The man with the broken nose made another rude entrance into the room. "Boss is finishing up a few business details and asked me to escort you to the gallery." The word 'escort' came out as though the idea of doing so was the farthest thing from his bitter thoughts. The damage she had recently done to him seemed to remain at the forefront of his mind. Other than a little fear for what the man might be capable of, Ess really didn't care about his resentment. She wished she could pop him in the nose again.

Preferring to avoid any further rough handling, she reluctantly complied. While following him back down the broad staircase, she looked about in all directions for any possible breakout route, but noticed that he kept a close eye on her every movement. At the landing, he took a hold of her arm, and guided her (in as forceful a manner as he could get away with) down a hallway, and to another door. When he opened that door, he deposited her inside, and locked it behind her. Immediately, she began to scour the room for an alternative way out.

The windows in this room were not barred, but they were locked. The distance downward was not nearly as far as it had been from the bedroom, so Ess felt willing to take the risk. There were many objects in the room that could work effectively as a missile to break the glass, but as she picked up a small statuette, and wound up for the pitch, the door to the gallery opened.

Ess jumped and turned in the direction of the new occupant as he entered into the room. The man quickly took stock of the scene before him, and began to laugh.

"Good idea, my dear." He said through his amusement, "but those windows have alarm sensors. My guards would have caught you before you'd have been able to land on the ground. Nice try, though. Very admirable."

The man who spoke entered further into the gallery. His urbanely composed voice agitated Ess with its severe confidence of superiority. It was not simply superiority towards Ess, but towards the world in general. Every word was perfectly annunciated and tinged with the haughtiness of self-importance.

The deep blue suit that had evidently been well tailored, apparent by the precise fit on his faultless frame, made Ess feel rather self-conscious at her own choice of clothing. His appearance on the whole was that of every detail having been taken into earnest consideration. His dark hair appeared expertly coiffed; his eyebrows, though thick, were impeccably shaped; and his slightly bronzed skin looked as smooth as polished marble. There didn't exist a gray hair or wrinkle to be seen.

Only his eyes gave away any signs of age. The russet brown of his irises hinted a sinister past and betrayed any of the placidness displayed in the rest of his features. There lurked a menacing darkness that had apparently deepened with the maturing of his maliciousness. The smirk that did not appear in the slight smile of his lips while taking in the sight before him, still made itself exceedingly present in his eyes.

As he slowly stepped his way closer and closer to her, as though caging an agitated prey, he continued speaking, trying to lull Ess into a false sense of security, "My dear, you look splendid. Not my first choice in dress, but the cut does flatter your figure very well." He stepped closer. "Allow me to introduce myself." Another step forward. "I am Marcus Angoli, a great admirer of yours; and I have been looking forward to your most anticipated acquaintance. It has been long overdue, wouldn't you agree?" He was only a few feet away from her now.

Ess fought against her desire to believe in his harmlessness. He seemed too sedate, which made him the most dangerous sort of predator. After a moment she found her voice, and readied herself to fight against his deceiving manners with her own contemptuous conduct, "I would have been just as content as to have prolonged such an acquaintance, until – oh, say – never?"

A slight shadow passed over the man's eyes for less than a second, but Ess caught it. She struck a blow to his ego.

He changed the direction of the conversation. "Allow me to show you around my gallery." When Ess didn't take the arm he extended to her, he imposed upon her to comply by slowly but determinedly covering the last of the distance between them. He seized her hand and placed it under his arm, keeping it there with his own hand, and holding it with a tight grip. Ess did not attempt to hide her resentment, but allowed herself to be guided around the room. She didn't fail to notice that most of the works, statues and paintings alike, had her face.

"The room is practically dedicated to you." Angoli gave her a glance that showed his pleasure. He expected that she should feel the same way, or at least display some attitude of honor. When this did not appear to be the case, a slight furrow made it's way to his brow. "There are a few pieces that are not 'Esther Art', but they will be replaced by future works I intend to have commissioned. Already, some of my priceless art has made way for your lovely form." With a controlled measure of entertainment in his voice he explained, "I have a Manet that once resided in a place of honor above the fireplace. It now decorates the guest bathroom off of the receiving hall." He looked pleased with the comical idea of reducing a Manet to a bathroom hanging.

"Would you like to see which painting has taken its place?" He guided her towards the other end of the room. "It was my first work of 'Esther Art' and still remains my favorite."

He drew her attention to a mural that took up a fair portion of the wall over another ridiculously ornate fireplace. The oil-based painting was an illustration of what looked like a scene from the story of Esther in the Bible. It portrayed the young queen bowing before her king and husband, risking her life to beg an audience with him so that she could deliver the Jewish people from their enemy, Haman, and his intended genocidal massacre. It was quite an impressive moment captured on canvas by Max's skilled hand.

While Ess studied the work, her appreciation for its fine depiction unhidden from her face, Angoli took the opportunity to explain himself to her; something he never would have done with anyone else in the world. "Allow me to fill you in on this story you play such a significant role in," he began.

"Max, your hero and protector," his words were openly supercilious, "your obsessed artist, truly has quite a history. But before I go into detail, I must insist that this confession remain between you and I. It must go no further." He paused for affect.

"Max," he smiled snidely, "happens to be my son." Ess's eyes fell away from the painting and darted towards the man's face. She couldn't help but display her shock and disbelief. "Oh, he doesn't know it. He's a bastard, and so I would never truly acknowledge him. His mother was beautiful and a woman of little morals. I had my time with her, but it was only a short time in which she belonged to me alone. You know how fickle you women can be." He led her in a new direction along the wall of the gallery.

"She grew tired of me, and began to explore other options. When I found out, I turned that slut out faster than she could blink. She barely had time enough to beg me to provide for our unborn child. At the time, I had supposed that it could have been the spawn of any of the scum she had been with, but you only have to look at Max to see the resemblance between us."

Angoli stopped, and turned towards Ess to give her a good look at his features. It was true. They had an undeniably similar jaw-line and the set of their eyes were identical. How odd, though, that Ess didn't notice it before. It wasn't until she looked for it that she saw the similarities.