After a night of pleasure, morning came far too quickly. I wasn't even sure I had slept, but somehow I woke up with my arms around Desirae, our bare legs tangled together. I slid her hair away from her neck, breathing in sweet jasmine and amber on her skin. Soft, warm sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, bathing us in its rays. I'd forgotten how good it felt to wake up to someone like this.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her sketch of me from yesterday morning on the nightstand. My arm slid out from under her, careful not to wake her as I slipped out of the bed. I tugged the shorts and shirt she'd given me last night back on, checking that my phone was still safely tucked away in the pocket. Quietly, I flipped the sketchbook to a fresh page and found a couple charcoal pencils in the drawer. I walked over to the chair near the patio door and made myself comfortable. It'd been awhile since I'd drawn from life.

Sunlight roamed over Desirae's body, tracing where my lips had been just hours before as morning continued on without either of us paying attention. I was content to remain in this liminal moment, in the space between sleep and starting the day, anything to distract myself from the looming loneliness of knowing that she'd be leaving soon.

"Come with me," she whispered, catching me off guard as her long lashes fluttered. I hadn't realized she was awake.

"What?"

"Come to DC with me."

"That's just the sex talking." I laughed as I shook my head. "And I thought lesbians were quick to Uhaul."

"Don't make it about us." She pushed up onto her elbows, breaking the pose. "I'm serious. Whatever this is or isn't between us doesn't matter. With everything you know about shady art dealing and its ties to organized crime, I could find you a job. Something legitimate."

"Oh please." I buried my eyes back into the sketch. "I'd never pass background checks or clearances or your little FBI polygraph..."

She waved off those concerns dismissively. "Your background is exactly what they'd be interested in."

My gaze crept up over the edge of the sketchbook to find hers tempting me. "Working with you?"

"I think you'd get sick of me bossing you around."

"I doubt that," I murmured into the book.

Her lips pursed. "I can't say too much right now, but I might be getting transferred to a different department. That's why they want me back tonight. For a meeting."

"Is that a good thing?" I looked at her skeptically, trying to figure out what she wasn't telling me.

"I think it will be, yes."

"I dunno, Des. Me, working for the government?" My phone was practically burning a hole in my pocket as I weighed Desirae's offer against working for Pino again. The latter paid a hell of a lot more, the other sounded like a lot of bureaucracy and paperwork. Both seemed equally likely to result in my early death. "Wouldn't you rather just retire and make art in some coastal town no one's really heard of?"

"Like what you could've had in Favignana? Why'd you give that up to come home?"

"I came home because I heard my naked ass was plastered across the front of a museum," I chuckled softly. Part of me had hoped to find some kind of closure here, but maybe this was all I was going to get.

"You wasted some of your best years behind bars for a woman who didn't love you enough to stand up to her father. But you're still young, Kirby. You've got a second chance to change, to turn your life around. Don't throw it away again."

She had told me the same thing at the museum the other night, but hearing it now, I felt more inclined to believe I might have a chance. There was nothing holding me here, no ties to anyone, but for some reason I didn't feel ready to weigh anchor.

"Where would you go this time?" she asked.

"I dunno..." But I did. I knew exactly where I would go. I tried to hide again behind the sketchpad, but as the tip of charcoal hit the paper, Desirae swiped the book from me and straddled my lap. Her lips pressed to my neck, following the slope to my collarbone to coax the location out of me. I sighed with pleasured defeat. "There's a little seaside village near Agrigento with a community of international artists."

"Back to Sicily?"

"It's quiet, simple, unbothered... And they're still excavating in the Valley of the Temples," I mentioned cautiously. "I saw your archeological skull studies hanging in your studio at the museum. I think you'd like it too."

"Hmm..." she hummed against my ear. "That sounds like it could fit into my five year plan."

"Yeah?"

The surprised breath of my whisper hardened her nipples. I slid my hands down over her ass and pulled her closer into me. Her lips eagerly found mine, sending a rush of heat through my body. Lightheaded with lust, I let my escape plan slip from my lips, turning it into an invitation.

"Fuck five years, Des," I mumbled through her kisses. "We could pack up now, take the yacht across the lake, fly out of Toronto, and be there by tomorrow morning. You, me, the Mediterranean Sea, and one extra large grapefruit granita between us."

She sat back a little more to better look at me. Sunlight caught the honey golds in her eyes. She seemed enticed by the offer. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Dead." My lips chased the trail of goosebumps that spread over her chest until my tongue found her nipple.

"Kirby, I should tell—"

From the floor, the pocket of her robe began to vibrate and ring.

"Don't answer it," I pleaded into her skin, but she was already reaching down to the floor.

"It's Greg. Hopefully, he has an update."

As she answered her phone, I slid my hands up her legs where they wrapped my hips. A smile tugged at her lips, tempting me further. Through the speaker, I could vaguely hear him ranting. I might have heard my name once or twice. Something about breaking into the warehouse. Warrants. Paperwork. Desirae's breath caught in her chest as my thumb traced dangerously along the inside of her thighs. She snatched my wrist and bent my arm behind me with a smirk.

