Page 8 of Brutal Truths

Cort nods in agreement, then immediately contradicts himself. “Perhaps. All I know is our arrangement ended that day. He told me that my store was compromised, and he’d find another way for me to repay him. Then he just left—no warning, no explanation. Which isn’t like your father at all.”

A moment of silence settles between us. Silas looks at me, and we both agree but refuse to say the words out loud.

“Trent contacted me as soon as he heard Rico was ready to sell the brooch.” Cort breaks the silence, his expression grim. “But he wished to remain anonymous. Said Rico would never sell it to him if he knew he was the buyer. I agreed to take the offer to Rico. It was above its value, and I was certain he’d accept. Except he didn’t, because someone else offered him nearly double.”

That grabs my attention. When Trent tried to purchase the painting from Rico, the same thing happened. Meaning it’s not a coincidence. This person is trying really hard to annoy Trent, mess up his plans, and get a rise out of him.

But why?

“Let me guess, Mr. Cygan?” I take my first sip from my highball. “Did he call you or go directly to Rico?”

“He contacted both of us. Said he had a business proposition we’d be fools to turn down.” For the first time since we sat down, Cort looks up at me. “But because he wouldn’t meet in person, Rico refused.”

“But you didn’t, did you?” Silas narrows his eyes as Cort shifts in his seat. “Why?”

“Because I’m not an idiot and have a hell of a lot more to lose.” Cort runs a hand over his brow. “Cygan sent Urick and Tank to convince me it would be unwise. They had a photo of my daughter. She’s only twelve.” His voice falters. “Told me that if I didn’t help Mr. Cygan, then they’d take her and put her to work. Said a pretty girl like her would⁠—”

He lunges for the trash can, face gone pale, and empties his stomach into it with a sickening splash. Three more heaves tear through him before he finally looks up at me, eyes hollow. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Glancing over at Silas, I find understanding in his eyes. He may be an arsehole, but he can sympathize. His daughter is about the same age, and he’d burn the world to keep her safe.

Cort looks up, his eyes wide, guilt flooding them. “I called Rico. Mentioned someone was interested in the brooch. He invited us over, said he was alone for the evening.”

Throwing his head back, Cort drains the last of his whiskey for the second time. “Urick posed as the buyer. Tank and Marvin played his bodyguards.”

Reaching for the decanter, Cort refills it himself this time, filling it to the brim. He lifts it and downs half of it. “But when Rico greeted us, he recognized Marvin. Called him Marty and asked him why he wasn’t with his granddaughter.”

Of course, he recognized him. Why did nobody think of that? But then I remember how sloppy the Russians were at the club, and I know they didn’t do their homework.

“Things went downhill quickly.” Cort shuts his eyes as if it might help him remember. “Rico tried to turn us away, but they forced their way in. Dragged him straight to his office. Tried to convince him to let them inside the gallery, but he refused. It didn’t take him long to realize Mr. Cygan was behind it. Called me a traitor. Told the three men to tell their boss if he wanted the brooch and painting, then he’d have to come get it himself.”

“Did he come?” Silas grabs the bottle this time, tipping it over his glass.

“Urick called him. Extended Rico’s invitation. He promised to be there in twenty.”

“But you told us you’d never met him in person.” Silas beats me to it.

“I haven’t. You called before he showed up. After I hung up, Marvin called his boss again. Handed me the phone, and Mr. Cygan reminded me what a face-to-face meeting meant. That’s when he told me to make sure you believed me, or he’d deal with me himself.” Cort’s hands tremble again, the ice in his glass clinking against the sides. “You know the rest.”

Silas slams his drink down before reaching for the brooch. He turns it over in his hand, studying it closely, and something in his expression shifts. “Where did you find this?”

“It was in Rico’s safe. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.” Leaning back, I slowly nurse my drink.

“I never thought I’d see this again.”

As his fingers brush against the smooth surface of the jewels, a fleeting smile touches his lips. “This belonged to my grandmother. She wore it almost every day. Said it reminded her of my grandfather. When she died, it disappeared. I always thought it was buried with her. When I married Imogen, I asked my father about it. I didn’t want it for her.”

His expression turns sour, as if the thought leaves a nasty taste in his mouth. “I wanted to give it to Freya when she was old enough. He told me it was stolen during one of the raids the Del Markovs carried out on our home before he banished them.”

Freya is Silas’s daughter, the one who attends Headington School for girls in Oxford.

It’s a good cover, but it’s been disproven. Now I have to wonder, which is why I ask, “How did Rico end up with it?”

With a sharp snap of his fingers, Cort frowns and closes his eyes again. “I’d asked him that once. He mumbled something about finding it among Sofia’s belongings after she died. Said there was a note that he was supposed to give it to her daughter one day. I remember the way he looked at it. Disgusted. Said his granddaughter was better off not knowing it existed. That it would only cause her pain… and put her in more danger.”

When he opens his eyes, they go straight to Silas. “He never said how Sofia got it. But I got the impression it was given to her by someone who once cared for her.”

“Why do you think that?” Silas and I speak in unison.