Page 51 of Conning the Billionaire
Kylie’s eyes were drawn to one particular line on the spreadsheet that listed a title as Annunciation by Lorenzo di Credi.
Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints, the owner’s name was also listed on the line.
Salvatore Grande.
Kylie’s mind flashed back to the many times she’d sat in Salvatore Grande’s crappy little office in Philadelphia and stared at the several Catholic Italian religious paintings on the walls, a total Mafia cliché.
Was that the art that Micah wanted to steal, or swindle, or whatever?
Flashes of a waterlogged corpse, puffy and soaked, pieces missing from fish chewing on it, careened through Kylie’s mind. “Jesus Christ, Micah. I can’t believe you’d think we should hustle a Mafia boss. We’ll get whacked.”
The woman on the computer said, “Was that your serving wench? She sounds pretty.”
Micah’s face went absolutely blank, and he looked up at Kylie. His gray eyes seemed flat, devoid of the blue and teal sparkles visible only when she was closer to him.
His lack of expression was more terrifying than a rage, and Kylie hurried to stuff the documents back into his briefcase.
Micah said, “Not my serving wench, and the housekeeper seems to have gone into the other room to make the bed now.”
Kylie dragged her suitcase back to the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and she paced.
Was Micah Shine insane?
One did not steal or swindle or whatever the hell Micah thought he was doing from a Mob boss. Stealing from the Mafia was how people ended up with a gunshot hole shattering the backs of their heads and dumped in the Schuylkill River.
There was no way Kylie was going through with this. Nope. She was out. She could go to the mattress for a couple of days until she was sure that this hot, stupid asshole with a death wish had left Atlantic City, and then she would slide right back into her old life. Micah might show up at her apartment to try to talk her back into it, so she could stay with Rita or Priyanka for a few nights until she was sure he was gone.
Kylie grabbed her luggage and strode for the door again.
When she opened it, Micah was standing on the other side, his feet planted and his hands on his hips. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Wearing a full suit from his waist up but socks and underwear on his lower half, Micah looked ridiculous. Kylie was not going to be bossed around by a half-dressed man.
She told him, “I am not getting involved with swindling the Mafia. No way. Not on God’s green Earth.”
Micah tilted his head to the side. “What makes you think I’d do that?”
“I saw your list out there. Salvatore Grande’s name is on there. I recognized other names, too.”
“Which ones?” he asked.
Kylie kept talking. “Considering the research you did about me, you must know who Grande is.”
He nodded and walked over to his closet. “I know who Salvatore Grande is.”
She called after him, “Then you should know better than to steal from a guy like that. He might go old-school on you and make you a pair of cement boots.”
Micah stuck his head out of the closet, looking at her around the door. “Where did you get the idea that we were going to steal from him?”
“His name is on that list you have!”
His head lowered, and he looked at the bedroom’s carpeting. “There are fifty names on that list.”
“Some of the rest are connected, too. I know some of them and have heard of more. Are you planning on stealing art from fifty highly ranked Mafia bosses? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Micah chuckled and walked out of the closet, now wearing navy blue trousers matching his suit jacket. “Absolutely not.”
“Which question were you answering?”
