Micah strode into Logan’s white-swaddled living room and found him drinking coffee at his breakfast table. “What the hell did you say to Kylie?”
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sun had broken the horizon over the city, and the bright rays slanted into Central Park.
Logan set his coffee cup on its saucer, gently letting it touch down without rattling.
Yeah, he was pissed about something.
Logan said, “You need to get out of here. Out of my apartment, out of New York, preferably out of United States. What the fuck happened with you yesterday?”
Micah summed up Salvatore Grande, Kylie’s previous employment, and his liberation of The Battle of Anghiari by Leonardo da Vinci in twenty seconds.
Logan didn’t blink the whole time Micah spoke. Finally, he said, “So if you’re an art thief these days, I guess it’s just as well that those canvases in my living room are just ‘decor’ and not genuine Rauschen-whatevers.”
Micah flipped his hand at Logan, flicking away his accusation. “I’m not an art thief. I was liberating one of humanity’s greatest treasures from a mafia boss who was hastening its destruction by not keeping it in a temperature- and humidity-controlled environment and was smoking right in front of it. I could smell the stale cigarette smoke in that office.”
Logan shrugged, the philistine. “Right, so that definitely gives you permission to steal it and start a goddamn Mob war, Micah. Ten people are already dead as of this morning. Four from the Philly Mob, six Genovese here in the city.”
“Is Salvatore Grande one of them?”
“No.”
Good. “That’s too bad.”
“But ten other good men are.”
“Damn, that started fast.”
“These things fuckin’ do,” Logan spat at him.
“Speaking of how things happen too damn fast, who is Mary Varvara Bell?”
Logan’s expression locked down to solid stone except for a squint of anger at the corners of his eyes. “Who?”
Micah hadn’t meant to demand that, but sometimes the Norwegian ice water in his veins gave way to an impetuous Sicilian temper he didn’t remember until it was too late. It happened more often than he’d like to admit, like when he saw a goddamn da Vinci on the wall in an office that reeked of cigarettes. “Mary Varvara Bell. She took over the garbage business for your grandfather after he died, including our promissory notes from the loans he gave us after we graduated from college. Did you get a letter calling in that loan, Logan, or was it just me?”
Logan’s chin dropped, though his expression didn’t change. “Your note got called in?”
There was Micah’s answer. “Yeah. Now, who is she?”
Logan turned his head and stared for a second over the treetops of Central Park below them, shifting his weight to one leg. That unease could be intentional evasion or surprise, and Micah didn’t know which. Logan said, “Mary Varvara Bell is my aunt, Stanley Bell’s oldest daughter. She was passed over when he was distributing power when he retired because she was a woman. I heard she didn’t take too kindly to that. Maybe she’s taking over.”
Maybe, huh?
Information about logistics and power was what Micah needed. “Was your father one of the Malefactor’s heirs, Logan?”
Logan shuffled his feet. “Never. He and my grandfather never spoke to each other again, and I sure as hell never told my father about the Malefactor’s deal. I didn’t want to get disowned like his father did to him.”
“But you, Logan, your grandfather saw something in you that he didn’t see in his own son,” Micah pushed.
His expression changed, becoming angry. “I took the loan, same as you, and I built my companies without the waste management business lending a hand. I’m not connected, and I’m not beholden to them. I would say, ‘same as you,’ but you were in with the Philly Mob. What the fuck were you doing in Salvatore Grande’s office when you stole this goddamn painting of his?”
Micah shrugged. “Getting Kylie out from under his thumb,” he lied.
“You don’t get people out. Didn’t my grandfather teach you nothin’? Once you’re in, no one gets out. You guys need to leave. Leave this house, leave the state, leave the goddamn country. I never saw you two. I’ll take care of that rental car of yours. You go to La Guardia or JFK, whatever you want.”
“JFK,” Micah said.
“Don’t tell me where you’re going.”
Micah nodded.
“Go get your shit together, and I never fucking saw you, Micah my friend, or whatever your goddamn name is.”