Page 100 of Snaring Emberly
Roman huffs. “Are you interested?”
“Of course, but I can’t go alone with that maniac on the loose.”
He pulls back and looks down into my eyes, his gaze softening. “Let me take you. I’ll even bring some back up.”
My lips curl into a smile. “I spoke to him last night at the party before… you know. He said he was interested in seeing my art.”
Roman raises his brows but doesn’t reply.
“All I have is what I’ve done here, as well as your portrait, but I wanted you to be the first to see it.”
He hesitates. “I might have a few hours tomorrow to pose?—”
“No. No, it’s complete.” I draw back, grab his hand, and pull him to the other side of the room. “Look.”
Roman follows me at a lumbering pace, he’s still carrying the weight of last night’s disaster on his shoulders. Guilt tightens my chest at bothering him with something as trivial as a portrait when he’s under so much strain.
His feet make an abrupt stop. I turn around to stare into features slackened with shock.
My heart pounds, and the back of my throat goes dry. Jim always found a way to belittle my work, no matter how much a piece made me happy, and Mom would never acknowledge my talent. She always told me that mingling with artists was the fastest way to end up in the gutter.
I know that Roman’s portrait is beautiful, but some people hate to see themselves through another’s eyes. The man in the canvas is darkly handsome, with an aura of danger that conceals a lethal undercurrent of secrets. Despite his undeniable charm, I know there’s more to him than the mafia Don. What I saw last night is still fresh in my mind.
“Emberly,” he says, his words choked. “I suspected you were talented, but this…”
“What?” I whisper.
“This is fucking beautiful. You’ve made me look like the baddest motherfucker since Tony Montana.”
“Tony who?”
He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Haven’t you seen the movie Scarface?”
I shake my head.
“Say hello to my little friend?” He mimes holding a machine gun.
A laugh bubbles from my chest. “No? Does that even happen in the movie?”
“It’s the best part.” He shakes his head and exhales an exasperated huff. “Have you even seen Goodfellas? The Godfather? Casino?”
“No.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I need to introduce you to the wonder of the organized crime genre.”
“When does a man like you have time to watch movies?” I ask.
“I spent twenty-two hours a day in a cell for five years. Those movies were one of the few things that kept me sane.”
My stomach drops. “Oh, Roman, I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Others had it much worse. So, are we going to this auction or not?”
“Yes, please,” I reply with a smile. “Mr. Lubelli wanted to see the portrait. Do I have your permission to send him a photo?”
“Sure. I have an Art Purchase Agreement the family uses when buying paintings directly from the artist. It’s in my office.”
My heart skips a beat at the prospect of selling my work. I grab his bicep. “Let’s go!”