"You're going to need access to the private collection," Marcus spoke from behind her.
Aria nearly dropped her phone. She'd been texting Vera. She locked the screen of her phone and turned.
"Private collection?" she asked.
"Yes, my private collection that I don't show to magazine photographers." He walked toward a door across the room. "Come on."
She followed him through the penthouse. He stopped at a door with a palm scanner and pressed his hand against it.
The room beyond made her breath catch. A Rothko in deep reds and oranges. A Kandinsky, which her mother had written about in her dissertation.
"Holy shit."
He laughed. "That's a first from someone with your credentials."
"Sorry." She moved toward the Rothko. "The origin and history of these pieces alone will take months of hard work."
"Take as much time as necessary; I'm not going anywhere." He came to stand beside her. "You think you can handle it?"
"I don't quit on things. I like to take on challenges." She said.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and back up.
"Good," he said quietly.
This was the moment. Lean in. But her body locked up. She felt him notice her hesitation.
He stepped back.
"I'll have my assistant send over the authentication records." His voice went neutral. "Let me show you to your office."
They moved through the rest of the collection. She stopped at a smaller Rothko; these are blue colors with yellow lines at the bottom. She touched one of them.
"The first time Catherine saw that one, she stood in front of it for a long time." Marcus's voice had changed. Softer. "She said it reminded her of standing on a beach in Greece. She said she could feel the sand under her feet just looking at it."
Aria looked at him. She didn't know who Catherine was, but the way he said the name made her chest tighten.
"Catherine? Who is Catherine?" She asked.
"My wife." He touched the frame, just his fingertips against the edge. "I bought this two weeks before she died. She never got to see it hanging here."
The words hung in the air. Aria felt something shift. Vera's files had mentioned that Marcus Thorne was unmarried. Current status: single. No romantic attachments. That's what made him vulnerable to her approach.
But Vera hadn't mentioned he was widowed.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Everyone's sorry." He pulled his hand back from the frame. "Doesn't change anything. It doesn't change the hurt that comes with losing a loved one."
He moved to the next piece without looking at her. Aria followed, but her mind was racing. Why hadn't Vera told her about a dead wife? That seemed like crucial information.
"How long ago did your wife die?" The question came out before she could stop it.
"Four years ago." He didn't look at her. "Car accident. She was pregnant."
Aria's stomach dropped. This wasn't in any of the files. None of it.
They continued inspecting other pieces.
"You actually know what you're doing," he said a few minutes later while she examined a Kandinsky. His voice had returned to something more normal, but she could hear the effort it took.
"You hired me. What did you expect?"
"There's knowing the theory and actually caring." He reached out and tucked her hair back. The gesture seemed natural. "You care about the pieces."
But she went still instead of leaning in when he tucked her hair back.
He immediately dropped his hand and moved back, and something crossed his face that might have been regret.
"Your office is ready," he said.
He led her to a room with windows overlooking the park. "I need a preliminary assessment of all the pieces by Friday." He paused in the doorway. "And Elena? Don't wear that perfume tomorrow."
"What?"
His eyes moved over her. "It's distracting as hell."
Then he left.
She sat at the desk. Her phone buzzes with Vera's text: Status report.
She replied to the text message: In position. I'm starting assessment work.
Vera texted back: Remember why you're there. Remember what he did to your family.
Aria stared at the message. Then she typed, "You didn't mention he was widowed."
The response took longer than usual: Not relevant to the mission.
Aria texted her again: He lost his wife and child four years ago. That seems relevant.
Vera: Stay focused. He's manipulating you. That's what he does.
Aria set the phone down. She looked back toward the gallery where Marcus had touched that frame like he was trying to hold onto something that kept slipping away.
She knew what loss looked like. She'd watched her parents die on the same night. She'd seen Dmitri fall and die. The way Marcus had touched that painting wasn't manipulation. It was the same thing she did when she couldn't sleep and found herself reaching for memories that hurt too much.
But that didn't make sense. Marcus Thorne had ordered her family's execution. The evidence was in Vera's files. Financial records. Communications. Witnesses. Everything was correct and authentic.
So why hadn't Vera mentioned Catherine? What else wasn't in those files that she sent?
Aria opened her laptop. Her hands were shaking.
Five years of Vera showing her evidence, building the case, and preparing her for this moment. But watching Marcus in that gallery, hearing his voice break slightly when he said his wife's name, hadn't felt like the monster Vera had described.
Aria opened her laptop and pulled up the files on Marcus's art collection. But her mind kept drifting back to the way he'd touched that painting frame. The way his voice had cracked slightly when he mentioned his wife's pregnancy.
She shook her head and focused on the documents. Five years of preparation had brought her here. She wasn't going to let one moment of unexpected sympathy derail everything.
Vera's reminder echoed in her mind like a knife: 'Remember what he did to your family,' and Aria swore she would not forget, no matter how human Marcus seemed.