Page 91 of The Thief

After dinner, Dr. Garzolo takes the guests on a private tour. He showcases some of the museum’s most prized possessions, highlights recent acquisitions, and finishes in the Illuminated Manuscripts exhibit. While the other guests are oohing and aahing over the richly colored illustrations, Antonio murmurs into my ear. “I’m extremely fond of this exhibit. And for the record, you’re a much better tour guide than Dr. Garzolo.”

The tour is followed by a live auction and dancing. By then, I’m tired of being gawked at and ready to go home. “Want to get out of here?” I ask Antonio.

“God, yes. I thought you’d never ask. Still want pizza?”

“Yes, please.”

He gives me a fond look and turns to his bodyguard. “Carlo, do you know a place round here that’s open late?”

“There’s a pizzeria one street over, Padrino. I’ve eaten there. It’s good.”

“Perfect. Lead the way.”

We’re on our way out when a man stops us. “Antonio,” he says, shaking his hand. “I didn’t think you attended these things.”

“I don’t, usually,” Antonio replies with a wry smile. “And neither do you. Lucia, meet Theo Delacroix. He’s very disreputable and all-around bad news. Theo, Lucia Petrucci.”

“Charmed,” Theo says, shaking my hand, laughter dancing in his eyes. I’m head-over-heels in love with Antonio, but that doesn’t stop me from noticing the faintest hint of a French accent in his voice. It’s pretty damn sexy. “I’m a great admirer of your work, Signorina Petrucci.”

I narrow my eyes. What is he talking about? I’ve never met him before. “I beg your pardon?”

“I sit on the board of trustees of the Turin Museum,” he replies. “We were recently reunited with one of our stolen paintings, a rather lovely Jacopo Bassano.” He lifts his glass in a toast. “I believe I owe you my gratitude.”

How does he know it was me who returned the Bassano? Before I can ask, Antonio cuts in, his voice exasperated. “What are you doing here, Theo?”

“Me?” He gives Antonio an innocent look. “I thought I’d visit Venice to see what it was about the real estate market here that made you drop fifty million euros on it. Ah, I see someone I have to chat with.” He nods pleasantly to me. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Signorina Petrucci. Have a wonderful evening.”

The pizzeria Carlo takes us to is mostly empty. He ducks in to check the premises while Simon stays with us. I’m not paying any attention to them; my head is reeling. Signora Stanescu said that someone bought every building in my square, including mine, but I never got a notice. And now Theo Delacroix revealed that Antonio spent fifty million euros on Venice real estate. I’m putting two and two together, and it’s painting one very obvious conclusion.

It’s Antonio—he’s the one buying up buildings in my neighborhood. All this while, I’ve been wondering why he hasn’t insisted that I move in with him, and now I know why. He didn’t need to; he just bought every building near me to protect me.

Once the place is clear, we enter. Antonio gives me a wary look as soon as we sit down to eat. “You know, don’t you?” he says, his voice resigned. “I’m going to strangle Theo.”

“Fifty million euros,” I hiss. “That’s an insane amount of money. What the hell, Antonio? What possessed you to do something like that?”

“I’ve already told you. I’m not rational when it comes to your safety.”

“Fifty. Million. Euros.”

“We had the cash,” he says as if what he did was no big deal. “It had to be invested in something. Real estate was as good a place for it as any.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t,” he replies bluntly. “Because I was afraid that you’d freak out when you heard. Lucia, there is nothing I own that I wouldn’t give up for you. Money isn’t important. You are.”

I give him a frustrated look. “I don’t like secrets. And besides?—”

I cut off what I’m about to say because a man has just walked into the restaurant, and I instantly recognize him. It’s the same man I saw at the airport. The one who was staring at me.

I don’t believe in coincidences.

“Antonio.” Something in my voice must alert him because he’s already turning around.

“Marco,” he says, his voice turning icy.

My heart speeds up. This is Marco, the man who grabbed my necklace so hard that it cut into my skin. The former padrino’s nephew, the man that Antonio banished from Venice.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

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