Page 31 of The Thief

“In a storage room in the north wing,” I respond warily. I’m suddenly remembering that I took the fake Titian out of the museum on Saturday, and I didn’t bring it back. Not only did I fail to successfully steal the real painting, I left the forgery behind in Daniel Rossi’s apartment.

I need to be careful about what I say to Dottore Garzolo.

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe we lost track of this,” he says ruefully. “It’s probably a good thing you’re cataloging the works digitally.” He smiles at me. “Anyway, I just came by to see how you were doing.”

Phew. This is just a social visit. “I’m doing great.”

“Excellent.” He turns to the door. I exhale in relief, thinking I’m in the clear when he stops. “We showed a collection of Titian’s Madonnas in that same exhibition. If I remember correctly, it was the first and only time all six of them were on display together. Five of them were loaners from other museums, but one of them, theMadonna at Repose, was ours.” He frowns. “You didn’t happen to find it in that storage room, did you?”

I wipe my sweating palms on my skirt and keep my voice very steady. “No,” I lie. “But it was a crowded room. I can look again.”

“Would you? That would be great.” He steeples his fingers. “That was a really good exhibition. We should show it again, maybe next year during Carnival. I’ll talk to the director and get the ball rolling. Will you let me know if you find that Titian?”

Fuck.

I bang my head repeatedly on my desk after my boss leaves. I’ve gotten myself into one hell of a mess, and I only have a couple of days to get myself out. Dottore Garzolo is bound to ask me about the Titian again soon.

Stealing Antonio’s Titian will take time that I don’t have. I need to get back the fake. My boss has exceedingly bad vision. There’s a chance—a tiny one—that he won’t immediately recognize the Madonna as a forgery.

I have to go back to Daniel Rossi’s apartment.

I will turn a blind eye to your crimes as long as they occur elsewhere. Just not in my city. Are we clear on that?

Whatever. I can’t worry about Antonio right now; I have bigger problems to tackle.

* * *

It feels like forever,but only two days have gone by since I walked out of Daniel Rossi’s apartment with the Titian tucked into my backpack. Antonio would know that I got in as part of the cleaning crew, but as busy as he’s been killing people, I doubt he’s found the time to track down the details of my fake ID. It’s madness to try to break into Rossi’s apartment as part of the cleaning crew again, but maybe I could disguise myself somehow?

I’m still working out what to do when I call my supervisor at the cleaning company.

It’s an awkward conversation. I was planning on disappearing after my heist, and I’d given Ramona both a fake name and a burner phone number. I also didn’t show up for my shift on Sunday.

Needless to say, she’s not happy with me. I spend the first five minutes groveling about missing my shift. “I’m so sorry,” I say for what seems like the hundredth time. “I ate something that disagreed with my stomach and spent most of the day throwing up.”

“You could have texted,” she replies caustically. “Or did your mystery illness affect your fingers as well?”

Solid burn, Ramona. I apologize again and beg her for some shifts this week, and she finally relents. “Fine,” she says. “I don’t have anything for you today or tomorrow, but maybe Wednesday.” I hear the sounds of paper rustling as she looks through the schedule. “No, Wednesday won’t work because of the move. Can you work Thursday?”

“Yes,” I reply. “What move?”

“One of the residents is moving out, so they’ve asked us not to come in for the day. Apartment 3B. Rossi.”

I sit up. Of course, Daniel Rossi is moving out. I doubt the lawyer ever lived in that building. The entire thing was a trap that Antonio set for me. And now that he has no use for the furniture in Daniel Rossi’s fake apartment, it’s getting dismantled.

And the fake Titian on the wall—what’s going to happen to it?

As soon as I finish my conversation with Ramona, I go online. Venice—the island proper, not the mainland—is a notoriously difficult city to move into and out of. There are no cars, no moving trucks, and everything happens via canals and footbridges. Rossi’s apartment isn’t close to a canal, which means that porters with carts will need to carry the furniture over bridges and through narrow alleys. It’s a logistical nightmare, which is why there are only three or four companies that even do it.

It doesn’t take me long to make a shortlist.

The first company I call doesn’t know anything about the job, but I strike gold on my second attempt. “I’m calling about the Rossi move,” I say to the woman who answers the phone.

“Yes,” she says. “What about it?”

“I’m Signor Rossi’s assistant,” I lie. “I’m just calling to confirm that he told you about the museum employee.”

“What museum employee?”

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