine. But you follow every instruction. No heroics. You see anything off, you leave. Immediately.”
I nod. Robbie nods too.
Viktor pulls out his phone. “Message him. Gallery. Late afternoon tomorrow. Say you’ve got ideas for new work, want to walk the space, talk logistics. Whatever the hell you arty types talk about. Say this is a new number or something.”
I take the phone, fingers trembling only slightly as I type:
Eddie: Hey Milo, great seeing you earlier. New number. Been thinking about new pieces too… darker stuff. Can we meet at the gallery tomorrow afternoon? Walk the space, talk about rebuilding the show? Around 4? xo
