Angel's Mafia (gxg) ✓

XXVI | Guilty Conscience

This chapter is dedicated to Mafrao!

Thanks for being so active in the story. Your support means the world to me.

"AND, MR. COLORA, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE RUBY?" I ASK once he finishes.

He looks at me, surprised, as though he's forgotten about it. Angel nudges me, as if to ask, What are you doing?

Right then and there, Horace Colora pulls the ruby out from around his neck. It's kept on a string, and it glitters in the sparse afternoon light like a beating heart. I can't even hold in my gasp.

"Could I see it . . . closer?"

Hesitantly, he takes the necklace off and hands it to me. The ruby is heavier than I thought it would be. I examine it thoughtfully, looking at every angle and edge.

"That'll be all, thank you," I say, handing it back to him. I can feel Angel's shock, as though she expected me to make a run for it.

But no, we say goodbye to Mr. Colora, and as we step out of that dusty house, into a hot blue sky, I explain to her exactly what I've discovered.

"SO YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT you think the Egyptian Jewels are buried in some woman's coffin?"

"That's right."

"And the ruby he had . . . that was a fake."

"Exactly."

"So you think Horace is a liar."

"No. He just didn't know."

"But you do?"

"Well . . . I think so."

Angel throws her hands up in the air in frustration. We're out on the sidewalk in the middle of the city, next to a gleaming white fountain. I sit on the edge, and Angel paces the ground in front of me.

"You're crazy, Cade!" she says. "You're out of your mind. We can't just dig up some woman named Yvette's grave."

"Sure we can."

"What's her last name? We don't even know!"

"Yvette Herald."

Angel's mouth drops open. "You can't know that."

"She was a famous model for paintings in the 1800s, and she was married to a glovemaker named Jauregui. I put two and two together. I'm willing to bet it's her."

"Damn you and damn your smart facts. How do you know so much?"

I shrug. "Art university, remember?"

I remember studying my ass off to get into the Sicilian Academia. As far away as possible from Nathan, by God, I needed to do it. For months, I worked tirelessly, memorizing endless facts about the ages and the methods and the details. Once I made it, all the information just stuck.

In the afternoon sunlight, Angel's hair is lit up like a black glow, and her hazel eyes shine like molten honey. She's breathtaking. Especially in that leather jacket, the slim-fitting pants, and the curved neck of the top, revealing smooth skin and collarbone.

I want to grab her and kiss her.

As if she's thinking the same thing, she swallows and sits next to me.