Page 15 of City Of Thieves

Recently, Konstantin’s been demanding purchases beyond our usual remit.

“Nine hundred and fifty, Erika.”

“Commission percentage?”

“Nil.”

Not in monetary terms, anyway.

Maybe this time, he’ll be true to his word. Maybe this time, he’ll fly me out to Moscow and give me a whole hour as a reward. It’s been two hundred days, five months, and seventeen days since he last relented, and every single second apart has been agony.

I can feel Erika’s sharp eyes following me as I spin a cool ninety-degree turn and make my way through the main gallery toward the glass atrium. The white walls ofElysiumare dazzling in the midday light—the paintings even more so. As I walk, I feel a rare sense of calm overriding my sadness. Sunshine is a life force for creativity, breathing new dimensions into every textured brush stroke. Here, in the middle of my empty, perfect gallery, I can almost imagine myself feeling…somethingagain.

Then I remember the anonymous text message, and a tall, dark cloud snuffs it out. I know it’s Marchesi who sent it. What I don’t know iswhy,and it’s unsettling me as much as the man himself.

Turning the corner, I forget the problem in a black Brioni when I see another in a crumpled white T-shirt loitering in front of a canvas.

“Seb?” I grind to a halt in shock.

“Surprise.” My twin brother turns, a loaded grin on his handsome face, his wayward dark hair tumbling into his unapologetic brown eyes. He looks so much like our father now that my breath catches. “Figured I’d have more of a chance of you seeing me if I pretended to be a dollar sign.”

I find myself cursing Erika’s name.First time for everything...Still, there’s no way she could have known we’re related. My style is uptight Manhattan bitch while Seb’s is more downtown, laid back, ran-a-red-light-and-couldn’t-give-a-fuck-officer. Besides, none of my family has stepped foot insideElysiumsince the day it opened.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Came to blow out some candles with you.” He purses his lips for a split second before collapsing into laughter. That’s us to a “T”: Easy Company and the Ice Empress. People instantly warm to him, while I can’t stop freezing them out. “Happy birthday, sis.”

Birthday? Am I really twenty-three today?

I feel so much older.

When I don’t return his drawled-out felicitations, he slides his hands into his jeans and ambles up to the next painting, trailing white laces and curiosity. “Why are you and Mom so obsessed with this abstract shit, anyway?”

My heart stutters at the mention of her name. “How is she?”

“Missing you.”

“Dad?”

“Cursing you and then missing you.”

“You?”

“Cursing you, missing you, and still trying to understand what the hell went down between us.”

I glance at my hands and realize I’m still clutching my phone. Flashing the screen toward me, I see another missed call from a withheld number, but nothing more from Marchesi.

“You need to leave,” I say, turning away to lead the stampede myself.

“Isn’t it time you retired the whole ‘rebellious teenager’ thing?”

“I mean it, Seb.”

I hear the squeak of sneakers on polished parquet, and then a warm hand is gently touching my arm. “Tatiana, we need to talk—”

“Leave!” I scream, my whole body recoiling from his touch.

His golden grin slips, and I feel like I just kicked a puppy. We’re twins; his pain is my pain. When I hurt him, I know I’m only hurting myself. But there’s another chapter to my story now. A beautiful, innocent little chapter who forces more and more distance between me and my family in order to bring me closer to her.