Page 73 of The Thief

“Mmm,” I say noncommittally.

She leans forward, undeterred by my marked lack of enthusiasm. “Everyone is very happy with your work,” she says, fixing me with an intent look. “If we were ever to get more money, I would have no hesitation in giving you a full-time role.”

My stomach sours at her implication. The museum director has the subtlety of a hammer, and her meaning is crystal clear. If Antonio increases the amount of money he gives the museum, then I will get a full-time job.

When I was growing up, a full-time job at the Palazzo Ducale would have been a dream come true, but right now, I just feel queasy.

I fume in silence after she leaves. It’s so obvious what’s going on. Venice is a small city, and I was seen having an intimate dinner with one of its most prominent residents. I am nowsomebody, and everyone wants to curry favor with me. Which just makes me want to start laughing hysterically. What the fuck is Signora Sabatino thinking? Does she really believe that Antonio will increase his donation to the museum if I suck his cock more often?

I want to scream at the top of my voice, I want to pick up my phone and call Antonio and snarl at him. But of course, it’s not his fault that my colleagues want to suck up.

I duck out for a quick cup of coffee, hoping the chill in the air will calm me. It doesn’t, and my day continues to get worse when, shortly after lunch, Dottore Garzolo drops by.

My boss hasn’t been in for the last week and a half. He had a bad asthma attack that turned into pneumonia, and he spent a night in the emergency room. Even now, he looks frailer than usual and sinks into a chair with a sigh of relief.

I stiffen when I see him, but thankfully, he’s not here to talk about Antonio.

“I came about the Titian, Lucia,” he says. “You said you found it?”

“Yes, of course. It’s still in the storage room, but I can bring it here.”

He looks around the room doubtfully. “There’s not really enough light here,” he says. “Why don’t you bring it to the acquisitions lab? It’s much better lit.”

The bottom drops out of my stomach. My boss’s eyesight might not be great, but the acquisitions lab will have other people in it, people who are experts, people who will be able to look at the Titian and realize it’s a fake.

My knees suddenly go weak.

“Of course,” I murmur. Why the hell didn’t I put the real Titian back when I had the chance? Like an idiot, I left it in my bedroom, openly visible to anyone who enters my apartment.

If Dottore Garzolo realizes the Titian in the storage unit is a fake, what will happen next? Will he call the police? Will they review old security footage, footage that’ll show me carrying a suspiciously large backpack in and out of the museum multiple times? Will they search my apartment?

Of all the ways I thought I’d get caught, this is the stupidest.

I brush my damp palms against my skirt. Nothing to do but hope for the best. “I’ll bring it right up.”

I proceed to the storeroom on autopilot, grab the Titian, and take it to the acquisitions lab. Dottore Garzolo is already there, a loupe in his hand, and he’s not alone. Anja Vogel, one of the senior conservators, is there too.

This day really cannot get worse.

I put the painting down on the table with shaking hands. Dottore Garzolo peers down at it, and his face breaks out into a smile. “Lovely, just lovely. Dr. Vogel, you have to look at this Titian that Lucia found in one of our forgotten storage rooms. The brushwork, the coloring. . .” He bends down and looks through the loupe. “This is truly one of the jewels of our collection.”

Dr. Vogel wanders over, and when she sees the Titian, her expression turns appreciative. “It’s so rare to see the Madonna portrayed as anything other than serene,” she says. “But this, the mother, laughing and playing with her child, what a masterpiece.” She gives the man standing next to her a chiding glance. “Dottore Garzolo, I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. If there’s ever a reason to switch from a paper cataloging system to digital?—”

“I know, I know,” my boss replies hastily before her lecture can pick up steam. “And you are correct. Thank you, Lucia. I can’t tell you how delighted I am about this find.”

What the hell is going on here? Even if Dottore Garzolo were to miss it, Anja Vogel’s sharp eyes wouldn’t fail to detect the fake.

I move closer and glance down at the Titian properly for the first time. The brilliant colors. The thin and skinny craquelure.

This isn’t the fake. This is the real Madonna.

Antonio must have broken into my apartment and stole back the Titian. But instead of keeping it, he returned it to the Palazzo Ducale and swapped it out with the fake.

Why?

38

LUCIA

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