Page 101 of The Thief

“I don’t care about the paintings, cara mia,” he says. He cages me in with his body and palms my breast, pinching my nipple. “I have more important things on my mind.”

Our wedding is beautiful.

It’s a small, intimate ceremony, and only the people most important to us are invited. Enzo and Tatiana are there, of course, as are Dante, Valentina, Joao, Tomas, and Leonardo. Antonio invites Agnese and Liam, the manager at Casanova.

Valentina is my maid of honor, and Angelica is our flower girl. I also invite Alvisa Zanotti, Claudia and Miriam, and Rosa.

Valentina and Rosa have overseen the decor and done an amazing job. The altar is adorned with fragrant white roses and lilies, interspersed with tall candles. Garlands of greenery wind around the marble columns, and small arrangements of roses dot the pews. After a week of overcast skies, the sun comes out, streaming through the windows and filling the church with light.

Angelica walks down the aisle, wearing a cream silk dress with a lace overlay and a tiara in her hair, looking every inch like a fairy-tale princess.

Then the music swells, and it’s time to marry the man I love.

* * *

Antonio

Lucia is a vision in ivory silk. She glides to me, her hair falling around her shoulder in soft waves, her green eyes luminous and soft. Behind her, the doors to the church are flung open, and Venice gleams in the backdrop, a golden jewel sparkling in a sea of sapphire. Today, though, I don’t have eyes for my city, just for my beautiful,beautifulthief.

My bride.

Mine.

She glides toward me, each step drawing her closer. And I find I can’t stand still; I can’t wait. So, I go to her, ignoring the priest’s raised eyebrow. “My little thief,” I murmur, cupping her cheek.

She’s actually doing this.

She’s choosing me.

She lifts her eyes up to mine. “Antonio,” she whispers. “What are you doing?”

“Marrying you.”

A flash of pertness peeks through. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go do that.”

That’s my Lucia. I lift her hand to my lips, and we walk, hand in hand, to the somewhat scandalized priest.

Last night, in bed, we made a bet. “You’re going to cry,” I predicted. “You might pretend otherwise, but I know you, tesoro. You’ll be tearing up when you say your vows.”

But it turns out I’m wrong.

In the church where I was abandoned as a baby, surrounded by the people I consider my family, I look into the jewel-green eyes of the woman I love and promise to stay at her side in sickness and health. I promise to love, honor, and cherish her for the rest of my life. And when she repeats the same promises, her hand in mine, it’s not my little thief who tears up.

It’s me.

And shockingly, I’m okay with it.

* * *

“Okay, this is ridiculous.”I glare at the two offending members of my organization. Dante and Valentina have always had a tumultuous relationship, but somehow, things have escalated to the point of utter chaos. I assumed that they would sleep with each other during the Verratti affair and get some of that sexual tension resolved, but no. They’ve been sniping at each other with increasing venom over the last four weeks.

“It’s the day after my wedding,” I continue. “I’m leaving for my honeymoon inthree hours. And instead of eating a lazy breakfast with Lucia, I find myself here.” My withering gaze falls on Dante and then Valentina. “Dealing with your petty squabbling.”

Joao grimaces in sympathy until I focus on him but quickly forces his expression back to neutral.

“This latest fuck-up at Pascale.” I glance down at Tomas’ report. “Would either of you like to explain what went wrong?”

“I told Dante—” Valentina starts.

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