When Dmitry got back to the Residence Inn, Lolita was waiting for him, tapping her blood-red nails on the flimsy hotel dining table.
“Dad, we need to talk.”
“Yes, kotyonok, when I get back,” he said. He’d only stopped by the hotel to check on his wife. Vanya was waiting for him downstairs to continue their search for the missing paintings.
kotyonokBesides the Pope, the only other person who could have taken them was the professor. And he was dead. Dmitry had to find out if the professor had moved the paintings and where. His stomach sank. He had a terrible thought. What if the police had confiscated them and were looking for their owner?
“I keep telling you not to call me kitten.” Lolita slipped into the flimsy chair, extended her long legs, and crossed her ankles. Her gaze pierced his
