Chapter 18
The Parisian gallery was a masterpiece of classic architecture, flooded with brilliant, natural light that perfectly highlighted Mavis's breathtaking artwork. The opening night was an absolute triumph. The European elite, fascinated by the scandalous backstory and utterly captivated by the raw, emotional depth of the paintings, purchased every single piece within the first hour.
Mavis stood in the center of the grand hall, wearing a stunning, elegant evening gown that Roland had commissioned specifically for her. Her fair, rosy complexion glowed under the cinematic lighting. She answered questions from critics with newfound poise, her American accent melodic and confident.
Roland stood nearby, a dark, imposing silhouette against the bright colors of the gallery. He wore a flawless tuxedo, his heavily tattooed hands resting behind his back. He watched her with a profound, heavy satisfaction. She was no longer a trembling maid; she was a radiant queen holding court.
"Mr. Ashcroft," a smooth, heavily accented voice murmured from the shadows near the bar.
Roland turned his head slowly. Standing there was a tall, elegantly dressed man with a scarred face. It was Vincenzo, a high-ranking lieutenant in the European syndicate that controlled the Parisian underworld.
"Vincenzo," Roland acknowledged coldly, his volume dropping into its lethal register.
"A beautiful exhibition," Vincenzo smiled, though his eyes remained dead. "But I must inform you, Roland. Don Dominic Thorne has friends in Europe. Friends who are very unhappy about your hostile takeover of his shipping routes in America."
May you like
Roland’s jaw locked tight. The shadow war had followed them across the ocean.
"Tell Dominic’s friends," Roland whispered, his voice vibrating with apocalyptic menace, "that if they interfere with my business, or if they take a single step toward the woman in the center of this room, I will burn Paris to the ground."
