Lucia nodded and led the way back to the living room.
“I’m assuming this was supposed to happen during the ball? Someone sneaking in while everyone is distracted?” Penelope asked upon sitting back down.
“You’re sure you’re not secretly a criminal mastermind?” Francesca asked, amusement dancing in her dark eyes.
She was truly an intimidating sight—fierce and composed. A voluminous halo of tight natural curls framed her face with effortless power and elegance—striking, unapologetically bold, impossible to ignore. Good thing Penelope wasn’t easily intimidated.
“Quite. It just makes sense. But you messed up, and now, because of your Bellini, theMadonnawill be displayed in the east wing as well.”
“Will it?” Francesca asked.
Penelope opened her mouth, but Francesca cut her off.
“You won’t get any more details until we come to an agreement.”
“Right. Here’s the thing, I’m not committing any crimes. You cannot change your mind and sell the painting on the black market. I need to see some kind of proof that theMadonnatruly belonged to your family.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“And how about you tell me what exactly your little Collective does? How are you better than Eris?”
Francesca froze, her expression turning stony. “We’re not in it for money.”
“How does that work? Your operations surely aren’t cheap, and none of you appear destitute.”
Lucia shifted in her seat.
“We’re paid when families get back what was stolen from them.” Francesca leaned back in her chair. “Sometimes by heirs, sometimes by patrons who want to see restitution done. And, yes, we sell the occasional forgery to those who can afford to be fooled. But the originals? Those go where they belong.”
“So you wash consciences while Eris launders art?” Penelope asked.
“We’re not in it for power.” Francesca’s tone held an uncomfortable edge. “Or hoarding. Eris wants control. We want balance.”
Penelope nodded, unsure what to make of this. “I also…I need to sleep on this. Even if I’m not actively committing a crime, aiding and abetting is a thing.” She took a deep breath. “But I do want Valentina to fall.”
“If Varnelli overreaches, she’ll topple herself. All I care about is theMadonna, but I won’t stand in your way if you go after her.”
Penelope tilted her head. “Why would you? You seem to despise her.”
Francesca grimaced. “It’s complicated, and entirely irrelevant for our issues at hand.”
~ ~ ~
When Penelope returned home, she went on a short walk, trying to burn some of her restless energy and clear her mind. Her thoughts seemed to find order out in the woods, like a volatile molecule stabilizing into perfect symmetry.
She still struggled to reconcile who she was, or thought she was—someone finding and protecting the truth—with who she seemed to become when things came to a head. How quickly she was willing to bend her principles given the right incentive, all to make Valentina bleed.
And save her own neck.
Is that what people mean when they say everyone has a price?
While she said she needed to sleep on this (and she would), Penelope had already made up her mind. She’d work with Lucia and Francesca, at least listen to their full plan and see what they had in store for her. She could still back out if they crossed one of her boundaries.
How funny. Anything criminal used to be a hard boundary. But that was before Valentina used her father as a dispensable pawn to take the fall.
She and Lucia had left things suspended—no goodbye, no promise. Just a request to text tomorrow with her answer. Technically a plan, but it didn’t feel likeanything.
Back home, Penelope checked her mail and stiffened upon discovering the letter Valentina had promised. She opened it right there on the porch, skimmed it, and rolled her eyes. As if she were stupid enough to agree to a situation where she’d owe that shark.
