Keep Your Eyes on Me

by Sam Blake

  Yana slipped through the crowd to a man in his sixties who was leaning over one of the glass display cases, apparently discussing a purchase with the sales assistant. He had some sort of earpiece wired to the inside of his jacket and seemed to be talking to someone through it at the same time. Distinctly overweight and balding, he was wearing a pale grey suit and appeared to be negotiating hard. As she slipped her arm through his, he turned to Yana immediately, his dark bushy eyebrows raised. He pointed to the display case but Yana shook her head and gestured for him to follow her. Shrugging to the assistant, he headed their way.

  ‘Vittoria Devine, this is my wonderful Uncle Igor.’

  As he held out a meaty hand, Lily saw Vittoria pale slightly, but she took it in a firm handshake.

  ‘I’ve been hearing a lot about you, Ms Devine.’ His English was heavily accented, but he bowed slightly as he spoke. ‘I have heard you are a very talented lady with interesting skills. You have been busy recently, I know. But you have done wonderful things for my Yana, and for that I am forever indebted to you.’

  Vittoria smiled. ‘Yana did it all herself – she’s incredibly talented: she just need a little direction.’

  ‘You are too modest, Ms Devine. It is good that we meet tonight, though. I wanted to discuss a matter with you.’ He didn’t wait for her to reply. ‘I would like you to join my organisation. I think a lady of your capabilities would be very welcome. You must join us, I think?’ Then, as if by way of explanation, ‘I have a clinic in Harley Street. I want you to lead the team that operates from there.’

  Vittoria opened her mouth to speak. But at the front of the room Marianne Omotoso had appeared.

  Lily felt her nerves surge. Oli Lennon was due to arrive in time for their presentation: he must be on his way. ‘I’m so sorry, I need to leave you for a moment. Lovely to meet you Yana and Mr—?’

  ‘Kaprizov … Igor Kaprizov.’

  Chapter 57

  AT THE TOP of the room, Marianne Omotoso tapped the mic, drawing the guests’ attention. Behind her, the No. 42 logo filled the entire wall.

  But Vittoria wasn’t focusing on the presentation. The moment Yana’s uncle had introduced himself, Vittoria had felt her head spin. A smile fixed on her face, it was taking her a moment to centre herself. She glanced quickly at Lily; had his name registered with her too?

  Had the police mentioned it to her? Vittoria knew Sergei Andronov had been arrested in Lily and Jack’s shop, but how much did she know of his associates and their activities?

  But Lily didn’t seem to have heard their exchange. She was looking over his shoulder to the end of the showroom, her mind obviously fully on her presentation. Vittoria would have crossed herself if she’d been religious.

  Igor Kaprizov, the man Detective Inspector Frank Gallagher had told her was Sergei Andronov’s boss, the man Croxley had been going to sell her pictures to, was Yana’s uncle. How had she not known about Yana’s family connections?

  Vittoria mentally shook her head. They had different surnames, so how could she? Yet Kaprizov had sounded vaguely familiar when DI Gallagher had mentioned him – Yana must have spoken of him in one of their early sessions.

  But more importantly, how long had Kaprizov known about her? Had Croxley told him the name of the owner of the painting and explained why the sale needed to be private? Had he immediately made the connection with his niece? Her name had been all over the paper, for Christ’s sake: she was the woman who had saved Yana from anorexia. And that story had been right across the page from Marcus’s midnight activities in The Velvet Club. Kaprizov was a clever man, a clever and ruthless man. He hadn’t got to be a billionaire by accident.

  Lily interrupted Vittoria’s tumbling thoughts. ‘Please excuse me – I’ll see you afterwards, I hope?’ Not giving them time to answer, smiling, Lily slipped off into the crowd.

  ‘So, Vittoria …’ Kaprizov turned to her, his dark eyes penetrating, his smile fixed. And in that moment Vittoria knew for sure that he knew.

  Her stomach lurched but Vittoria focused on keeping her face impassive. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Igor—’

  Before she could continue, her phone began to ring in her handbag.

