El Coleccionista Novels & Stories

Golden smiled, "Crazy right? I know." "I see." Coco didn't find anyone stalking her funny. "But I'll look around and pick a few things. I heard there's a new collection?" Golden asked, looking around. "Yes. Over there." Coco pointed out the new collection. "Enjoy." "You're still around right?" Golden asked. "Yes." Coco replied dismissively. "I'll see you briefly then." Golden took one last selfie, she happily walked to the new collection with her friends, giggling noisily. Coco took a deep breath. "She's something!"

"Miss Rossi. It's Nico Torrino." My blood runs cold. Nico. Damien's most trusted man. "What do you want?" "Easy now, bella. Just a business call." His voice is relaxed, but I know the danger beneath it. "I have no business with the Costellos." "Oh, but we do," Nico chuckles. "I'm calling on behalf of an anonymous collector. He wants you to restore a painting. The price is very generous." "I don't take anonymous commissions." "Not even for a million dollars?"

The iridescent Eye of the Collector in the sky let out a shriek of rage, its gold light turning into a series of "Warning Pixels." UNAUTHORIZED BROKER DETECTED. SECTOR 4 IS UNDER EXCLUSIVE USER CONTRACT. REMOVE THE MERCHANDOR. The Merchant didn't look up. He adjusted his silver-glass briefcase, which was etched with the logos of a thousand dead sectors. "The Collector is such a sentimentalist," the Merchant said, his voice a smooth, clinical vibration. "He thinks 'Skins' and 'Mods' are the future. He doesn't realize that the real value of a 'Genesis Variable' is the 'Raw Entropy'."

Nico asked, his eyes meeting mine in the glass. "I did," I replied. "Thirty-two years old. Educated at Yale. Took over the family business at twenty-five after his father died in a 'hunting accident.' He smuggles antiquities and weapons through Charleston harbor." "He collects things," Nico murmured, his hand moving to rest on my throat. "Rare art, first editions. People." His thumb pressed against my pulse. "He thinks you are a collectible, Elena. A rare artifact stolen from the Rossi line." "I'm not an artifact," I whispered. "I'm a weapon."

"Preston, let's cut to the chase. Why did you want to meet?" He ordered us both coffees -mine decaf- before leaning back, his eyes never leaving mine. The decaf order reminded me of Alex and the baby. What would Preston, my ex, think if he knew I was carrying the child of his biggest competitor? He wouldn’t like that one bit. "Straight to business, I like that," he said, his tone smooth, almost rehearsed. "I'll be blunt, Ellie. I'm interested in acquiring Mayer Financial, and I think you're the key to making that happen."

“She will.” He stared at me. I met his gaze calmly. “She’s the best acquisition consultant I’ve ever had. The Milan exhibition is in ten days. We have three international collectors waiting on her assessments. She has built relationships with people I spent years trying to reach.” “You’re making this sound very romantic.” “It isn’t.” He laughed. “I didn’t say it was.” I returned my attention to the tablet. The truth was simpler than Sebastian could understand. I had always liked Elara. Not in the careless, sentimental way most people used the word. I respected her.

Xavier apparently argued for the acquisition personally against his own committee’s recommendation. A man who trusted his own read over institutional consensus. She worked the room for forty minutes. Vivienne Cole was excellent company. She spoke to a gallery director from Boston about acquisition trends in Latin American contemporary art and knew enough to be genuinely useful to him. She listened to a Swiss collector describe a recent purchase with the particular patience of someone who found other people’s enthusiasms inherently interesting. She laughed at the right moments. She asked the right questions. She left each conversation with the other person feeling subtly, inexplicably better

he repeats, tone low and measured, “must live in a very exclusive part of town if he can find Marco’s private studio.” Cole straightens, their eyes locking , two predators in the same cage. “I’ve heard of you,” he says easily, the smile in his voice edged with something sharper. “Hard not to. The famous Dante Morelli. Billionaire. Business mogul. Mafia prince.” He tilts his head slightly. “Quite the résumé.” Dante’s jaw flexes. “And you are?” “Someone who knows how to find people,” Cole replies, voice calm but deliberate. “And how to protect them.” His eyes flicker to Amara briefly, a taunt wrapped in concern.

Knowing that Raymond wouldn't be inside, he asked the trio, "Are you guys here to buy or sell? If you're selling, I must advise you to be careful since Mr. Cole's judgment is quite poor, and his items won't be that ideal." Naturally, Trippy wasn't aware that the trio were the ones who had driven to Aurous Hill from Eastcliff in the night. The leader was the collector, whose personal net worth was valued up to one billion. The other two were his chauffeur and the expert appraiser he had invited from Eastcliff, and they were here early to purchase the bronze sculpture first thing this morning.

Jacopo coughed, and my eyes searched him out, "That much money for old paper?" I nodded excitedly, "Yes. He's one of the greats. You can ask anybody who he was, and they'd say an artist. These are almost impossible to price. The right collector would be willing to sell their soul for them. We need to have them locked away in a climate-controlled room. I'm not sure what you plan to do with them, Mr. Rossi, but you don't want them to deteriorate any further."