Page 50 of The Thief

I cling to him as I ride the aftershocks of my orgasm, my vision blurry and my body trembling. Antonio wraps his arms around me and holds me close until the last shudders of pleasure fade. When I finally pull away, his eyes linger on me, heavy with satisfaction. He cups my face and strokes my cheek with his thumb, the gesture both possessive and strangely tender.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I say back. I want to melt into his embrace and never let go, and that thought finally gives me the jolt of panic I need.

I thought I was going to get fucked into oblivion, but he gave me more than that. He didn’t just give me his lust; he offered me passion. He just didn’t utter meaningless compliments; he gave me honesty. He didn’t just fuck me; he offered precious intimacy.

He held nothing back.

It’s so much more than I’m ready for.

Isn’t this what you wanted? You weren’t really annoyed about the bodyguard. You were just looking for an excuse to see him again. Did you steal the Titian with the noble intention of returning it to the museum, or did you do it because you knew Antonio would make good on his promise?

I was playing a game, and it’s suddenly gotten very real. Now that I’ve had a taste of Antonio, I’m reluctant to let go.

We haven’t even made it into the bedroom, and I’m already in trouble.

I stiffen and pull away from his embrace. The sexual haze has temporarily faded, and regret is quickly replacing it. What the hell was I doing, tacitly agreeing with Antonio that I wanted him in my life? I can’t get involved with him—getting involved will only bring pain. I learned that lesson when I was eighteen, and it’s not one I should ever allow myself to forget.

“The bathroom is down the hall,” I murmur, avoiding his gaze.

“And you’re telling me to clean up and leave.” A frustrated edge hardens his voice as he pulls out the condom and ties it in a knot. “Here I thought you would invite me to spend the night.”

He goes into my bathroom without another word. When he emerges, he’s clothed again. A pang shoots through my heart, but I breathe through my panic and make myself hold still. I have to throw him out before it’s too late. He has to leave before my heart gets involved.

He knots his tie and slips his jacket over his shoulders.

“What about the painting?” I burst out and immediately wish I could take back the question. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I so bothered that he’s leaving—the thing I asked him to do—that I’m reminding him about the Titian I stole from him? “Aren’t you going to take it back?”

He shakes his head, an odd gleam in his eyes. “I take the Titian; you make another attempt to steal it. And then what? I’ll come over here and fuck you again?” He gives me a steady look. “This game between us is entertaining,” he says. “But I’m done playing games. The next move will have to come from you. You have my number, Lucia. If you want to see me again, call me.”

And then he leaves.

26

ANTONIO

For the first time, my house feels empty and alone. The objects I bought because they brought me pleasure feel like clutter. The bright, vivid colors around me look faded as if worn out by spending too long in front of a strong sun.

Because of Lucia. Everything pales when compared to Lucia.

I go to my bedroom and stare at the new painting on the wall. Once again, Lucia’s approach was brilliantly simple. When I told her that I always had time for her, I left her an opening, one she took advantage of. She guessed she would be allowed into my house, so she just walked in, took the Titian, and walked out.

I have to hand it to her. Valentina will not help her steal from me, so she’s found another way.

The painting she’s left as a replacement is surprisingly lovely, with bright colors and vivid brushstrokes. I quite like it.Which is insane.If someone told me two months ago that a thief could come into my house and steal my Madonna, and I wouldn’t even mind that much, I would have told them that they were out of their mind.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I go through the rest of my day on autopilot. Lucia’s refusal to let her guard down around me feels like a lead weight in my gut. Tomas calls with a question about finances, and I answer him, though I don’t recall a word of our conversation. Dante reports on a discussion he had with an informant in Bergamo, and Valentina sends me a progress report. I listen, I respond, and I do what’s necessary, but none of it seems to matter.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on me, and I need to escape. Get some air.

I head outside. The moment I shut my front door, Rafe and Andreas fall into step behind me. I wave them away impatiently, and they recede a little, though they continue to follow me at a safe distance. I let them; Leo will have their hide if they leave me unprotected.

I take my boat to the harbor and spend an hour talking to the stevedores. By now, everyone knows what happened to Sandro Rizzi. They’re all on edge, and they want reassurance. “My men will be here,” I tell them. “They will provide security.”

“Or we could just stop searching the containers,” a hard-faced man shouts back. “And then things will go back to normal.”

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