Page 85 of The Thief

“Exactly.”

I consider his suggestion. It’s a good plan. “We’ll need blueprints for the appraiser’s building,” I say, biting my lip in thought. “I don’t know what kind of security they have, so we have to figure that out. When is the painting getting appraised?”

“Next week.”

“That’s too soon. We’ll never have enough time?—”

I stop talking as he smugly pulls a rolled-up sheet of paper from under the table. “Blueprints,” he says, spreading the sheet flat. “And their security specs are on my laptop. Oh, and there’s one more thing that’ll buy us enough time to grab the painting and get the hell out of Hungary.”

He leaves the room and returns with a painting. It’s a copy of the painting we want to steal. Areallygood copy. My mouth falls open. “How?” I demand. “How did you pull this off? Who forged it? Is it the same person who forged the Titian?”

“That’s a secret,” he says, laughing at me. “You’re going to have to try very hard to get it out of me.”

In between planning the heist,we do couple-ish things. On the actual anniversary of my parents’ deaths, Antonio comes with me to the cemetery, where I lay flowers on their graves. After that, we go back to the storage unit, and I find old photo albums in one of the boxes.

We spend the rest of the day looking at family photos, and halfway through the first album, I realize how lucky I am. Because Antonio is right—I wasloved.It’s here in the photos documenting my first steps, my first birthday, and my first trip to the beach.It’s in the pink frilled dress my mother made for me when I was five, and it’s in the silver stars she painted on my ceiling so I could lie in bed and pretend I was looking at the night sky.

I don’t know how Antonio’s going to react. I half-expect him to be upset—his mother didn’t paint stars on the ceiling for him; she dropped him off at a church as a baby and never tried to find him again. But I should have had more faith in his reaction. Antonio looks at the pictures with obvious interest, and when we get to the photos my parents took of me during my teenage goth phase, he starts laughing helplessly, delighted by my black lipstick and surly expression.

I get my revenge a few days later when we meet Enzo and Tatiana for dinner, and they tell me stories about Antonio’s teenage exploits.

“Remember the time he showed up in skinny pants?” Enzo asks with a laugh.

“He looked like a chicken in them,” Tatiana tells me gleefully. “And then he bent to pick something up off the floor, and they split because they were so tight.”

I spend the entire evening giggling at their stories. “You’re ganging up on me,” Antonio grumbles, putting an arm around my waist. “I don’t like it.”

But he doesn’t mean it. Enzo and Tatiana are his family, and he’s delighted we’re getting along.

Antonio’s housekeeper, Agnese, is also thrilled he’s dating someone. “The padrino is a good man, and he’s been alone too long.” She makes me tell her my favorite foods, and soon, I’m eating risi e bisi, bigoli in salsa, and more.

In December, Angelica has a ballet recital. Valentina, Dante, and I attend, and when Angelica comes on the stage in her little pink tutu, my heart feels like it’s going to burst. Valentina’s daughter has called me Aunt Lucia her entire life, but I’ve always felt like an impostor. I’m acutely aware that I’ve bribed my way into her affections with presents and candy, but I’ve never been there for the day-to-day stuff. Now, attending her recital, I finally feel worthy of the title.

After ten years of suppressing my emotions and living in a world devoid of color, I am suddenly in the middle of the rainbow, and it’s a little terrifying.

But in a good way.

When my parents died, I did a lot of reckless things and took a ton of stupid risks. But nothing beats the sheer peril of embarking upon a relationship with Antonio.

I’m already scarred. My heart has been broken once into jagged pieces. I’ve done my best to put it back together, but I don’t know how well I’ve succeeded. Falling in love with Antonio is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done because if this thing between us shatters, so will my heart. And this time, I don’t think I can put it back together again.

Yes, like a moth to the flame, I flutter toward him, unable to help myself. I throw open the doors of my life and invite him in.

I keep pedaling. I don’t stop, and I don’t look back.

* * *

The dayafter Angelica’s recital, Antonio and I fly out to Budapest. The job is a piece of cake. Everything goes exactly according to plan. We get in, grab the painting, and get out. It’s almost anticlimactic. Forty-eight hours after we left Venice, we’re back at Marco Polo airport, waiting at the baggage carousel for the ski equipment that was our cover for the trip.

Antonio’s phone rings. “It’s Dante,” he says, glancing at the display. “I need to grab this.”

“Go ahead.” Antonio’s done his best to conceal it, but he’s still stressed about the Russian threat. Enzo reassures us that Salvatore Verratti’s arrest is imminent, and this will soon be over, but nothing seems to be happening, and it’s driving all of us a little crazy. Valentina’s living with Dante and is a stressed-out mess. I jump at loud noises. Antonio looks like he’s holding it together the best, but he gets tense when I’m out of his sight. We’re all on edge, and I just want things to go back to normal.

Bags from our flight finally start making it on the carousal.

That’s when I feel someone staring at me.

I turn around and see a man in his mid-thirties. He’s a few inches taller than me, his face weathered and lined. His thinning black hair is slicked back, and a dark beard covers his jawline. He’s wearing a heavy woolen overcoat with the collar turned up. When my gaze lands on him, he turns away into a coffee shop.

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