Page 54 of The Thief

LUCIA

Casanova is. . .wow.The walls are red, the chandeliers are gold, and it positively reeks of luxury and opulence. The patrons match the ambiance. Everyone here looks effortlessly elegant. My black dress is one of the most flattering things I own, and I’m still struggling not to feel out of place.

I’ve visited sex clubs before. Back in my self-destructive phase in my early twenties, I used to be a regular at a club called Asylum. But Asylum, with its black walls and concrete floors, looked nothing like this. Asylum was a warehouse, and this club is practically the Taj Mahal.

Valentina introduces me to a few people at the bar. One of them is a man called Enzo Peron. “Lucia, Enzo is the chief of police,” she says with a sly grin. “He’s a good person to know.” Her smile widens. “Enzo, join us at our table, will you?”

I bite back my frown. I know that look in Valetina’s eyes. Is she match-making, and if so, why? Is this because I told her that I’m not interested in Antonio, and she’s decided she’s going to call me on that bluff?

Enzo is a good-looking man, tall, in fantastic shape, and much younger than I would have expected someone in his position to be. Valentina’s doing good by me, and any other time, I’d be buying her a drink as thanks for introducing me to a very hot guy.

But not today. Enzo’s not doing anything for me, and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

Valentina continues with the introductions. “Lucia just moved back to Venice,” she says. “She works as a curator at the Palazzo Ducale. Lucia, Enzo loves art. You should show him around the museum sometime.”

She’s being as subtle as a truck, and I’m going to strangle her the first chance I get. “I’m anassistantcurator,” I correct. “And I’m only here on a five-month contract. Valentina is making it sound much more exciting than it actually is.”

A shadow falls over my friend’s face. “Right,” she says tonelessly. “You’re leaving in January. I forgot.”

“February. After Carnival.” I feel like a jerk reminding Valentina that my time here is temporary. Some days, it’s hard for me to notice the time passing. The first few weeks were excruciatingly difficult, and memories of my parents haunted every corner, but as the days have passed, being back also reminds me how much I missed Venice.

Painful memories or not, this city is and will always be the home of my heart, and I’m going to miss it when I leave. I’m going to miss being able to text Valentina a hundred times a day without having to account for the time difference between us. I’m going to miss eating dinner with her and Angelica listening to my goddaughter chatter about her day, her friends, and the pony she wants to buy the minute she turns thirteen.

Angelica wants to learn how to knit, but Valentina doesn’t know how. I do, however; my mom taught me, and I promised to teach my goddaughter. Will I have time to do that before I leave?

“You’ve moved back to Venice?” Enzo asks politely. “How long were you away?”

“Ten years.” A crew is setting up a Saint Andrew’s Cross in the center of the floor, and a woman in a skintight leather outfit leads a man to it and straps him in place. Goosebumps rise on my skin. I want to be that guy, bound tight, knowing that punishment is coming.

Valentina and Enzo are staring at me. I must’ve missed part of the conversation, gawking at the show in front of us like I’ve never seen somebody get punished before. “You sound Venetian, Enzo,” I say, trying to cover my embarrassment. “Are you from around here?”

“I grew up in Venice,” he replies. “But like you, I moved away for a while.”

“He returned home a couple of years ago,” Valentina adds. “He was a rising star in Rome, and we’re lucky to have him.”

The star in question looks faintly discomfited. “Valentina exaggerates.”

My eyes are drawn back to the floor show again. The woman circles the man, slow and intent, and the immobilized man watches her. Then, when the man takes his eyes off her for a second, she flicks the crop in her hands, and the sound of a crack fills the room.

My breath catches. I don’t care what Valentina and Enzo think; my attention narrows to the scene unfolding before me, and butterflies flutter in my stomach. There’s an ache in my core. I’m not just fantasizing about being the person in the middle of the room—my imagination has a mind of her own because I wantAntonioto dominate me. As hard as I’m trying not to think about him, I’m picturing him circling me slowly, like a predator toying with his meal. I want him to come close to me, yank my hair back, and promise me pain and pleasure in equal measure. I want?—

“Hello, Lucia.”

My head snaps up. As if my need has summoned him here, Antonio Moretti has materialized in front of me.

I blink.

He’s still here.

Okay, he’s not a figment of my imagination. “Antonio? What are you doing here?”

His eyes flash dangerously. “Are you surprised to see me?” he asks, low and dark. “You shouldn’t be. Don’t you know by now that I’m aware of everything that happens in Venice?”

Valentina is trying hard not to smirk. “Hello, Antonio,” she says. “What a pleasant surprise.” She waves to the empty seat. “Would you like to join us?”

“No.” He gives Enzo a hard stare. “Peron. You’re looking well.”

Enzo’s expression is unreadable. “Moretti,” he says curtly.

---