Chapter 178: Chapter 178: The Asset

MATTEO LEANED BACK, creating distance for the first time since Lucson left. “There is one more thing. The disturbance I mentioned—I may have heard where it occurred.”

Mailah’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Where?”

“A small village. Northeast of here, in the mountains. Castelvetro.” Matteo’s fingers drummed once against the leather armrest. “Population maybe three hundred, mostly elderly. Remote enough that supernatural events go unnoticed by authorities.”

“Castelvetro,” Mailah repeated, committing the name to memory. The syllables felt heavy on her tongue.

“Is that everything?” she asked, aware that she needed to leave before Matteo decided he deserved more compensation for the information than just her phone number.

“That’s everything I know with any certainty.” Matteo tilted his head, studying her with the kind of assessment that made her feel like an interesting acquisition he was considering. “Though I could make inquiries. Discreet ones. My network extends into places Lucson’s doesn’t. Different circles, different currencies of exchange.”

“I appreciate that,” Mailah said, standing abruptly. The movement was graceless, motivated more by escape than etiquette. “Thank you. This helps more than you know.”

Matteo rose with her, disappointment flickering across his handsome features like clouds passing over sunlight. “Leaving so soon? I was hoping we might continue our conversation over coffee. Or perhaps dinner, if you have time?” His smile turned self-deprecating, almost boyish. “I know I’ve been forward, but I find myself genuinely interested in getting to know you better. Beyond business.”

“I don’t have time.” Mailah kept her voice polite but firm, the kind of tone she’d perfected during months of pretending to be Lailah—pleasant enough not to cause offense, but definitive enough to close doors. “My fiancé is missing. Everything else is secondary.”

“Of course. How thoughtless of me.” But his smile suggested he wasn’t giving up entirely, just regrouping. “You should come back with Lucson the next time he visits. I’ll have something special prepared. A private viewing of pieces I don’t show the general public. Renaissance works, mostly. Given your connection to the Ashford family, I think you’d find the historical context… illuminating.”

Mailah forced a smile, understanding now exactly what Carson and Mason had meant about her being “effective bait.” Lucson had known precisely what he was doing, leaving her alone with a man who collected leverage and relationships like Matteo collected art—carefully, deliberately, with an eye toward future value.

And it had worked.

She’d gotten information Matteo might not have shared with Lucson directly.

The location.

Castelvetro. A place to start searching, to find answers, to maybe—finally—get closer to wherever Grayson was being held.

But that didn’t mean she approved of being deployed as an asset without full disclosure. Without warning. Without the courtesy of being asked whether she consented to playing this particular role.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said noncommittally, already moving toward the office door. “Thank you for your help, Matteo. Truly. The information about Castelvetro—it matters.”

“I hope you find him.” Matteo followed close behind, not quite crowding her but maintaining that careful proximity he’d perfected. “And I hope when you do, he realizes how fortunate he is. Not every woman would fight this hard for his man.”

“He’d fight just as hard for me,” Mailah said, the certainty in her voice surprising even herself. “That’s what makes it worth it.”

They emerged into the gallery proper, and Mailah spotted Lucson immediately.

He stood before a massive painting—something abstract and expensive-looking, all bold crimson slashes against deep violet, like violence rendered beautiful through artistic interpretation.

His posture radiated the kind of relaxed confidence that suggested he’d been perfectly comfortable during his entire “phone call.”

Which, Mailah suspected with growing irritation, had lasted exactly as long as necessary for her to extract information from Matteo and no longer.

Lucson turned as he heard their footsteps, his light gray eyes taking in the scene with the kind of casual assessment that probably missed nothing. “Finished?”

“Yes,” Mailah said shortly, infusing the single syllable with enough frost to signal her displeasure.

If Lucson noticed, he gave no indication. “Excellent.” His gaze shifted to the painting, and something in his expression changed—genuine appreciation mixing with the calculating awareness of value. “This piece is remarkable, Matteo. Late period Castellucci, isn’t it? The color theory alone is masterful. The way he uses violence as visual language.”

“You have an exceptional eye. As always.” Matteo moved to stand beside him, clearly pleased to be discussing art with someone who understood it. “One of his final works before he disappeared. Some say he went mad. Others claim he simply couldn’t surpass what he’d achieved here and chose to end on a high note.”

