Page 19 of The Bonventi War

I don’t buy it for a second.

"But something's off," I finish. "It just doesn't make sense. There has to be something with the brother. Something's got to give. I can't operate on dead ends."

There's a pause

"Well, there is one interesting thing. The gallery's shipments from Europe—they've skyrocketed. From ten crates a month to hundreds."

"What? Hundreds? Where are they now?"

"That's the thing. We don't know. The brother picked them up, his name's on the paperwork. But after that? No idea." Ares clicks his tongue. "Though there are about twenty crates sitting unclaimed right now."

I lean forward. This could be the break we need. “Can you have those crates delivered to the gallery?"

"Consider it done. You got a plan?"

"I'm working on it," I say, my gaze drifting back to the monitor where Raven is still sitting on the couch. "I'll let you know."

"Alright. And Gio, if I hear anything else, you'll be the first to know."

"Appreciate it, Ares." I end the call.

I stand up, pacing the cramped living room. This whole situation is a mess. A missing father, a dead brother and a woman who's clearly hiding something.

And while I feel she's a complication I don't need, I can't shake the fact that she's also the key to everything - I can feel it. She's the missing link to finding out exactly who ordered the hit on Marco, and to making them pay.

So if she thinks she can play games with me, she's got another thing coming. I'll break her, piece by piece, until I get the truth. Because that's what I do.

And I won't hesitate to remind Raven Carvello what it means to cross a Bonventi.

10

RAVEN

The insistent buzz of my phone alarm pulls me from a restless sleep. Monday. Already. I groan and hit the snooze button.

I rub my face and sit up. Every ounce of me wants to go back to bed, especially after my disastrous weekend, but I force myself up, tossing the covers off me. I like to get to the gallery early, before anyone else arrives, and have some quiet time. I dress, work through the rest of my morning routine, fully aware of the camera's presence in my living room.

If I didn't have these high vaulted ceilings, I would have stood on a chair and ripped it out of the wall.

Maybe I'll buy a ladder.

I grab my purse and head out. I stop and look up at the small white camera. "Good morning, creepy piece of shit," I mutter, flipping off the camera.

As I walk to the elevator, I realize that giving that stupid camera the middle finger makes me feel good. Maybe I'll start every day like that.

I approach the gallery and slide my key into the door, but there's no resistance, no click.

It's already unlocked.

Shit, is he already here?

Pushing the door open, I find Gio in the middle of the gallery. Surprise, surprise. His massive frame is imposing as he speaks to two men I don't recognize, gesturing toward a mountain of crates. At least fifteen of them, maybe more, lined against the wall, taking up space.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter.

I step forward, my eyes darting to the cameras scattered throughout the gallery—identical to the one in my apartment.

Seriously? Here too?