Page 16 of The Thief

I should be used to people fearing me. But when Lucia flinches from me, a sour feeling twists in my stomach. I hate it. “You’re cold,” I say flatly. Shrugging out of my jacket, I drape it over her shoulders. “Here.”

For an instant, I wonder if she’s going to throw it back at me. But she doesn’t. She hugs the garment protectively around her shoulders, her fingers digging into the wool, and watches in silence as I turn on the motor and rev the engine. It’s not until we’re moving that she speaks for the first time. “Where are you taking me?”

I don’t reply.

“What are you going to do with me?” she continues, her voice a note higher. We emerge from the narrower canal onto El Canalasso, and her eyes dart instinctively to the other boats around us. I can practically hear her thoughts. She’s debating whether she can shout for help, wondering if the people around us would hear her cries.

They would hear, yes. But they won’t do anything to stop me. Nobody in Venice will. Lucia has been away for a very long time, and she hasn’t yet realized that I control the city now. She hasn’t realized how foolish it is to cross me.

“You can waste your time screaming if you’d like, but it won’t do any good. It’ll just leave you with a sore throat.”

“I wasn’t planning on screaming,” she retorts. Color is beginning to return to her cheeks. “You called it your painting, but Alvisa Zanotti told me that Daniel Rossi owns it. You made her do that so you could set a trap for me, didn’t you?” She takes a deep breath and clenches her hands into angry fists. “She’s known me since I was a baby. She wouldn’t have betrayed me unless she had no other choice. What did you do to get her to cooperate? Did you threaten her?”

“I don’t need to issue threats.”

A Carabinieri patrol boat drifts into my way. I honk impatiently, and the police officer at the wheel turns around angrily. When he realizes who he was about to flip off, he goes pale, respectfully touches his cap, and gets the hell out of my way.

Lucia watches the entire interaction with narrowed eyes, but if she’s cowed, she doesn’t let on. “Did you hurt Signora Zanotti?” she bites out. “Tell me.”

Nobody has spoken to me in that tone for a very long time. It should anger me, but instead, it feels refreshing. I consider the woman in front of me thoughtfully. I don’t need to answer her question. She was told repeatedly not to steal from me, and she didn’t heed those warnings. I have absolutely no reason to soothe her fears.

“No, of course not. I’m not going to beat up an old woman. Signora Zanotti cooperated with me because she owed me a favor.”

“She owed you a favor,” she repeats slowly, her expression betrayed. “That’s why she sold me out.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath before she continues speaking. “Well, that’s just great, isn’t it?”

Lucia’s expression—sad and hurt—brings back memories of the night we met. Guilt pinches my chest. Signora Zanotti is one of only two people in Venice still left in Lucia’s life. She’s practically family. For her to sell Lucia out. . . It’s a deep cut, one that won’t heal easily.

“She didn’t want to do it.” I don’t know why I’m trying to reassure Lucia. “She didn’t have much of a choice. And she made me promise I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Lucia gives me a wary look. “Do you keep your promises, Signor Moretti? Never mind, I don’t want to know the answer. Where are you taking me?”

“Giudecca.”

“Why? Is it easier to make a body disappear there?”

“Not really,” I reply. “There’s an abundance of water in Venice. It’s pretty easy to get rid of a body anywhere.” Giudecca, the island immediately south of Venice, has a checkered past but is now home to Italy’s most interesting contemporary art scene. It’s also one of the few places in Venice where the locals outnumber tourists. “I happen to live there. I wanted to talk to you privately, so I’m taking you to my home.”

Her expression turns confused. “Why?” she asks again.

I wish I knew the answer to her question. If I were acting like my usual self, the moment Lucia arrived in Venice, I would have sent Dante or Leo to warn her not to steal in my city. But I didn’t do that. Instead, I’ve spent all my spare time in the last few weeks learning everything I could about her.

And now I’m taking her to my home.

What the hell am I doing? None of this makes any sense.

* * *

Dante is waitingat my private dock. I doubt that my second-in-command approves of my obsession with Lucia. The Russians have been sighted in Bergamo, and my attention should be on the possible threat their presence poses, not on a museum curator with a penchant for art theft.

No matter how pretty she is.

I pull the boat alongside the dock and throw the line overboard, and Dante catches it and ties it in place. The moment he notices that Lucia is wearing my coat, a smirk breaks out on his face. I give him my best quelling look as I get out. “See that we aren’t interrupted.”

Turning around, I extend my hand to Lucia. She ignores it and climbs out on her own, and Dante’s grin widens. “Yes, Padrino.”

I lead the way inside. The moment we’re in my living room, Lucia pivots toward me. “You said you wanted to talk to me privately. What about?”

I ignore her question long enough to open a bottle of Barolo. “Would you like a drink?”

---