"How's Rafael doing?" she interrupted Greg and turned the phone outwards so I could hear.

"Stuck in a k-hole. He won't speak English. We got an Italian translator through the hospital, but apparently his sloppy Sicilian accent is so thick they don't have a clue what he's freaking out about. Had to sedate him."

"It's not sloppy," I whispered, using my free hand to cover the phone. "Sicilian is a whole separate language mixed with Greek and Arabic influences. How is this man above you in the chain?"

Desirae rolled her eyes and put the phone back up to her ear. "And Landon? I'm guessing he lawyered up?"

"I'm heading in to question them now..."

As his muffled voice continued, Desirae's fingers loosened from my wrist. Her dark eyes suddenly flicked up to mine. Swinging her leg over my lap, she slipped off and wrapped her robe tightly around her body.

"What?" I mouthed quietly.

She shook her head and took the call out onto the balcony.

I figured it must be about that top secret meeting she had tonight back in DC. Through the glass door, I watched as the breeze off the bay whipped through her locs and imagined the balcony overlooking the Mediterranean instead. It was nice to dream for a moment.

My stomach growled, bringing me back to reality.

If I couldn't get Desirae to escape with me to Sicily, I could at least bring some of Sicily back to her in the form of breakfast. Dom's was right around the corner behind the museum.

From the coat hook in the living room, I grabbed a canvas tote bag stamped with the ionic columns of the art museum. Something metal clinked around. I peeked inside to find Cora's broken sculpture. I really needed to fix it and get it back on her desk. As I looked up, Desirae came down the hallway.

"You trying to run again?"

I lifted the heavy base of Cora's sculpture up and took a better look at the breaks. "Just for breakfast."

"So you've broken that twice now?"

"The first time, I may or may not have been showing off for Artemisia before my sculpture class, making some innuendo about how well my welds penetrated... We got distracted and my elbow knocked Cora's piece off the pedestal right before critique."

"No wonder she hates you," Desirae laughed.

"Her welds suck despite steel being her go-to medium. I swear I'll fix it though, I just need a MIG. We had one in the studio, I can just swing by and throw a couple beads on it and it'll be better than it was before."

The smile on Desirae's face became more pensive. "At the warehouse?"

"Yeah, the cops still there? Or something?"

Her head bobbed slightly, but it didn't seem like she was actually answering me. Her mind was somewhere else.

"You wanna come with me to Dom's? My stomach can wait for you to get ready."

"No, no, go ahead," she replied, snapping out of her daze. "I uh, have to write some stuff up from last night. Will you grab me an iced macchiato though?"

"Des."

"What? Do you need money?"

I reached up to curl her hair around her ear then wrapped my arms around her waist. "I like you. I will break into abandoned buildings owned by my dead ex's mafia family for you. But I will not publicly humiliate myself." I could feel her smiling against my lips as I kissed her. "I will get you a macchiato and you can make the blasphemous decision to add ice to it in the privacy of your own home."

She gave me a gentle spank and I looped the tote up over my shoulder, slipping her running shoes on.

As I stepped outside, clouds from the west began to push out the sun. I followed their shadows up the back street towards the pastry shop, past the back of the museum. I should've kept walking. But my feet stopped at the gate.

Yellow crime tape still stretched across the entrance to the courtyard, but no chains or locks held it shut. No cop sat guard. I glanced around, but the street at this end was empty. Curiosity pulled me under the tape and down the path into the sculpture garden.

At this point, I was sure the police had already searched Landon's office. They probably had everything they needed to nail him to the tableaus, but it felt like there was more he was hiding.

I slipped behind the columns of the arched portico and crept along the exterior wall of the museum, passing Cora's glass door as I came to Landon's. My fingers wrapped around the bronze handle and didn't hesitate to pull. The latch clicked. Door swung open.

The smell of his cologne permeated the air as I walked in. Only a few paintings decorated the walls. None of which were his wife's artwork. Not even a photo of her on his sleek desk. What was there instead was a very old, very valuable, cast metal cat that didn't belong in the possession of this museum or even this continent. As I walked closer to it, I nearly tripped over another on the floor.

They had to be the bronzes Landon was foolishly convinced Desirae and I were after. I sunk down into his leather chair, rocking back and forth. I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around someone like him committing such heinous acts and for what? Museum publicity? Pissing Pino off? Landon was a powerful, privileged, douchebag and I wouldn't put it past him to murder, but not with his own hands.

I pulled a couple of his drawers open, but the police had already cleared out most of the desk. I tried to convince myself that Greg's team knew what they were doing. But as my eyes fell back on the cat, I realized what they didn't know was apparently how to spot looted art. Or they just didn't care.

I rummaged through his other drawers, finding a couple spare pocket squares. Wrapping them around the figures, I carefully slipped both pieces into the bottom of my tote and slung the heavy bag back over my shoulder. If I had to guess, both pieces together were likely worth close to half a million dollars, but priceless to the people of Benin City.

A quick pitstop through Nigeria before Sicily wasn't such a bad idea.