Page 63 of Vow Of Fire

“What Central American buyers?” Nico asked, glancing at Dante. I got the feeling outsiders didn’t have much sway in this family.

“Three buyers, actually. Different shells, all routed through Central America. Two registered in Belize, one in Panama. None of the principals are real people.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. The twisted snake seemed to coil as his forearms tensed.

“They used numbered companies, nominee directors, PO box addresses,” Dante was explaining. “They all transacted through Evelyn’s gallery and bid on the same artist.”

I raised my eyebrows. That was the longest speech I think I’d heard Dante make, and as it turned out, he did know a lot about my company—or rather, the money laundering side of it. A lot more than I did.

Nico looked at me.

“Mateo Reyes,” I provided helpfully.

He waited.

“A contemporary artist out of Bogotá. We placed him in his first New York show last fall and his prices have basically doubled since then. He’s our hottest acquisition.”

“Convenient.”

I tensed. “I found him through a dealer in Mexico City. We took six pieces on consignment and they went in three weeks. He’s not a plant, he’s got real talent.”

“I’m not saying he is,” Nico said, in a tone that suggested that was exactly what he was saying. “But it’s a hell of a coincidence. Three different buyers from three different Central American shells with no connection to each other, all purchasing the same artist out of one gallery.”

“This has nothing to do with her,” Dante cut in, earning a sharp glance from his brother.

I was getting tired of Nico’s recriminations.

“What he said,” I added.

Nico turned that sharp look on me and I shivered. Where Dante’s burned hot, Nico’s was ice cold.

“Show me everything you have,” he said flatly. “Wire records, invoices, consignment notes, bid logs. Anything that touched any of those three shells in the last twelve months. I’ll cross-reference it against what I’ve got from our side.”

“The gallery system requires a manager login,” I said.

“I’ll handle the login,” Nico said, without smiling.

Dante slid him a folder. “Everything we have is in there.”

Nico flipped through it without speaking.

“Apart from the customer records,” I added. “Those are on my laptop.”

“We can send you a copy,” Dante said.

Nico’s probing gaze flicked from his brother to me, then back again. A beat passed.

“It’ll take some time,” he said, his mouth drawing into a thin line. “These people know what they’re doing, and we already know Malakov does. But everyone leaves a footprint somewhere. I’ll find it.”

I didn’t doubt he would. Nico, I sensed, was just as dangerous as his brother, but in a totally different way. Maybe even more so.

“How long?” Dante asked.

“Days.”

“Shit,” we both murmured at the same time.

Nico arched an eyebrow.

“Can I talk to you outside?” he muttered to Dante.