Page 32 of Lay It Bare

Sevastyan

There were a few days of quiet. Sevastyan kept his finger on the pulse of the investigation into the Californian Merchari boss, Bak Sahyuk, through Rei. The man had built at least half his identity on the Jun River legal identity. Everything under that name was no longer in his control. It added up to a significant fortune.

Lisa grew stronger. He moved on from the restricted diet and started to eat with Sevastyan and Rei. Sevastyan added liquid vitamins and mineral supplements to his routine. Getting blood work done without leaving DNA evidence was not as easy. He reached out to a Merchari contact in New York and located a lab who would test and destroy the sample without keeping records.

“You should come in March,” the man said. “Reyner is throwing a party.”

“I’ll see if I can get away,” Sevastyan said diplomatically. “I hadn’t heard he was having anything before July.”

“Oh, this is just a local one. But now that you’re here, that would include you.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Sevastyan deflected.

“Nonsense,” his contact said. “I’m surprised he hasn’t sent an invitation already. You’re so rarely in the States these last two years.”

“I’m rarely anywhere long,” Sevastyan chuckled. “You know how it is.”

“Sylvia will be there with her twins. She will absolutely want to meet you. All she could talk about was your training after she saw you at Alexi’s.”

“Alexi Starchevsky has been an excellent mentor. If there’s an invitation issued, please note I will be bringing one of his slaves as well. I currently have one in my care.”

The man inhaled in surprise. “That’s unheard of. Is he well?”

“Alexi? Yes. Quite. I saw him two weeks ago. Just a gentlemen’s exchange.”

“Yes, well, Alexi never . . .” The man trailed off.

Sevastyan let a hint of superiority seep into his voice. “Alexi is a private man. What he does or does not do is hardly common knowledge.”

“Yes, of course. I’m American. How much can I know about our European branch? I’m certain Reyner will be sending an invitation as soon as he knows you’re here with your stable.”

Sevastyan kept the grimace off his face. Attending an infamous Reyner party would be a perfect place to pick up intel and catalog new names for his database. But Lisa was a loose cannon, one he didn’t dare leave behind, but also one who was hardly in a fit state to attend.

“Always a pleasure to meet like-minded connoisseurs,” Sevastyan said. “If my work for the Yadro allows, I’ll see you there.”

While work for the Yadro was ever present, the necessity of keeping up the very real life of an international art dealer remained. He arranged for two pieces from his warehouse in Korsakov to be shipped, and picked them up by hand from O’Hare, handling customs, ferrying them to a gallery to be displayed in the Loop in downtown Chicago. The gallery proprietor offered tickets to an event the next day at The Art Institute, a sprawling museum just east of the grand green space along Chicago’s waterline. As the second largest art museum in the country and twelfth largest in the world, Sevastyan was hardly a stranger to the place. It was a perfect venue at which to be seen and to see. He accepted the two tickets and messaged Rei, telling him to prepare for an evening out.

The event itself was a private tour of a new exhibit with the museum directors. Sevastyan reached out to two of them who he had a personal relationship with, greeting them and letting them know he would be attending. They both answered warmly, one of them reminding him of a deal he had helped them conclude a few years before.

More clothes from storage had arrived for both Rei and Sevastyan. Rei laid out Sevastyan’s tux and a designer suit for himself. As they dressed that evening, Sevastyan allowed himself to admire Rei’s slim legs and shapely ass. It was a pity his beautiful face was going to be covered by a mask all night. It was a designer mask, made to go with the suit, with gold embroidery in the shape of twisted pine branches on one side in the style of a Chinese classical painting. There was a sleeve inside for a medical grade filter, but Rei would not be using one.

Rei checked that Lisa had dinner before they left. It was windy enough Sevastyan ordered a ride from their building. They arrived outside the front entrance where the two iconic bronze lions gazed down on the sidewalk and pedestrians below from their high pedestals. The impulse to offer Rei his arm as they mounted the stairs to the entrance flashed through him. He glanced over his shoulder at Rei. He could never. There was at least one Merchari client, if not Merchari agents themselves attending. The chance they would realize what Rei was, or had even seen him naked and serving, was high. Even if the Merchari weren’t physically present, there would be cameras everywhere. He couldn’t be seen favoring his slave in such a manner. Rei had to stay where he was, walking one step behind and just to the side, ready to be of use.

He kept his impulse in the realm of fantasy and smiled at the doormen, offering his invitation and motioning Rei forward as his plus one.

Inside, Rei continued to follow one step behind, making room for Sevastyan to speak to the VIPs on the tour through the new exhibit. On occasion he took business cards on Sevastyan’s behalf and offered Sevastyan’s in return, or took notes. Twice, Sevastyan asked Rei to check where a particular art piece was currently being held. After the initial tour, the guests were given leave to wander the rest of the museum. Sevastyan passed from conversation to conversation, leading the way down a few collections he knew Rei would appreciate and walking slowly. Excuses were easy to make. This was the part of his cover he enjoyed, gathering the stories of the individuals and families that contributed, collected, and circulated art pieces over generations. Some collectors were in it only for the speculation, but frequently enough, patrons were true stewards of the world’s treasure.

While speaking to one elderly woman, he paused in front of a medieval sword with a sign on the display marking it as a loan from the private collection of Richard and Linda Reevesworth.

“I’ve never seen either Reevesworth at an auction,” he mused.

The woman waved her hand in dismissal. “It probably came from their uncle’s collection. Richard and his husband only ever buy what they like. And it doesn’t matter who it’s by or how valuable it is. I hear Moreau picks up pieces at street fairs as often as he spends money at a gallery.”

Sevastyan raised an eyebrow, fitting that in with the rest of the information he was putting together around Gang Junseo.

“Who knows what Reevesworth and Moreau even have.” The woman’s friend wandered over, a man in his late fifties carrying a glass of champagne. “They live in a tiny condo here in the Loop most of the time. There’s hardly room in it for half of what they must own. It must all be up at their Estate. Someplace over the state line. It’s never open.”

“Wisconsin?” Sevastyan asked.