The gallery felt like home after a week in hell. Elena breathed in the familiar scent of restoration chemicals and old canvas, Franco and Giuseppe shadowing her every move.
"Elena!" Lucia rushed over, then stopped. "Madonna, you smell like desperation. What's wrong?"
Elena forced a smile. "Just tired. Papa's death hit harder than expected."
Lucia's eyes narrowed, studying her face. "This isn't tired. And who are those men?"
"Security," Elena said quickly. "I'll explain later. Right now I need to work."
"Security? Since when do you have money for..."
"Later, Lucia. Please."
The morning passed restoring damaged paintings. For precious hours, Elena forgot her nightmare. Around noon, she stepped outside for air when someone called her name.
"Elena?"
She spun around. Antonio Ricci stoo
