Page 8 of The Thief

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I walkinto our weekly meeting a good twenty minutes late. My second-in-command, Dante, glances pointedly at his watch as I enter. He is the only one who dares. My other lieutenants—Joao, Tomas, and Leo—ignore my tardiness and greet me respectfully.

“Let’s get started,” I say crisply. “What do we have on the list?”

Joao delivers an update on our smuggling operations. Leo goes next, and then it’s Tomas, our numbers guy. As usual, his presentation is detailed and thorough. I normally find his briefings fascinating, but today, I have to work hard at faking interest.

“We’re flush with cash,” he finishes. “Business has never been better. I’ve identified some investment opportunities for us to look into. Padrino, I recommend?—”

“Send me an email with the details,” I say, cutting him off before he gets into too much detail. “Anything else?”

Dante lifts his hand. “We have a problem,” he says grimly. “A couple of known bratva soldiers have been spotted in Bergamo.”

I sit up. Bergamo is only a couple hours away from Venice—too close for comfort. “Who are they?” I demand.

“A couple of foot soldiers of the Gafur OPG. They are an outfit based in Vladivostok?—”

“I know the organization.” Salvatore Verratti runs Bergamo, and I can’t see him forming alliances with the Russians. As far as I know, the family’s finances are in good shape, and even if they weren’t, Federico, Salvatore’s father and the former head of the crime family, loathes foreigners.

So why are the bratva there?

“Do you want me to reach out to Verratti and ask him what’s going on?” Dante asks.

I frown. My instincts are urging me to proceed cautiously. “Not yet,” I reply with a shake of my head. “Not until I have a better sense of what’s going on.”

“You think Verratti wants to expand his territory?”

“I don’t know. Get Valentina on this. Have her find out why the Russians are sniffing around. If they meet with Verratti or anyone in his inner circle, I want to know immediately.” Valentina Linari is my most talented hacker. If she can’t find out what’s going on, no one can.

“Will do.”

My lieutenants look alert, almost excited by the prospect of a turf war. Not me. I just feel a headache coming on. “The Russians aren’t our only problem,” I say. “I took a walk down to the wharf this morning before I came here.”

“Goran told me,” Leo replies, his forehead furrowed. “I was going to talk to you about it. Padrino, for your security, it’s imperative that you?—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “Save the lecture. On my walk, I discovered that someone has been demanding protection money from the businesses on the waterfront.” I look around the room. “Does anyone here knowanythingabout this?”

They shake their heads immediately, as I’d known they would. “Protection money,” Leo asks grimly. “In your name?”

“I don’t know. I will not tolerate this. Whoever they are, they’ve signed their own death sentence.” I look at Leo and bite off each word with precision. “Find out who’s responsible and bring them to me.”

Leo nods. “Yes, Padrino.”

I take a deep breath and let my rage recede into the background. “Is there anything else, or are we done here?”

“There’s just one more thing, and honestly, it’s trivial.” Dante opens the folder in front of him. Extracting a piece of paper, he pushes it in my direction. “You got a letter from Arthur Kirkland.”

After the morning I’ve had, I’m happy to let myself be distracted by trivialities. “A letter? In the mail? Who still writes letters?” The name sounds vaguely familiar. I search my memory. “Kirkland, the English art collector?”

“The same.”

Well, that explains the mode of communication. Kirkland is eighty and doesn’t believe in computers. “He’s warning me about a thief?” I ask, scanning the letter quickly. “Dante, do you know what this is about?”

Dante has an answer, of course; he always does. My second-in-command is loyal, ruthless, and, above all, unfailingly competent. “It’s rumored that some of Arthur Kirkland’s collection has been acquired through dubious means?—”

“The rumors are right,” I interrupt. The details of Kirkland’s collection are coming back to me now. “The Third Reich looted Italy in 1943, and Kirkland’s uncle, a Nazi sympathizer, mysteriously ended up with dozens of priceless paintings when the war ended.”

Dante nods. “And there’s an art thief who’s specifically targeting them. Three of Kirkland’s paintings have been stolen in the last two years.”

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