Luca runs his hands down the sides of his face in exasperation for what feels like the twentieth time in a span of three seconds.
"Mamma, per favore," he begs the short, irate woman pacing a hole in his carpet.
"No!" she snaps. "I have grandchildren and you didn't think to call me? Not until you need me?"
"I know, Mamma. I just.. I needed time to wrap my head around it." He halts her frantic pacing and takes her hand in his, holding it to his chest. "Mi dispiace... H-ho paura."
She reaches up and strokes his cheek lovingly. "You're afraid? Of what, amore?"
"I'm afraid of.. what if I'm not enough? Not present enough. Not good enough. Not—"
"Calmo," she soothed. "You question yourself? Why? You are a good man, Luciano. Never question that."
"But... Mamma.."
"Shhh," she pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head. "You are exactly who they need. Capisce?"
She resumed stroking his cheek and he closed his eyes, soaking up her love. "Si, Mamma... grazie."
"Prego. Now," she smacks his cheek hard enough to startle his eyes back open. "Bring me my grandbabies."
*
The event began roughly twenty minutes ago, and three pieces have already sold. More money is being exchanged within the small confines of this room than the average person makes in a lifetime.
Priceless artifacts—which actually accrue to the pretty price of billions of dollars—will be bought and sold, but I'm only interested in one: an ancient Egyptian scroll fragment belonging to Amenhotep's Book of the Dead.
An item so lucrative, it's said to be a mere legend. A mythical piece of papyrus that couldn't possibly been entombed with the high priest, but Elaine West had proved otherwise.
She verified its existence, only to have it extinguish her own.
Paintings, vases, jewelry, ancient tools, and raw precious stones have graced the front table. Then finally... finally... the speaker calls out the scroll.
"And our last item this evening. A fragment of Amenhotep's Book of the Dead. This ancient Egyptian Dead Sea scroll is starting at 50 million dollars."
It sells at 200 million.
I feel like vomiting at the profit this murderer made from my mother's death.
As the self-appointed director of the event, I move closer to the speaker's podium to thank him for his time, and to also peep the list of sellers.
My heart freezes in my chest.
Craig Melanson?
That can't be right.
I look around the room, desperate to find him. I've spent months focusing on the short list of people my mother worked with last when all along I should've been looking at the person who gave me that list.
Our eyes meet across the room, and it takes him a moment to recognize me. Once he does, a look of deranged humor flits across his face.
The room around me pulses and my vision narrows as I storm through the sea of people boasting over their new prizes.
"You son of a bitch," I growl once I'm close enough.
"Clover," he muses while giving me a once over. "You look... just like your mother. Though, the pink hair is a bit much."
YOU ARE READING
Clover Undercover
General FictionThe moment Clover West walks into Detective Luciano Cavella's office, his world stops on its axis. She arrives with a tight-lipped past and two incredibly important pieces of his life in which the hardened detective never knew were missing. The more...
