Page 58 of The Bonventi War

I cross my arms, trying to hold myself together. "And those are?"

"The first..." He swallows hard. "Mistress of Alexei Volkov, son of the man who runs the Russian syndicate. He's young, very wealthy, and?—"

"No." The word comes out like a whip crack. "Absolutely not."

"He would take care of you, they assure me. Give you anything you want. The finest clothes, jewelry, a life of luxury?—"

"Stop it!" My voice echoes off the basement walls. "I'm not some damn commodity to be traded!"

"The other option," he glances around nervously before continuing, "we could forge enough paintings to pay them back."

"Excuse me?"

He takes another step toward me. "Think about it, Ravenna. Your skills. Your expertise in restoration. With your talents, we could do this."

"You want me to commit fraud?" The words taste bitter in my mouth.

He winces and shifts his stance. "In this kind of situation, I think it's what your mother would have wanted."

The mention of my mother hits me like a physical blow, and my anger rises to new heights.

"Don't you fucking dare," I yell. "Don't you dare use her like that."

"What? Think about it. You don't understand what they'll do to us if we don't comply. They'll kill me," he whispers. "And you—God, Ravenna, the things they'll do to you."

"Sorry, Dad, but I'm not interested in any of this."

"She would understand. She would want you safe," he presses. "She would want us to survive this."

I press my fingers against my temples, trying to think straight. I feel so many conflicting emotions that I'm nauseous.

"The Russians," my father continues, his voice soft, persuasive, "they're not people you can run from. Not even your new friend can protect you forever."

My chest tightens at the mention of Gio. What would he think if he knew I was even considering this? And more importantly, was my dad right? Would my mom want me to step up and help?

"How much?" I ask, hating myself for it.

"Forty-two million."

"Jesus Christ, Dad."

"With your skills, we could do it. I know we can. We'll create pieces that would pass any inspection. We just need to sell them. The Russians originally said they'd supply the buyers—they just want their money or..." He doesn't finish.

He's right. Icoulddo it. I know techniques that even most experts don't understand. Ways to age canvases, paints—everything.

"I can't believe you're asking me to do this," I say, tears forming in my eyes.

"I know it's not fair," he says softly. "But it's the only way, Ravenna."

"Your mom built this gallery, and now we need to save it." He steps closer, taking my hands in his. They're trembling. "Please, Ravenna. Help me fix this. For our family. For your mother's legacy."

I close my eyes, trying to think. The logical part of my brain is screaming at me to say no, to turn to Gio and let him handle this mess. But the emotional part—the daughter part that still loves my father despite everything—is wavering and pulling me in the opposite direction.

I take a deep breath. "If I do this," I say slowly, not looking at him, "it doesn't make things right between us. You understand that?"

I hear him exhale sharply. "I know. But it's a start, isn't it?"

Taking a step back, I look at him. "One condition. We do this my way. No shortcuts, no risks. And when it's done, you disappear. I run this place, you go wherever, and I don't want to see you again."