They both stepped away, Álvarez reluctantly, as if tempted to snatch the panel and run with it.
As the gallery filled, Rhys accepted a glass of champagne and surveyed the room. Richard Sabatini hovered near his protégé’s work, preening with pride. The style wasn’t Rhys’s taste, but they were undeniably strong. Cari and Simone would come out of this with their reputations not just intact but enhanced.
Devlin security blended seamlessly into the crowd. Lorenzo and Michael, with Greta on his arm, looked every inch the affluent patrons they pretended to be. Beneath the relaxed surface, they were prepared to act at the first sign of trouble. Outside the room, the unseen half of the team monitored every entrance and blind spot.
The gallery lights dimmed briefly, signaling the main event. Conversation tapered off as the auctioneer stepped onto a small, raised podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, voice rich and practiced, “thank you for joining us tonight. We are honored to present a singular piece of extraordinary rarity, Niccolo Bellandi’sTentazione, the fourth panel of his renownedLe Virtù e la Caduta.”
A ripple of anticipation moved through the room, heightened by the awareness that they were witnessing an event both mythic and historic.
“Bellandi’s triptych was presumed complete,” the auctioneer continued. “The existence of a fourth, more provocative panel, created solely for private display, has remained conjecture for centuries, until now.”
He gestured toward the painting, which glowed dark and sensual, its allure magnetic, under the focused light.
“This piece has been authenticated through extensive provenance research, including pigment analysis and archival corroboration. It is, in short, the rediscovery of a forgotten masterpiece.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch.
“We will begin the bidding at eight hundred thousand dollars.”
A quiet gasp rippled from several corners of the room. Some attendees were impressed, others startled. It was an aggressive opening number, even for this crowd.
Rhys didn’t react. Of course, Álvarez didn’t. But a few of the other collectors stiffened, recalculating their limits.
“Eight hundred,” Lorenzo called, starting things off. Playing his role beautifully.
“Eight hundred thousand,” the auctioneer confirmed. “Do I have eight-fifty?”
A paddle lifted.
“Eight-fifty. Do I hear nine?”
Another bidder across the room raised a hand.
“Nine hundred thousand,” the auctioneer announced. “Nine-fifty?”
Michael lifted his card without hesitation.
“Nine-fifty. One million?”
The air practically crackled with exhilaration over a potential bidding war.
“One million,” Rhys bid smoothly, not with a raised paddle but with the slightest lift of his hand. Controlled. Understated. Certain.
Álvarez countered immediately.
“One point one million. Thank you, sir. One point two?”
The auctioneer looked at Michael, who shook his head.
Rhys paused long enough to let Álvarez feel the pressure. Then he lifted a single finger. “One point two.”
Lorenzo folded next. Other collectors bowed out, some gracefully, one with visible frustration. Two European bidders held on briefly but faltered as the price soared past their comfort.
When only two men remained, the room held its breath.
“Mr. Blackwood has the current bid of one point four million dollars,” the auctioneer confirmed then looked at Álvarez. “Going once…”
