Page 40 of The Thief

Giana doesn’t take the hint. She lingers for another ten minutes, making small talk and hoping I’ll give her more fuel for the gossip mill, but I refuse to engage, and eventually, she departs in a huff.

I shut the door behind her, lock it for good measure, and open the box.

Oh, wow.

I’m rendered speechless as I carefully remove each piece from the tissue-wrapped packaging. There are four garments—a pair of panties, a bra, a camisole, and a robe—all made from lightweight bottle-green silk trimmed with black lace.

I pick up the bra reverently. The cups are green silk with a lace overlay, and the straps and elastic bands are covered with the same silk. The panties are just as luxurious. The camisole has lace cups and slits up both sides, and the robe is a masterpiece, with delicate lace outlining the neckline, cuffs, and hem.

The silk fabric glimmers in the light, its glossy sheen coaxing me to stroke it. I run my fingers over the fabric, marveling at its softness. Every piece has been made with a staggering attention to detail. They aren’t just expensive—they are works of art.

I’ve never been given a gift like this before. Never owned something so beautiful.

This is the kind of lingerie a woman would wear when she wanted to drive a man mad with lust. If I wore the panties, would he tug them off me with his teeth? Would he rip the silk camisole off my body with growly impatience?

A shiver of pure desire runs through me.

And yet. . .

I told Antonio to leave me alone, and he’s ignoring my words.

I thought you wanted him to chase you.

The flowers and the vase are beautiful, and I love them. But sending me lingerie as if me ending up in his bed is a foregone conclusion?

Hell, no.

I take a ferry to Giudecca and march up to Antonio’s house. Two guards intercept me before I can reach the front door. “This is a private residence, signorina,” one of them says, his voice polite but firm.

“I know that,” I snap. “I’m here to see Antonio Moretti.”

“And would Signor Moretti want to see you?”

“Oh, I’m quite sure he does,” I bite out, hanging onto my temper by a hair. “Tell him Lucia Petrucci is here.”

21

ANTONIO

“Gafur is going to retaliate,” I tell my lieutenants Wednesday afternoon. Dante, Joao, Tomas, and Leo are here in person, and Valentina is logged in remotely. “They might have gotten two containers past us, but they’re not going to get any more. Dante, alert our people in Padua, Verona, and Brescia. I want them on high alert for weapons passing through their territory.”

“Yes, Padrino.” Dante’s nickname is the Broker. Nobody is better at persuading people to cooperate than he is, which is why I’m sending him on this mission.

I turn to my financial wizard. “Tomas, eliminate risk from our portfolios. We’re about to be under attack, and it could come from anywhere.”

He looks less than thrilled. “We’ll take some losses,” he warns.

“Crippling losses?”

“No, but?—”

“Do it, then. I’ll leave the details to you. If war is coming—and it is coming—we’ll need to be on as secure a financial footing as possible.” I turn to my security expert. “Leo, alert the troops. I want everyone ready for open hostilities.”

A disquieting thought strikes me. I visited Lucia at the Palazzo Ducale, and we ate lunch together. If Gafur has eyes on me—and I have no reason to think they wouldn’t—I’ve potentially identified her as a target.

I push down the jolt of fear that goes through me at the thought of anything happening to her. “You have eyes on Lucia Petrucci, yes? Double the team on her.”

If Leo is surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, Padrino,” he replies. “I’ll personally see to it.”

---