“I think he’s a very fortunate man.”

“I hope he feels the same. He is here!”

She jumped up, hurried over as Ivan came in. Her hand slipped into her bag in case Ivan didn’t pull off the initial meeting. “My husband, this is the very kind Mr. Tartelli.”

“Mr. Castle.” Vinnie extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure. I’ve enjoyed assisting your wife with her selections for your New York home. Mrs. Castle has an exceptional eye.”

“You could say that.”

“We are to have a private meeting,” Jai told him. “Mr. Tartelli is so kind to stay after his closing to work with us.”

“I’ll just lock up so we’re not disturbed.”

“There is wine.” When Vinnie’s back was turned Jai motioned toward the back.

She moved with him, out of sight of the windows, while Vinnie locked them in.

“We have several pieces for your approval,” Vinnie began as he walked to them.

Jai sidestepped, pressed her gun to Vinnie’s back. “We’re going to take this into that back room.” Gone was the light accent and all the charm. “For our private negotiation.”

“There’s no need for this.” Cold sweat slicked over him, a second skin. “You can take what you want.”

“We intend to.” Jai gave him a hard shove. “Into the back. Cooperate, this will be fast, smooth and easy on all of us. Otherwise, my associate will hurt you. He enjoys it.”

She forced Vinnie back, through the door. She’d only caught glimpses, but saw it was as she’d assumed. A storeroom that doubled as an office.

Quickly, efficiently, she used one of the ties in her bag to restrain his arms behind his back, then pushed him into a chair.

“One question, one answer, and we walk away. No harm. Where is the egg?”

He stared at her. “Egg? I don’t know what you mean.”

She sighed. “One question. Wrong answer.”

She gestured to Ivan.

The first blow had blood exploding from Vinnie’s nose and sent the chair flying back. Jai held up a finger before Ivan could strike again. “Same question. Where is the egg?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Jai sat on the edge of the desk, crossed her legs. “Stop when I tell you to stop,” she told Ivan.

Ivan rolled his shoulders once, hauled up the chair and began the work he most enjoyed.

Ten

As she watched Ivan do his work, Jai felt a rise of admiration and respect. Not for Ivan—the man was nothing more than an ugly pair of fists with a shaved head. But the uncle, she thought, he was a gentleman and a gentleman with ethics. She admired ethics in the same way she might admire a clever juggling act. As an interesting skill she had no particular need for.

Because she felt this admiration, she would kill him quickly, and as painlessly as possible, once he gave them the information she wanted.

Every few blows, she stepped forward to stop Ivan, and to speak to Vinnie in a calm, quiet voice.

“The egg, Mr. Tartelli. It’s a thing of beauty and great value, of course. But it isn’t worth your pain, your life, your future. Only tell us where it is, and all this will stop.”

He rolled his right eye toward her voice. The left was purpled, swollen closed, leaking both blood and tears. But the bloodied right could still open a slit.

“Did you kill Oliver?”

She leaned down so he could see her more clearly. “Oliver was a fool. You know this because you’re not. He was greedy, and now he’s dead. I don’t think you’re a greedy man, Mr. Tartelli. I think you want to live. Where is the egg?”

“Fabergé? Did Oliver have a Fabergé?”

“You know that he did. Don’t try my patience.” She leaned closer. “There are worse things even than death. We can give them to you.”

“I don’t have what you want.” He choked, coughed out blood, which Jai nimbly evaded. “You can look. You can look, take whatever you want. I can’t give what I don’t have.”

“What did the brother take from the bank if not the egg?”

“I don’t have a brother.”

She nodded to Ivan, stepped aside to avoid more sprays of blood.

“Oliver’s brother. Ashton Archer. You went to see him.”

“Ash.”

Vinnie’s head lolled. Ivan backhanded him to bring him around.

“Give him a moment,” she snapped at Ivan. “Ashton Archer.” She spoke gently, encouragingly. “The brother of Oliver. Why did you go to see him Thursday?”

“Ash. Funeral. Oliver. Help Ash.”

“Yes, help Ash. You saw the egg? All the glittering gold. Where is it now? Tell me this one thing, Mr. Tartelli, and all the pain stops.”

He looked at her again through the puffy slit of his right eye, spoke slowly through broken teeth. “I didn’t have any eggs.”

Ivan switched up, plowed a brutal fist into Vinnie’s solar plexus. While Vinnie retched, Jai considered.

She’d seen something in that single bloodied eye. Fear, yes, but a steely determination with it. Not for himself, she realized.

For this brother? This part brother of a nephew? How odd, how interesting to find such loyalty. This was more than ethics, and perhaps it could be useful.

“I need to make a call. Give him a break,” she ordered Ivan. “Do you understand me? I’ll get him some water. Let him recover a bit.”

She’d call her employer, she decided as she stepped out into the shop. While he gave her autonomy, she wouldn’t risk his wrath by implementing a shift in strategy without his approval.

And this uncle, this ethical, loyal, determined uncle, might be of more use as a bargaining chip. Would the brother trade the egg for the uncle’s life?

Perhaps.

Yes, the brother might also have ethics, and loyalty.

They would kill him. Even through his agony Vinnie understood that one unassailable fact. Whatever the woman said, they would never leave him alive.

He grieved for his wife, for his children, for the grandchildren he would never see grow. He would gladly trade the egg for his life, for more time with his family. But they would kill him either way. And if he told them Ash had the egg, they would kill Ash as well.

As they’d killed Oliver and the woman who might have loved him.