I may be a top-notch spy, but I do know a little bit about art. Emphasis on little.

Okay, if I’m totally being one hundred percent honest with myself, I don’t fucking know anything at all. But the one thing I do know is your subject has to be outstanding.

So why does Antonio want to paint me?

There’s nothing extraordinary about me. As far as I’m concerned, I’m totally fucking ordinary. Definitely not outstanding.

But heck, if he wants to waste paint, who am I to stand in the way of his dream?

Alright, alright, now I’m getting carried away. He’s said nothing about it being his dream to paint me.

I don’t think I’ve been inside Antonio’s studio before. If I had, I would remember. First, because it’s on the third floor.

I didn’t even know the house had three floors.

There’s a skylight window to let in natural light. On the walls are more lights. I suppose an artist needs plenty of light, both natural and artificial.

Several easels with half-finished paintings are at the back of the room. I assume some of the works of art that are hung up are what he’s finished already. From what I can tell, they look pretty good.

Some of them seem to have a lot of red, as if he were angry when he painted them.

Perhaps I should take up painting when I finish this assignment. It may be a good way to unleash thoughts and feelings without anyone actually knowing what you want to express.

“If you want, you can take your clothes off and put them over the chair.”

I must have misheard his instructions. I could have sworn he said something about taking my clothes off.

Blankly, I stare at him. He doesn’t look at me but grabs a blank canvass and sets up his paints.

When he turns around, I’m standing exactly where I was when I walked in.

“What’s the matter, Sofia?” He walks toward me. “You’re not feeling well?”

My throat feels a little parched and my head a little sore, but otherwise, I’m fine.

“Erh, no, I’m fine. It’s just…” I stop mid-sentence.

“You haven’t taken your clothes off.”

He speaks gently to me and takes my hands. His eyes see right into my soul.

“But I thought…you said…painting…”

I’m totally fucking confused.

“I want to paint a nude of you.” He’s grinning at me.

“You…what?” The words are out before I can stop myself.

“A nude. I want to paint a nude of you.”

With a furrowed brow, I stare at him.

He has to be fucking joking! Draw me in the nude? Surely not.

“But…” I start and am lost for words again.

This isn’t like me. And I can’t understand why I’m suddenly so flustered.

I’m not a prude. Heck, all of these guys have not only seen me in the nude—they’ve fucked me, too.

And then it hits, like a car hitting a brick wall at full speed.

Fear.

I’m frightened of what he’ll see when I stand in front of him, totally fucking exposed.

He will see me for the fraud that I am.

It’s all fine and good to hide behind the term spy, telling myself and the world the lies I need, all to get information for the greater good—but deep down, I know better.

Where is the greater good in my current assignment? I mean, I’m here to dig up dirt on the Monatello brothers and bring them to justice. In the process, I’m lying all over the place.

So far, I’ve not found one lie they’ve told me—or anyone else for that matter.

They seem to personify total goodness.

Right now, I’m a worse person than they are. I’m here under false pretences. They’ve taken me in and are looking after me out of the goodness of their hearts—and because they like me.

Maybe like is an over statement.

Do they tolerate me? No, that doesn’t sound right, either.

Maybe they do like me.

Anyway, I, on the other hand, am here to bring them down.

“Are you cold?”

Antonio’s voice snaps me out of my navel-gazing. I shake my head.

He’s looking at me.

Once I take my clothes off, it will all be over, I know it will. Painters have a special kind of eye.

He’ll see me. He’ll see me for the fraud I am.

My hands shake a little as I first take off my top, then my bra, and last, but not least, my pants and slip.

Totally exposed and vulnerable, I stand before the master.

His eyes widen, and I brace myself for the exclamation of recognition. He will shout something about me being a terrible person before sending me away.

It was bound to happen sooner rather than later. Trouble is, I’ve got nothing for the senator, except one piece of paper. Hardly enough to bring down the Monatello Empire.

“Mama mia,” Antonio whispers and scurries away. “Don’t move, my darling. Just stay the way you are. It’s a perfect pose.”

His words wash over me, but I take no notice of them.

Okay, so he’s a little slow. But he’ll see me for what I am, and then it’ll be time to kiss this assignment good bye. The senator won’t pay, nor will there be a bonus.

It’ll have all been a fucking waste of time.

Worse, I’ve spent so much time building up walls around me—walls these blokes have managed to crumble—and now I’ve got to start again from the beginning.

Holy shit.

“Tilt your head a little to the left, Doña Sofia,” Antonio calls over to me, and I do as I’m told.

I still can’t believe he’s not seen me for what I truly am. I bet it won’t take long, though.

It won’t be long before the brothers give me my marching orders.

There’s only one thing to do.

Get off my ass and start looking for real dirt on the Monatello brothers.