“It would look magnificent in the manor,” Lucson said smoothly, as though commenting on weather rather than committing to what Mailah suspected was a six-figure purchase. “The east gallery, I think. The light there would complement the composition perfectly. Bring out the underlying structure beneath the chaos.”

Matteo’s eyes lit up with the unmistakable gleam of a man sensing a significant sale. “I could have it delivered this week. Along with several other pieces I think would suit your collection. There’s a series by Marchetti that would pair beautifully—”

“That would be acceptable.” Lucson’s attention shifted to Mailah, and something glinted in those pale eyes that might have been amusement, or might have been acknowledgment of her barely suppressed anger. “Though I should bring Mailah next time I visit. She has an interesting perspective on art. Don’t you, Mailah?”

Bastard, she thought with crystalline clarity. He’s setting up future visits where Matteo will expect me to return. Guaranteeing his continued leverage over the gallery owner’s desire for access.

“Fascinating perspective,” Matteo agreed immediately, turning that focused attention back to her. “I would be honored to show you my private collection, Mailah. I have pieces dating back centuries. Some with quite… intriguing histories. Supernatural provenances, you might say. Given your situation, I think you’d find them relevant.”

“I’ll consider it,” Mailah said, her tone making it abundantly clear she’d do no such thing unless absolutely necessary for finding Grayson.

“Please do.” Matteo took her hand again—when had he gotten close enough to do that?—raising it briefly to his lips in a gesture that managed to be both old-fashioned and presumptuous. His lips barely brushed her knuckles, warm and deliberate. “It’s been a genuine pleasure, Mailah. I hope your search for Grayson is successful. And I hope we meet again under happier circumstances. Perhaps when you’re not quite so worried, and I can properly show you Florence’s treasures.”

“Thank you,” she said, extracting her hand as politely as possible while fighting the urge to wipe it on her jeans.

Lucson made his farewells—warm, gracious, maintaining the carefully cultivated relationship with practiced ease. The kind of interaction he’d probably perfected over three centuries, making people grateful for his attention while simultaneously indebting them to his influence.

Then they were finally leaving, the gallery door chiming softly behind them like a bell marking the end of a round.

Mailah waited exactly until they reached the car before rounding on Lucson.

“Don’t you ever use me like that again,” she said, her voice low and shaking with fury. “Leaving me alone with that—that—”

“Art dealer?” Lucson supplied mildly, unlocking the car with a soft beep.

“Shark! Predator!” Mailah’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You left me alone with a man who collects leverage for a living! Without warning. Without asking. You just walked out and let him circle me like I was a particularly interesting piece he was considering acquiring!”

“To be fair,” Lucson said, settling into the driver’s seat with infuriating calm, “you were meant to be a particularly interesting piece he was considering acquiring. That was rather the point of the exercise.”

“I’m not a tool you can just deploy whenever it’s convenient!”

“No, you’re a strategic asset. As I explained earlier.” Lucson started the engine, the purr of expensive machinery filling the tense silence. “And you performed admirably, I might add. Matteo was quite taken with you. Gave us the location without any significant pressure. I barely had to encourage him at all.”

“Oh, you barely had to—” Mailah broke off, so angry she could barely form coherent sentences. Words piled up in her throat, fighting to escape in some order that would adequately express her outrage. “You know what? I think I understand why Grayson kept his distance from you for three centuries. Because you’re manipulative and calculating and you treat people like chess pieces to be moved around at your convenience!”

Lucson didn’t flinch. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t even look insulted.

He simply turned one of those glacier-cold eyes toward her as they rolled into Florence’s afternoon traffic.

“Careful, little mortal,” he said lightly—but the air around him shifted, temperature dropping just enough to raise goosebumps along her arms. “You’re speaking as though I’m human. I’m not.”

Mailah’s breath hitched.

Lucson smiled, polite and razor-sharp. “And it would be wise to remember the difference before you throw accusations like that again.”

Silence settled between them—uncomfortable, weighted with things neither wanted to fully articulate.

Mailah stared out the window, watching Florence give way to countryside, processing everything that had just happened.

The gallery.

Matteo.

The information about Castelvetro.

Her own angry outburst and Lucson’s terrifying response.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep