“Ditto. It wasn’t exactly fun to wake up and hear you’d been shot.”

“I’m fine. He didn’t hit an artery or anything. Now that they patched me up, I’m good to break out of here.”

“Michael Garin,” I scolded, finger to his chest. “Don’t you dare think of leaving one minute before those doctors discharge you.”

“One brush with death, and suddenly, she’s all about following the rules,” he teased with a smirk.

“I don’t know about that, but I do know this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t trying to save me. I don’t want you getting an infection or not healing properly because of me.”

His brows came together as his eyes hardened. “You listen to me, Sofia. This was not your fault, so I want you to wipe that shit from your mind. The only one who gets the blame is Sal Amato, you got that?”

My lips thinned, and I nodded, but the guilt tugging at my heart didn’t simply wash away. It was hard to know that someone I loved had been hurt trying to help me. It was even worse knowing that person had been hurting for years because he’d wanted more from me than I could give.

“Something else you guys should know,” added Michael. “A friend came this morning to let me know they took care of Breechner—found him snooping around the gallery. He was some schmuck private investigator hired to look into a forgery. The guy who bought your first reproduction was trying to sell it off to someone else, and that guy had his insurance company assess the painting. The appraiser pegged it as a forgery, so the deal fell through. Our buyer got his panties in a twist and decided he’d come after the seller. Both Breechner and his client have been made aware of their error and won’t be a problem any longer.”

“I appreciate your family helping with that.” I was surprised that I didn’t feel the fear and regret typically associated with being caught. Instead, it just made me want to work harder until my artwork was indistinguishable from the originals.

“I was impressed the guy was able to trace the painting back to me,” Michael mused. “We go through enough middlemen to make that a difficult feat. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Regardless, it’s probably best we’re transferring things to Nico and the Italians—change things up and keep the waters murky.”

My head snapped up, surprise widening my eyes. “What? What do you mean transferring things to Nico?”

“Nico and I talked things over and decided it would be best if you ran your operation through his outfit. You and I can still be friends, but we’ll remove the business from our equation. It keeps things simpler, and you still get to do what you do best. That work for you?” Michael asked with a hint of humor in his voice.

“Uh … yeah, I just … you guys talked it out?” When did that happen? I was stunned. Why hadn’t Nico told me on the way over?