Chapter 14
Chapter 14
I froze, caught in the act. Heat crept up my neck as Adrian pulled on his shirt, the fabric sliding over those telling marks.
“Come in,” he called out, turning to face me. “Unless you prefer watching from the doorway?”
I stepped inside, my mind racing. “Those
tattoos…”
“Something wrong with them?” His gray eyes sparkled with mischief as he buttoned up his shirt. “I rather like them.”
“No, it’s not that.” I crossed my arms, studying him. “Do you know what they mean?”
“Mean?” Adrian’s brow furrowed. “Not particularly. A friend of mine was
impressed by some art pieces I acquired for him. Insisted on taking me to this tattoo shop as a thank you. The designs caught
my eye.” He shrugged, casual and relaxed.
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“Why?”
I blinked, thrown by his nonchalant response. Those weren’t just random designs, they were symbols of power, marks that could get someone killed if worn without the right to do so. Either Adrian was playing an incredibly dangerous game, or he genuinely had no idea what he’d permanently etched onto his skin.
The implications made my head spin. If he truly didn’t know, how had he walked around with those tattoos without
consequences? And if he did know… well, that opened up a whole other set of questions.
“Those aren’t just random designs, Adrian.” I stepped closer, my voice dropping. “They’re worn by the most powerful mafia bosses in the country. Each mark
represents influence, territory, power. The more extensive the tattoos, the higher their position.”
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Adrian’s hand paused on his top button. “Is that so?”
“The patterns I saw on your torso…” I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s more than I’ve ever seen, even on the leaders of the Big Five families. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? People have been killed for wearing even a single one of those marks without earning them.”
“Yet here I stand.” His lips curved into that infuriating half–smile. “Perhaps I’m just very lucky.”
“This isn’t funny. These aren’t some trendy tribal designs you pick from a wall. They’re sacred symbols passed down through generations of-” I cut myself off, watching his expression shift. The playfulness disappeared, replaced by something darker, more calculating.
His gray eyes locked onto mine. “Through generations of what, exactly?”
The way he moved. The respect he
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commanded.
“How much do you really know about those tattoos, Adrian?”
“Like I said, a friend took me to get them. I just liked the designs.” Adrian’s expression melted back into that playful smile. “You’re not pulling my leg here, are you?”
My stomach twisted. “Does this look like a joke to you? These marks could get you killed. Hell, my entire family could end up dead just for having someone with fake tattoos staying under our roof.”
“And how exactly would you know so much about mafia tattoos?” His eyes sparked with
amusement..
“Don’t.” I stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You know damn well who my family is, what we do. Which makes this even more insane. Those symbols aren’t. just decoration, they’re a language, a hierarchy. Each line, each pattern tells a story of power and position. Walking
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around with marks you haven’t earned…”
“Is apparently quite dangerous.” He caught my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Though I have to wonder why
no one’s tried to kill me yet, if these tattoos are as sacred as you claim.”
“That’s what worries me.” I pulled my
hand
away, fighting the warmth that spread from his touch. “Either you’re the luckiest man alive, or…‘
“Or?”
“Or there’s a lot more to you than you’re letting on.”
Adrian laughed, the sound rich and warm. “I’m just an art dealer who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. Or maybe it was the right time?” He adjusted his cuffs. “At the club, seeing how Primo treated you… I couldn’t stand by.”
I studied him. Something still felt off.
I shook my head, pushing the thought
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away. “Thank you again for that. And for today, the way you connected with Vincent at the exhibition was incredible. Your knowledge of classical art really impressed him.”
“The Monet piece they showcased was exceptional.” Adrian’s eyes lit up. “Vincent has quite the eye for authenticity. It’s refreshing to meet someone who truly understands the nuances of brush strokes and period–specific techniques.”
“You two spoke for almost an hour about impression techniques alone.”
“The conversation could have gone on longer if we’d had time.” He smiled.
“Still, we wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near him without your expertise.”
“Happy to help.” Adrian’s expression softened. “Though I have to admit,
watching you navigate that opening was its own kind of artistry.”
“Uh huh.” I crossed my arms, not buying
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his deflection. “Look, about those tattoos – you need to either get them removed or keep them hidden. At all times. I mean it.”
Adrian’s lips twitched. “No need to worry. They’re temporary – some new kind of ink my friend uses. They’ll fade in a few weeks.”
“Temporary?” I blinked. That was… convenient. “Who exactly is this friend of yours? Because whoever put those marks on you was either trying to get you killed or-”
Adrian laughed, cutting me off. “Trust me, Marco Salvatore wasn’t trying to harm me. We go way back.”
My jaw dropped.
