It Started With a Heist

Chapter 13

EMMA

When everything around you is so still that you can hear a needle drop, that's when you know something big is coming. Something that will completely alter your life.

Just like calm before the storm.

What started as "know thine enemy" had turned into something I couldn't even begin to comprehend. And on top of that, Jake was ahead of me—one step closer to something I couldn't see.

Maybe Eric was right after all. Maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew.

And Eric... What he did felt like being stabbed in the back by a fellow soldier, just when I had all my focus on the enemy lines.

I hadn't told him yet that I knew he sold the painting to Vitale. A part of me hoped he would come clean on his own. The other part—hurt, betrayed, and maybe even a little afraid—wasn't ready to face it. I couldn't help but wonder what else he had kept from me.

But my patience was wearing thin. This was a no-win situation, and I was already in over my head. If I was bound to get hurt either way, what was the point in waiting?

With renewed determination, I pushed off the bed and walked to the door. Throwing it open, my eyes landed on Eric instantly. He was sprawled on the couch, laptop perched on his knees, legs kicked up on the coffee table as if the world wasn't teetering on the edge of disaster.

I crossed the room in a few quick steps and stopped directly in front of him. "Eric." My voice sliced through the air, sharp and unyielding.

He shot me a sidelong glance, his fingers still flying across the keyboard, but I could tell I had his attention. It had been a while since I had initiated any conversation with him, and he knew I was giving him the silent treatment.

"Let me guess..." he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. "Boyfriend drama?"

A flicker of anger sparked in my chest, but I shoved it aside and let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Oh no, today's not about me—it's all about you."

That got to him. He snapped the laptop shut, his smirk fading as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Alright, Emma. What is it this time?"

I folded my arms, fixing him with a glare. "Who did you sell the painting to, Eric? And don't lie to me."

He let out an exasperated sigh, his eyes rolling. "Why are you so hung up on this? The buyer's just some rich guy with a mansion full of overpriced trophies to show off to his equally rich friends. End of story."

His blue eyes darkened as he spoke, and it made my stomach twist.

But then, just as quickly, his anger faded. Eric sighed, leaning back on the couch as if trying to bridge the growing gap between us. "Look, I didn't mean to snap. I just don't get why you can't let it go. The job's done, Emma. Why keep dragging it back up?"

"Let it go?" I scoffed. "You're acting like we're in the clear, like the FBI isn't still hunting us down. Newsflash: Jake's closer than ever."

His gaze sharpened. "Maybe he's closer because you keep poking the bear."

Anger flared in my chest, but before I could fire back, a soft ping interrupted us. The notification came from one of Eric's burner phones on the table.

I noticed the way Eric tensed. His eyes darted toward the phone, then away, like he didn't want to touch it in front of me.

My suspicion deepened. "Why aren't you checking it?"