“Of course.” He carried the pieces to the front counter and began wrapping them in craft paper. “What kind of ceramics do you make?”
Earlier, I’d mentioned to him I’d taken classes. “I like to experiment with different techniques,” I told him. “I try not to be too rigid or perfectionistic with it. I just get myself at the wheel and follow my creativity. Working with clay makes me feel grounded.”
Nunzio hummed in agreement, still wrapping. “I understand that completely. Sometimes I tell my brother he needs to forget the business side of things for a while and just enjoy the process again. He used to spend more time making pieces with me, but now he focuses mostly on the business.”
I smiled. “Then I hope you can convince him to come back to it. I think making art and letting our own creativity breathe is one of the most meaningful things we can do.”
Nunzio met my gaze, a fond smile playing on his lips. I returned it. We’d clicked, the way people sometimes do when they carry a common passion in their souls.
After a moment, he looked toward the room with the Quaranta collection and let out a deep breath. “All right,” he said.
My pulse picked up speed.
“I can give you a name. No contact information, and please, if you do get in touch with this person, don’t mention me.” He leaned in. “This individual has the most magnificent Quaranta collection. Likely the biggest in the world.”
Inside me, something deflated.
I didn’t need a name. We already had the name. I needed to know how to reach Rena Santoro.
We began to speak at the same time.
“The name of the collector is Dominic Bellandi.”
“Are you sure you can’t— Wait. What?” Bellandi? Who the heck was Dominic Bellandi?
The bell rang and a draft swooped in. Heavy footsteps sounded behind me.
Cosimo.I turned, ready to face his wrath at me sneaking away.
Only I didn’t find my husband.
It was Salvatore.
My stomach sank.Shit. Was he going to throw me out again?
Nunzio’s spine went ramrod straight. “She’s just here to buy a couple of our pieces.”
But Salvatore didn’t seem angry to see me here. Instead, dark amusement danced in his expression.
“You came back at the perfect time,” he drawled.
Apprehension slid cold and quick through my veins, but I forced a smile anyway. “Perfect time for what?”
Salvatore crossed his arms and looked down at me with a smugness that made every nerve in my body tighten. “The collector who reserved the piece you wanted is here.”
I went still. “Here?”
“Just outside,” he said. “Parking his motorbike.”
Motorbike. Could it be?
The door swung open once again, and a man with a scar on his face walked in.
CHAPTER 42
COSIMO
The breakfast serviceat the hotel was almost finished. I’d been sitting at the same corner table for the better part of two hours. My coffee had gone cold beside me, and my laptop was open to a contract I’d read three times without absorbing a single fucking word of it. The lawyer had said he needed a response this morning. I couldn’t make myself care.
