Chapter 9 - The Gallery Opening
Three weeks later, the West End Art Gallery was packed with Boston's elite, sipping champagne beneath high vaulted ceilings and admiring the vibrant canvas paintings hanging along the exposed brick walls.
At the center of the main gallery stood a large collection of oil paintings titled Urban Echoes, all featuring stunning contrasts of city rain, neon lights, and subtle, hidden figures woven into the background landscapes.
And right at the front of the exhibition, holding a glass of sparkling water and wearing a breathtaking emerald silk dress that hugged her curves to perfection, was June Hale.
"It's crowded," a low, familiar voice rumbled near her ear.
June didn't even turn around; she just smiled, leaning back slightly against the solid, reassuring frame of the man standing beside her. Lorenzo wore a tailored navy suit that fit him like a second skin, his silver-streaked hair neatly styled, looking every bit the sophisticated billionaire businessman he had claimed to be in his infamous dating profile.
"Art appreciation brings out the masses, Lorenzo," June murmured, turning in his arms to face him. "Though I notice you skipped the golf clubs."
"I delegated golf to Carmine," Lorenzo replied smoothly, his dark eyes fixed entirely on her. "I figured my time was better spent investing in local culture."
A few feet away, standing in front of a painting of a glowing neon streetlamp, Lucia was proudly showing off her own miniature sketch pad to an elderly couple who looked thoroughly charmed. Beside her, wearing a very real, very dapper tweed jacket instead of a fake mustache, Carmine stood guard like a gentle giant at a museum exhibit.
"She's holding court," June laughed softly, watching Lucia explain the color theory behind her latest drawing.
"She takes after her teacher," Lorenzo said, his gaze dropping to June's lips before rising back to meet her hazel eyes. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, unlocking the screen with a single tap and sliding it across his palm toward her.
June looked down at the display. It wasn't a chat log this time. It was a calendar invitation for Saturday evening, neatly typed out with zero typos.
Dinner at L’Osteria. Eight o'clock. No disguise required. Sophisticated wine, actual golf stories, and zero bullets.
June looked up, her heart doing a warm, heavy flip against her ribs.
May you like
"I accept," she said softly.
Lorenzo’s hand came up, his warm fingers cupping her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jawbone. For a man who ruled empires in the dark, the light shining down on them right now felt like the only place he had ever truly belonged.
