Shades of Sins (New York Sinner Series Book 2)

9| Artist

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Artist

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Chapter 9: Artist (Anastasia's POV)

A deafening silence took over as we sat in the car, driving to the crime scene. 

Marshall wouldn't budge on anything to the point where I thought he was trying to trick me into not taking this case. Perhaps he thought if he put Dante in front of me, I would walk away from this case, but clearly, that didn't happen. 

He was adamant about Dante and me never leaving each other's side during this case; he wouldn't let me drive myself to the gallery either, insisting that we stay together. 

"Do you, Ms Vitalio?" Dante asked, snapping me out of my gaze. 

I tore my eyes from the window. "What?" 

"Do you have any leads?" he questioned. 

Letting out a breath, I tipped my head back. "No, not yet. Isn't that why we're going to the gallery? To find evidence where it all began?" 

"What made you so invested in this case?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Since you found it so unreasonable that I wanted to work on it simply because I was intrigued, I expected you to have a more grand reason," he taunted, glancing at me. 

I stared at him blankly, annoyance surging through me again. 

He never lost an opportunity to agitate me. "Did the paintings speak to you?" he mused. 

"They did. In fact, it looked identical to one I painted of you, would you like to see it, Mr Rossi?" I lifted a brow at him. 

He looked at me. "You still have those when you look at me." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Serial killer eyes." 

"Yes, of course. It's hard not to imagine strangling you, I suppose I can't help that they show." 

"We haven't seen each other in a year, I'm glad to see everything is just how we left it," he muttered sarcastically as he pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car. 

I unbuckled myself. "Do as I say," I demanded, "you're not the one with a badge here. I won't bother stopping the cops if they decide to throw you out." Stepping out of the car, I entered the gallery, exchanging a brief nod with the head officer on duty. 

Twisting my hair back into a bun, I took out a pair of cherry red leather gloves from my pocket and slipped them on just as Dante brought out a pair of his own black leather ones. I hadn't intended to bring this specific pair with me, but this morning, I couldn't find my second pair. 

These were the first ever gloves I wore to a crime scene, the first gift Dante had ever given me. With no desire to look for his reaction, I walked further into the room and began taking a tour just as I had last night, retracing each of my steps.