Page 98 of The San Marco Heist

What did that have to do with the conversation? Maybe his meds were making him loopy? “Yeah.”

He’d gone to Miami for reconnaissance, so we could plan which team members to take. Through a set of circumstances and luck that only my brother could pull off, he wound up at a Heat-Celtics game, with courtside seats. The man who’d bought the stolen painting was sitting next to him, with no clue it was stolen. They had a restitution plan in place before halftime.

Mum had been so impressed with the job that she had our forger make a copy to hang as a memento in our boardroom.

“I didn’t do that job alone.”

“I remember. You had some source get you the tickets.” My shoulders fell. His report had said he worked with a private investigator whose name he hadn’t divulged. I assumed he was being all Emmett about it, calling the private eye his confidential informant, as though he were some spy or FBI agent.

“Your silence tells me you’ve already figured it out.”

“He commented on Kiera’s copy in the boardroom.” And I’d been so upset I kept talking over him, instead of asking how he’d known the original had been stolen five years ago.

“I know emotions aren’t really your jam and all—” He cut off to yawn again, his words slowing. “He didn’t ask for payment or anything, just did it because he’s a good guy and said the tickets were worth it. Same with the beating. He jumped in and tried pulling them off me, with no regard for what might happen to him.”

The passengers had disembarked from the water bus, and the next group was boarding. “I need to go.”

“He’s a good guy, Scar. He does shady work sometimes, but what the hell do we do?”

In our line of work, trust was a luxury, not a requirement. Malcolm had earned enough of my trust that I’d taken him to my bed. But I couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d hidden something so important. I needed time to think. After I saw Noah. “Thanks for the intel. Now get some sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he slurred.

Good. He needed his rest—I hurried to the water bus line—and I needed answers.

Chapter 39

Scarlett

Itwasjustafterten thirty. The vaporetto water bus took only six minutes to get from the mainland to San Michele. The square island was bordered by red and white brick walls with porticos dotting its length. The cemetery itself had closed hours ago, so I’d been careful about staying in the shadows until I escaped the view from the church at the northern corner. With the near full moon and clear sky, I made my way without the flashlight from my phone.

As much as it pained me, I’d listened to Malcolm and had chosen the sensible shoes I’d worn when pretending to be one of the Blur Luxe cleaning staff. There was no telling what I’d be up against tonight or what Noah’s actual plan was, so it had been smart.

I was only so smart though. I’d come alone. There was no way Rav would have come with me. He would’ve played every dirty trick up his sleeve to stop me from going. But I needed answers.

And only one man on the planet had them.

Tall, narrow Cypress Pines, benches, and green bins lined the path of concrete with small stones and bricks embedded in it. Signs dotted the island, directing me to different burial sections and the tombs of the most famous inhabitants, like Igor Stravinsky. It was eerily quiet, making me question my decision to come alone for the hundredth time.

“Scarlett.” Noah appeared from the shadow of one of the tall crypts at a crossroads. “I wasn’t sure you’d be joining me.”

“I wasn’t sure myself.” I scrunched my toes inside my shoes. “But I want answers.”

He gestured along the path I’d been following, and we fell into step together. “Do you know anything about the Codex of San Marco or the Chalcis Ring?”

“I know my brother was kidnapped and beaten because of them.”

He waved the snarky attitude away, apparently unaffected. “No, about the legends about the Tesoro di San Marco.”

“The Treasure of St. Mark?”

The sounds of digging battled with his words. Was someone preparing a fresh grave? My stomach tightened. Not my grave?

“When St. Mark’s bones were smuggled out of Alexandria in the ninth century, his saviors brought back an immense treasure. They kept the bones in the Venetian doge’s palace until St. Mark’s Basilica was built, but kept the treasure somewhere else.” His speech grew more rapid the longer he talked. “The Codex included a map, and the ring is the key to the chest with the treasure in it.”

This wasn’t the same Noah I’d lived with. He’d always been calm and collected before, but now there was a frenzy in his voice. He’d been more like me and less like a zealot, which was what he sounded like. “These aren’t the answers I’m looking for. I want to know what happened. How did you survive? Why didn’t you contact me?”

He paused in his steps and took me by the hand, drawing me closer. “I thought about calling you so many times.”

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