A muscle jumped in his cheek. Then he lifted his card with a crisp snap. “One point five million.”
“One point five from Mr. Álvarez,” the auctioneer declared. “Mr. Blackwood, would you like to counter?”
Rhys didn’t answer right away, letting the tension build, letting Álvarez wonder if he’d reached his limit. He met the other man’s gaze. His hand twitched fractionally. A heartbeat, maybe two, later, he inclined his head.
The implication was deliberate, his message clear:You want it more. I’ll allow you to have it.
The gavel came down decisively.
“Sold,” the auctioneer announced. “To Mr. Álvarez, for one million, five hundred thousand dollars.”
A polite wave of applause rippled through the gallery.
Álvarez allowed himself a small, victorious exhale. He turned to Rhys, tempered respect gleaming coolly in his eyes.
“Well played, Mr. Blackwood. Rarely do I meet someone who appreciates art at its proper value.”
“I would have loved to addTentazioneto my collection,” Rhys replied smoothly. “But you are correct. Such a piece belongs with the one who wants it most.”
Álvarez’s smile deepened, tinged with grudging admiration.
Heat crawled up the back of Rhys’s neck, anger surging through him at the compliment. Getting approval from a man who trafficked young women, who might be holding Gaby’s sister, made him want to wipe the smug smile off his face with his fist, in one bone-shattering punch.
Instead, he inclined his head, cool and controlled. “Congratulations on your new acquisition. Enjoy your evening.”
“I shall,” Álvarez purred. “Now that Temptation is mine. You were a worthy adversary. Perhaps next time you’ll best me.”
Rhys paused and asked pointedly, “Next time?”
“We’ll cross paths again,” he said with easy confidence. “Men with our shared interests often do.”
Revulsion swept through him, swift and cold. In no universe ever were they kindred spirits. But he forced a smile, satisfied their trap had sprung cleanly. “I look forward to that day.”
Across the room, the gallery staff moved with precision—white gloves, archival paper, a custom crate already waiting. No one mishandled a rediscovered masterwork worth more than most people earned in their lifetime.
“Mr. Álvarez,” Simone said smoothly as she slipped in beside him, clipboard in hand. “Just a bit of paperwork, and thenTentazioneis yours to take with you this evening.”
Rhys watched from a distance as the transaction unfolded. Electronic transfer. Authentication. Signatures. Álvarez barely glanced at the total. To him, money was a tool, not an obstacle.
Within minutes, he left with his entourage, the crate bearing his purchase carried reverently behind him like holy cargo.
When the doors closed behind Álvarez, Rhys exhaled. Not with relief or in triumph, but with purpose settling deep in his bones. He didn’t doubt an invitation would come. Men like Sebastián Álvarez always wanted to test their reflection. And tonight, the bastard believed he’d found a mirror image in him.
Rhys wanted no confusion. He was nothing like that monster. But Natalie’s life depended on him playing his part flawlessly.
So, he would wait. And when their paths crossed again, it wouldn’t involve art or wealth or the smug arrogance of powerful men. It would be Álvarez, handcuffed, humiliated, and perp-walked out of his crumbling empire into the waiting FBI helicopter.
He’d end his reign of depravity exactly where he belonged. Behind bars.
***
From the surveillance van tucked in the alley behind the gallery, Gaby watched Álvarez step out into the heat and humidity, victory written into every line of his smug, entitled face. He slid into the back seat of a slick black limo and, just like that, was gone.
After doing flip-flops for the last hour, her stomach twisted into a hard knot. It felt like Natalie had disappeared all over again.
“That’s it?” she whispered, her voice frayed at the edges. “He wins the piece and just leaves?”
Leland leaned against the console, arms folded. “This was the plan, Gaby.”
