Page 26 of The Thief

“I don’t know,” he replies. “You’re the first woman I’ve invited on board.”

I don’t believe him. “I can’t possibly accept these.”

Mirth touches the corners of his eyes. “I don’t have a problem if you prefer to remain in my robe,” he says, giving me another wickedly sexy smile. “But once the boat gets moving, you might prefer something more. . . secure.”

Argh. “Fine,” I grit out. I snatch the bags off the table and disappear into the bedroom, the sound of his laughter following my retreat.

* * *

The clotheshe bought me fit perfectly. All of them. I choose a pair of jeans that hug my butt, a long-sleeved black and white striped shirt, and a green sweater that matches my eyes a little too well.

It’s hard not to let that freak me out, but I do my best.

Despite my best attempts to blow dry them, my sneakers are still wet, and so are my socks, so I head back out to the main salon barefoot. Antonio’s still seated on the couch, his dark head bent over his phone.

“What do you think?” I ask, twirling around as if I’m walking the runway in a fashion show.

He gives me a slow, assessing look. “I think Goran forgot to buy shoes,” he replies. “An unforgivable lapse. I should have him killed.”

My head snaps up. “What? I don’t need—” I stop talking when I see the laughter in his eyes. “Haha, very funny.”

He grins. “It really was. You should have seen the look on your face. Would you like a drink? Red wine? Something stronger?”

“Red wine sounds good.”

He pours me a glass. I unwisely sit on the couch next to him and sip it. “I’ve been thinking about what you were saying. Is it really all ‘yes, Padrino’ all the time? Does no one challenge you?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Why do you ask?”

Because I’m fascinated by you. I want to know what makes you tick.Color rises to my cheeks. “Just curious, I guess. You told me you never knew your parents, and now, you’re a mafia boss, and everyone jumps to your bidding. It just sounds. . .lonely.”

He responds to my question with one of his own. “What about you?” he asks. “Areyoulonely?”

Yes.All the time. It’s an ache inside me, a gaping void that I fill with planning the details of my various art heists. “I have Valentina and Angelica.”

“Angelica is a child, and you see Valentina twice a year.”

I squirm away from his steady regard. “When my parents died, I learned the same lesson you did. It’s best not to need people because they can leave you. The only person you can truly count on is yourself.” I drink my wine, unsure why I’m opening up to him. Then again, I always found it easy to confide in Antonio. It’s erecting walls against him that’s hard.

I stare at my toenails. I painted them green back in Boston, and the polish is starting to chip. The article I read about Antonio spent a great deal of time speculating about which supermodel he was dating at any given time. The name that came up most often was Tatiana Cordova, an Italian-Russian actress whose most recent movie won an Oscar.

Tatiana wouldn’t have chipped nails.

I push that jealous thought aside. “You didn’t answer my question, incidentally.”

He gives me a half-smile. “Yes,” he says. “I have people who challenge me. Dante, my second-in-command, pushes back if he thinks I’m making a mistake.”

“Dante works for you.”

“He’s also a friend,” he replies. “And there are others.”

“Is the person who stole theMadonna at Reposea friend of yours? Because I thought I knew all the art thieves in Venice and can’t figure out who did it.”

He laughs. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to bring up the Titian.” He surveys me through hooded eyes. “I didn’t hire a thief. I stole it myself.”

“No way.” I lean forward, fascinated. “Really?”

“Really.” He tops up my glass. “I was sixteen, and it was my first major job. The museum hosted a reception for a visiting donor. I dressed as a waiter and sneaked into the gathering, and when everyone was distracted, I swapped out the paintings.”

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