Page 88 of Brutal Truths

Her focus shifts back to my arm, resuming her work. It’s a poor cover. Easy to see through.

The tension only leaves her when Trent closes the lid and pulls it back toward him.

The silence stretches, thick enough to feel.

He breaks it, shocking both of us with the words that fall from his mouth.

“The day I met your mother, I was there to collect an art piece I paid your grandmother to steal for me.”

Chapter 26

Isabel

“Fucker,” Aiden groans as the suture bites deeper than I meant it to.

“Sorry.” The word is automatic as I loosen the pull and tie it off. My focus shifts the second it’s done, my glare locking on Mr. Doyle. “I thought you wanted me to know the truth.”

The man has the audacity to grin. It’s so bloody evil it makes me want to slap him, but of course I don’t.

“I do. The truth isn’t always pleasant. It can be damn near painful at times.”

Looking down at Aiden’s gash, I take a controlled breath and get back to work. Three more sutures before I can call it good.

“And you expect me to believe you, a man who lies for a living?”

Aiden lifts an eyebrow but says nothing. I know he’s amused at my willingness to not let his boss get away with acting like I’m some naïve princess. I’m not.

My life may have been sheltered, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen things. I have. I’ve learned all about the monsters living amongst us.

Violet is proof of that. My sister-in-law survived something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, at the hands of a man not all that different from the one standing behind me. My family tried to keep the gory details from me, but that was impossible to do. Information posted online becomes a permanent fixture, difficult to erase.

Even now, years later, Darius has a team dedicated to removing any videos that resurface.

“I don’t expect you to take me at my word.”

There’s a lack of arrogance in his tone that throws me off.

“You think I’d tell you this if I didn’t have proof? Look at the invoices. Do a little research of your own. If I were you, I’d start with the Botticelli. Why do you think your grandmother loves that one so damn much?”

“Didn’t your ex sell it to her?” Aiden asks. “Silas mentioned that.”

“My ex appreciated the history behind that painting. She sold it to Alma to get back at me.”

A beat passes before I find myself asking, “What’s that mean?”

“The original owner was the brother of someone I’m sure you know. I believe he’s your uncle.” There’s a dramatic pause. “Viktor Del Markov, he married Ramon’s youngest sister, correct?”

The name burns going down, bile rising in my throat before I force it back. “He did. We don’t know where he went after my brother banished him from Hermosa Islas.” My voice hardens, my lips tight. “For all we know, he’s dead. The world would be a better place if he were.”

“He’s not.” A single tap of Mr. Doyle’s finger against the smooth tabletop lands with quiet precision. “But if he ever shows his face in London, I’ll make sure he is. The entire Del Markov bratva should be erased. But that is a story for another day. Let me get back to my point.”

“Can’t wait to hear it,” I say with so much sarcasm it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Makim, the youngest Del Markov brother, loved that painting. Which is why I had to have it. Your grandmother was the best in the business. No one could get their hands on pieces the way she could. I paid a fortune for her services, well worth it. To this day, I still don’t know how she pulled it off.” A faint smile touches his lips. “I don’t really care. It was worth it the moment Makim stepped into my office and saw it hanging there.”

The smile lingers, but it’s darker now. “I’ll spare you the gory details of what happened next. You don’t need those.”

“You killed him.” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but it happens anyway.