  ‘Oh, excuse me.’ Pulling it out, Vittoria looked at the number: unknown. Right now, it didn’t matter who it was – it could be an insurance salesman for all she cared – she just needed a few minutes to think. Whoever was calling her had just become her number-one priority. ‘I’m so sorry – I’m on call. It must be a client. I’d better take it.’

  Smiling deliberately ruefully, she turned her back on the crowd and, answering, headed towards a quiet corner at the back of the showroom. She’d get rid of the caller and pretend to be engrossed in a conversation on the phone. It would give her a few valuable moments to figure out what the hell she was going to do.

  ‘Hello, Vittoria, how is New York?’ The man’s voice was unfamiliar, his Northern Irish accent strong. How did he know she was in New York? Had the office told him? Ruby hadn’t texted to say anyone would be calling her.

  ‘Lovely, thank you. How can I help you?’

  ‘We were very sorry to hear about your recent tragedy.’ The way he said it made the hairs on Vittoria’s neck stand up.

  And in that moment, she knew exactly who she was talking to.

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ She needed to play for time, to shake off the shock and get her mind working. It was all happening too fast. A black hole opened up in her stomach. Merda. Glancing up, she could see Igor looking around at her. He smiled. Holy Christ.

  ‘We believe you’ve come into some money recently?’

  ‘And what has that got to do with you exactly?’

  ‘I hope you’re not spending it all in No. 42, Vittoria. You owe us. You put one of our men in an extremely awkward position.’

  Vittoria felt her blood chill. ‘I settled with you in full. And I gave him plenty of time to get out of the house. I texted to cancel everything. Why didn’t he pick up the message? Why did he come when the job was off?’

  ‘You pushed the alarm button, Vittoria. You could have let him go and wiped the tapes. It would have been our little secret.’

  Her mind flashed back. The man had been so angry that Marcus wasn’t there, that the plan had changed and he hadn’t been told. She’d been terrified he was going to attack her. She kept her voice low. ‘I had cancelled the job. I yelled at him to get out, and I gave him a head start.’

  ‘He doesn’t like running. It’s not his style.’

  It wasn’t hers either.

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘We don’t threaten, Vittoria. Let’s just say we need to increase your bill to compensate our man for his distress.’

  Distress? She could tell him all about distress.

  ‘And it’ll end there, will it?’ Vittoria’s tone was full of contempt. Like hell it would. If she paid, this would be just the start. She knew how these people worked. Her home town was run by the mafia. The mayor ate in her father’s restaurant. She knew exactly how they operated.

  She glanced again at Igor, thinking fast.

  How would Aidan feel about working in London? Could she persuade him, say she needed to get away from the house, from everything associated with Marcus, make a new start? Vittoria could hear her heart beating hard, drowning out the sounds of the room. It would mean Aidan leaving his boat, the memory of his brother – unless he could move it to somewhere close to London? There had to be people who lived in London who sailed – the River Thames ran through the city. Maybe they could keep Alcantara as a holiday house?

  She took a deep breath, her voice hard. ‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with.’

  ‘Oh, I think we do, Vittoria. We’ve been keeping our eye on you.’

  ‘Really? So you’ll know all about my close association with Igor Kaprizov then?’ There was a pause. She filled it. ‘I’d look him up before you go any further.’

  ‘But we’ve got
the paintings, Vittoria—’

  Perhaps Kaprizov’s name didn’t mean anything to him. Yet. She cut him off. ‘So sell them. They were stolen by whoever murdered my husband and Edward Croxley.’ How had they found the paintings? Had they been watching the house the whole time?

  Vittoria didn’t wait for his reply. He’d know as soon as he checked out Kaprizov that he needed to back off. She ended the call.

  Her back to the room, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, thinking fast. Vital to her next move was that Kaprizov would never find out that the pictures were forgeries. She couldn’t imagine he’d be very impressed that Croxley, and, by association, she, was trying to sell him fakes.

  Vittoria’s heart began to speed up, but she deliberately tried to calm herself. There was no reason why he should find out. The only people who knew were law enforcement, and she couldn’t imagine that he’d be in conversation with the likes of DI Frank Gallagher anytime soon. It would all be fine. Eileen the copyist had thought Marcus had commissioned the paintings. She, Vittoria, had known nothing of their origins. It would all be fine. She needed to calm down and focus.

