Page 14 of The Thief

But I don’t listen to her warning.

I seize upon the mystery of the Titian as a way to avoid the misery of being back in Venice, with memories of my parents haunting every step I take. I don’t say anything about the painting to Dottore Garzolo on Monday, and my brain keeps circling the problem as I work.

Something keeps nagging at me, and it’s only when I’m walking home on Tuesday that I realize what Valentina unintentionally let drop.

When I showed her the painting, she said, ‘Do not steal in Venice.’ This means the stolen Titian never left our city, and Valentina knows who has it.

And if Valentina knows, then so will Signora Zanotti.

I call my parents’ fence as soon as I get back home. “I found a fake Titian at the museum last week,” I say after we exchange greetings. “It’s titledMadonna at Repose. A small canvas, eight inches by eleven. The real painting was probably stolen sometime in the last fifteen years, and I think it’s still in Venice. Do you know anything about it?”

“No,” she replies immediately. “If someone was trying to sell a Titian, I would have heard about it. It can’t be here.”

My heart sinks. “But you might not have heard about it if somebody commissioned the theft, right? What if it was a private collector?”

“I don’t know,” she snaps. “Lucia, I have something on the stove that’s about to boil over. I have to go.”

I wait for her to call me back, but she doesn’t. I try her again an hour later, and her phone goes straight to voicemail. I don’t have any success reaching her on Wednesday and Thursday either.

And so, on Friday, a week after I found the fake Titian, I drop by her house unannounced.

Signora Zanotti lives in a crumbling palazzo, steps from La Piazza. I knock on her door, and when she opens it and sees me there, fear flickers over her face for an instant. And then it’s gone, and I’m left wondering if I imagined it.

“Lucia,” she says. “Come on in.”

I should have visited her as soon as I got back, but I’ve been avoiding her. Seeing her reminds me painfully of my parents. My mom and Signora Zanotti were good friends, and she had dinner with us almost every week.

She’s aged since I last saw her. She’s thinner than I remember, frailer. I swallow back my guilt and hand her the bouquet I brought. “These are for you.”

“Thank you. Grab me a vase, will you? It’s in the top cupboard. And pour yourself a glass of wine. There’s an open bottle in the refrigerator.”

I get the vase for her and fill two glasses with wine. When she’s done fussing with the flowers, I hand her one. “Is there anything you can tell me about the painting I found?” I ask bluntly.

She shakes her head wryly. “I should have known you wouldn’t let it go.”

“You know something, don’t you?” I lean forward eagerly. “Signora Zanotti, someone stole a Titian. You can’t expect me to walk away from that. This painting is a piece of Venetian history, and it should be on display at the Palazzo Ducale, not spirited away for some private collector to savor.”

She sighs heavily. “After your call on Tuesday, I asked around.” Her hand trembles as she brings her glass of wine to her lips. “The Titian is owned by a lawyer who works for the mafia. His name is Daniel Rossi, and he lives near the Chiesa di San Francesco della Vigna.” She takes a deep breath. “It isn’t smart to mess with the mafia.”

I’m not listening to her warning; I’m already plotting my next move. She sees that I’m not listening, and her face falls. “I shouldn’t have told you,” she whispers. “Don’t get caught, Lucia.”

* * *

I foundout my parents were art thieves when I was thirteen. At first, I was indignant and judgmental, and then I grudgingly conceded that it was a cool way to make a living. I followed them around like a puppy, asking a thousand questions about stealing, and my father, who probably figured that a curious teenager was better than a self-righteous one, would humor me by answering them patiently.

I can hear his voice in my head now.

Rule #1: Pick your target carefully.

The next day, I complete an initial recon of Daniel Rossi’s building. What I discover isn’t encouraging. The lobby is guarded twenty-four-seven, there are cameras in every hallway, the elevators require a seven-digit code, and the windows are connected to a sophisticated alarm system.

If Valentina were in a cooperative mood, she could have worked her hacking magic on the security precautions, but she’s made her opinion pretty clear. She wants no part of this job.

So, I need a different way.

Rule #2: A simple plan is better than a complicated one.

The easiest way to get into the building is an inside job, and so, using a fake ID Valentina made me, I get a job working evening and weekend shifts at the company that cleans Rossi’s building. It’s hard for me to stay patient as I empty trash cans and vacuum the hallways, but it pays off when I strike gold on a Saturday afternoon, a week and a half after I start.

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