Page 103 of The San Marco Heist

At least I learned one important thing by coming here—Noah hadn’t paid Malcolm. I hadn’t just been a job to him. He wanted me for me. And I was likely going to get myself killed before I’d have the chance to apologize for being a scared little girl with her uncomfortable little feelings.

Thomas skirted the edge of the hole to jab the gun into the center of Noah’s chest. “How’s this for aim?”

This was going downhill fast. I was close to the edge of the platform and took a tentative step back. No one noticed.

“I don’t trust you,” snarled Thomas.

Noah moved fast. Forced the gun to the side, twisted it out of Thomas’s grip, and had it pointed against Thomas’s temple, before Slobbery-Mouth could react. “I don’t trust you either, but this is a working arrangement. It’s not a romance. It’s not a friendship. You hired me to get you that treasure, and my only payment is one item from the chest. One item of my choosing. And once I have that in my hand, our business dealings are over.”

Thomas trembled visibly.

I took another step back. There were crypts nearby I could hide behind, but would Noah turn the gun on me? Would the thugs in the hole come after me with a shovel and bury me?

Note to self: implement an emergency call sequence on the phone. One that could be triggered without turning the damn thing on. Maybe inside a watch.

Thomas lifted his chin and gave a quick nod. Even with a gun to his head, Thomas had to pretend he was in control.

Noah removed the magazine and emptied the chamber, then threw the gun to the ground. He took a step toward me and grabbed me by the upper arm. “Do you see what I’m dealing with? This is why I need you. I need someone to vet my clients.”

“Sure.” I pulled my phone out. “Let me call Brie. She’s the best at that.”

Noah plucked the phone from my hand. “I can’t believe I forgot to take that from you.” He tossed it onto the platform, next to the Codex and the ring.

Thomas peered into the hole, doing what was probably his best to sound like he was still in control. “Are you done yet?”

“Sure thing, boss,” said the thug without the phoenix tattoo. He’d called Thomas boss, probably not a term he threw around lightly. And when Thomas had heard that Mr. Phoenix Tattoo had tried to take the ring at the Albrecht mansion, he’d accused Noah of a double-cross. Two men in charge, with one thug each. The loyalties were obviously divided.

The two men in the pit hefted the small chest out of the hole. It was only two feet long by one and a half high and deep, but from the sounds they made when they lifted it, it was heavy. Simple, dark wood, with iron bands at the back of the lid, handles at either end, and a massive lock embedded in the front.

Carved into the top was the winged lion of St. Mark.

Thomas sucked in a quick breath. “This is it. The Tesoro di San Marco.”

Noah leveled Thomas with a glare. “Can I trust you to behave yourself? Remember, I only want one item of my choosing.”

Thomas waved his hands frantically. “Yes, yes, whatever. Just open it.”

Why was Noah so insistent on one item? And of his choosing? Did he know what was inside? A holy relic? A gem larger than my fist?

“Patience.” Noah knelt in front of the chest, running his hands over the top. He grabbed the ring from the platform along with a set of lock picks from one of his pockets. Instead of using the picks on the chest, he used one of them to pop the plaques off the ring. He attached all four plaques to a short metal cylinder, securing them with an epoxy, creating a unique key. “The legend says if you don’t open with the key, there’s something inside that will melt the contents.”

“I know what the legend says,” snapped Thomas. “But fifty pounds of gold coins are worth exactly the same as a fifty-pound block of solid gold.”

I leaned in for a better look as he inserted it into the lock, my curiosity too strong.

Or exactly as strong as it should have been.

One of the thugs held a lantern over the chest, and I saw the tattoo. On Noah’s hand. The same phoenix. It was like a brotherhood marking and hadn’t been there before he’d faked his death.

Thomas fell to his knees next to Noah, all anger apparently forgotten in the hopes of what they’d find inside the chest. “Open it.”

Noah turned the key and it clicked. The two thugs huddled around their bosses, focused on the chest. Noah lifted the lid, the ancient hinges protesting the entire way. It was a miracle they didn’t snap off.

The lantern light glinted off gold and gems and jewelry. It really was like a pirate’s chest. A small one, but all the same.

Thomas dug both his hands in, lifting mounds of treasure, which he let pour through his fingers. “I knew it was real. I knew it. My father was a fool. But I don’t need him anymore.”

Noah seized Thomas’s wrists before he could dig in again. “I told you—I choose first. Keep your hands out of there.”

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