Page 11 of The Thief

Her expression turns wary. “Is there something I should be concerned about?”

“Maybe not,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders. “Or maybe yes. We’ll see how things play out.”

Signora Zanotti will warn Lucia to stay away from my painting, and so will Valentina. But will Lucia take the hint?

I hope she doesn’t. I want her to try to steal my Titian. She’s good enough that she’s been a thief for almost ten years without getting caught, and I’m very much looking forward to seeing what she can do.

I’m being self-indulgent, recklessly so. At a time when the Russians are prowling around Italy and someone is extorting Venice businesses in my name, I’m wasting a dangerous amount of time on Lucia. I shouldn’t be playing a cat-and-mouse game with an art thief with brilliant green eyes and skin as soft as the finest silk, even if, for ten years, I’ve been unable to forget her.

But that’s enough. If Verratti is making a play for my territory, I can’t afford to be distracted. This obsession with Lucia Petrucci needs to end. As soon as she falls into my trap, I’m going to put her firmly out of my mind.

6

LUCIA

Whenever I flew back home, my parents were always at the airport to pick me up, even though I could get on the Alilaguna perfectly well on my own. My dad would take my backpack from me against my protests and hoist it on his strong shoulders, and my mother would wrap me in her arms, enveloping me in an aroma of tomato sauce, freshly baked bread, and love.

Until that last time. That last time, I was alone.

I retrieve my suitcase from baggage claim and head outside. Valentina and Angelica are waiting for me there. “Aunt Lucia,” Angelica shrieks, running toward me at full speed and throwing her arms around my hips. “You’re here!”

I hug her back, a lump in my throat. Valentina has been really busy at work, and I wasn’t expecting them to be here to meet me. “Hey, kid. How’s the new school? Are you liking it?”

She thinks about my question carefully before she replies. “Yes,” she says. “My teachers are very nice, and I have a new friend. Her name is Mabel.”

I bite back my smile. “Already? Wow, that’s great. Is she nice?”

“Yes. Mabel has a puppyanda kitten.”

Valentina laughs and hugs me tight. “And you begin to see the real attraction,” she quips. “Come on, we have a boat waiting.” She reaches for my suitcase. “Let me give you a hand with that; otherwise, we’ll be here all day.”

“We will not,” I say indignantly. Squabbling with my best friend is easier than walking down this achingly familiar pathway toward the waiting water taxis. “For the record, I’m pretty sure I’m stronger than you.”

She rolls her eyes in reply. I blink in confusion as she skips the Alilaguna and makes her way to the private docks. “Crap, you rented a taxi? I’m so sorry; I should have warned you I didn’t have much luggage.”

“I didn’t rent a taxi,” she replies. “This boat belongs to a friend.”

The boat she stops at isn’t a water taxi or your run-of-the-mill speedboat; it’s a beautifully sleek, twenty-five-meter boat that’s practically a yacht. The winged lion of San Marco—the symbol of Venice—is painted on the side, just above the boat’s name,Invictus.I don’t remember much of the Latin I was forced to learn in school, but I absorbed enough to translate the name. Invictus meansunconquered.

“Nice,” I say appreciatively. The speedboat looks brand-new and expensive. As we approach, a man emerges from the wheelhouse and comes down the stairs to take the suitcase from Valentina. “Is that the owner?” I ask her in a whisper. “Is he your boyfriend?”

She turns red. “No,” she says through clenched teeth. “Dante is not my boyfriend, and he doesn’t own the boat either. He’s just here to pilot it.”

She doesn’t introduce me to him. Instead, she leads the way into the main deck saloon and sinks onto a plush gray couch. Angelica doesn’t join us inside. She attaches herself to Dante, following him back up to the wheelhouse. A minute later, the boat gets underway, the hum of the motor a quiet throb that’s more felt than heard. The dock recedes from us, and the bright, vivid blue of the lagoon is everywhere.

My palms are suddenly clammy. My breath is too short, too shallow, and a feeling of dread intensifies in my stomach. The last time I crossed this lagoon was to bury my parents. I can’t be here—what was I thinking? How could I have fooled myself into believing that this would be okay?

My best friend is instantly at my side. “Deep breaths,” she says. “Come on. In and out, that’s it.” She watches worriedly as I gulp down air, and then she hands me a bottle of sparkling water. “Drink that. Did you eat anything on the plane?”

I shake my head, and she gets up and returns with a packet of salty roasted almonds. I eat them in silence. “I’m fine,” I say when there’s nothing left. “I just had a momentary wobble, that’s all.”

She does me the kindness of not calling me a liar to my face. “You shouldn’t stay at their apartment,” she says instead. “Do you even have furniture, or are you planning on sleeping on the floor? You should move in with Angelica and me. We always have room for you.”

Now, it’s her who’s stretching the truth. Valentina lives in a small two-bedroom apartment in Dorsoduro that I have no idea how she can afford as a freelance web designer. She has one bedroom and Angelica has the other, and if I went to stay with them, I’d be disrupting their lives.

“I’ll be fine,” I say again. “I ordered a blowup mattress and bedding online, and it’s already been delivered.”

“I could have gotten you proper furniture.”

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