  She had no idea what Kaprizov had in mind for her, was quite sure his Harley Street Clinic was a front for something, but she had to give it a try. She had no choice, and if the man who she’d hired to kill Marcus under the auspices of a break-in was planning to blackmail her, then she needed protection. Protection at a level that only someone of Kaprizov’s stature could offer.

  This was all Marcus’s fault. His affair with Stephanie Carson had been the last straw, and that was even before Vittoria had found out Stephanie was pregnant. The first, genuine, break-in had given her the idea to organise a second, more violent one, and then Marcus hadn’t come home and it had all gone wrong. Vittoria closed her eyes, pushing away the memory of the door opening, of the gun. She’d genuinely feared for her life. Getting the paintings commissioned and ‘finding’ them accidentally to invalidate the prenup had seemed so much easier after that, and had the added benefit of Marcus having to explain their origins to the press.

  But then she’d met Lily and realised she could put the paintings to a much more practical use …

  Poor Aidan, would he come to London? He’d loved her since the night their eyes had met at that party. He’d looked across the room at her and she’d just known. She could still hear Marcus’s voice in her ear as they’d arrived. They’d literally walked in the front door and Aidan had appeared from the kitchen, two glasses in his hand. ‘Jesus, why did nobody tell me bloody Kelly was going to be here. Don’t go near him. He’s full of bullshit lies. I was nowhere near his brother when he had that accident.’

  Aidan had been everywhere she’d looked after that, every time she turned she caught him looking at her out of the corner of her eye. She’d had to get out, had seen Marcus flirting with some girl and told him she wanted to go home, making even more of it in the car, like it was his fault they were leaving. And then he’d taken that bend too fast …

  She should have left him then, as soon as she’d recovered, but Aidan had been engaged to be married the following year, and by the time she was able to think straight, Marcus had proposed. She’d needed some sort of security; her whole life was upside down. And how was she to know that Aidan would break it off with his fiancée? Christ what a mess.

  Vittoria pushed her hair behind her ear, still only half-aware of the room. Putting her phone in her bag, she turned and realised Lily’s part of the presentation was about to begin. She scanned the room, searching for Aidan. He was looking for her too, smiled at her as their eyes met.

  He loved her.

  She knew he loved her.

  He’d do anything for her. He’d move to London if she wanted him to, if she needed him to. And she did. She needed Igor Kaprizov now.

  Vittoria headed back towards Yana and her uncle as Lily stepped up beside the elegant woman on the stage and a round of applause erupted across the room.

  Kaprizov turned to her. ‘Everything OK, Vittoria?’

  ‘Of course. Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Good. And there’s no need to be concerned. I, too, am keeping my eyes on you.’

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  No book comes together without an army behind it and I’m absolutely thrilled to now be working with Corvus, Atlantic and their award-winning team. This book is a step in a new direction – Cat Connolly’s busy training with the ERU, so I’m giving her some time to get into her new role, which gives you a chance to meet some of the other characters in her world.

  Huge thanks to Sara O’Keeffe and Poppy Mostyn-Owen, my editors at Corvus, plus the PR and marketing team in the UK, and the Gill Hess team in Ireland, for all their support enthusiasm and excitement about Vittoria and Lily’s story. Without Simon Trewin, my awesome multi-talented agent, there would be no books, and I wouldn’t be able to do what I love the most – to write. Thank you, Simon, for everything.

  When I stay in London, my absolute favourite hotel is The Bloomsbury, part of the fabulous Irish owned Doyle Collection (together with the wonderful River Lee Hotel, where I stay whenever I visit Cork, and the glorious Westbury in Dublin). Everything about the staff, the service and the ambiance is perfect, I cannot recommend it highly enough, but obviously The Bloomsbury are very select in their clientele and wouldn’t ever have guests like Vittoria – which is why she’s staying at The Hogarth Hotel, where anything can happen...

  Last but biggest thanks go to you, my reader – thank you for getting this far, I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride and are as excited as I am about where we might go next. But that’s for book five…