16. Lucia
16
LUCIA
I don’t even know where to start with stealing the Titian from Antonio. It’s not as if I can ask Valentina for help. I mean, he’s her boss, and I don’t want to put her in an awkward situation. I’m thinking about how to approach the problem when I’m suddenly faced with a different one.
Dottore Garzolo finds out about the Titian.
It happens on Monday afternoon. I’m in my office, working on cataloging a cabinet filled with turn-of-the-century photographs, when my boss knocks on my door. “Hello, Lucia,” he says, coming into the small, windowless room. “What are you working on?”
“Old photographs of Venice.”
He picks up one of the photographs and puts it down. “Interesting.” He looks around, and his eyes land on one of the paintings I found in the storage room on Friday. This one, a pastoral landscape, is a genuine Giorgione.
“Ah,” he exclaims. “ Sunset Over the River . I haven’t seen that painting in over a decade. I forgot all about it.” He picks it up reverently and peers nearsightedly at the canvas. “Look at the brush strokes, the feeling of moonlight on the water, the soft, luminous colors. We last exhibited it a few months after I started. It was credited to Giorgione, but now, I’m not sure. It might be a Titian or even a Domenico Mancini. Where did you find this?”
“In a storage room in the north wing,” I respond warily. I’m suddenly remembering that I took the fake Titian out of the museum on Saturday, and I didn’t bring it back. Not only did I fail to successfully steal the real painting, I left the forgery behind in Daniel Rossi’s apartment.
I need to be careful about what I say to Dottore Garzolo.
He shakes his head. “I can’t believe we lost track of this,” he says ruefully. “It’s probably a good thing you’re cataloging the works digitally.” He smiles at me. “Anyway, I just came by to see how you were doing.”
Phew. This is just a social visit. “I’m doing great.”
“Excellent.” He turns to the door. I exhale in relief, thinking I’m in the clear when he stops. “We showed a collection of Titian’s Madonnas in that same exhibition. If I remember correctly, it was the first and only time all six of them were on display together. Five of them were loaners from other museums, but one of them, the Madonna at Repose , was ours.” He frowns. “You didn’t happen to find it in that storage room, did you?”
I wipe my sweating palms on my skirt and keep my voice very steady. “No,” I lie. “But it was a crowded room. I can look again.”
“Would you? That would be great.” He steeples his fingers. “That was a really good exhibition. We should show it again, maybe next year during Carnival. I’ll talk to the director and get the ball rolling. Will you let me know if you find that Titian?”
Fuck.
I bang my head repeatedly on my desk after my boss leaves. I’ve gotten myself into one hell of a mess, and I only have a couple of days to get myself out. Dottore Garzolo is bound to ask me about the Titian again soon.
Stealing Antonio’s Titian will take time that I don’t have. I need to get back the fake. My boss has exceedingly bad vision. There’s a chance—a tiny one—that he won’t immediately recognize the Madonna as a forgery.
I have to go back to Daniel Rossi’s apartment.
I will turn a blind eye to your crimes as long as they occur elsewhere. Just not in my city. Are we clear on that?
Whatever. I can’t worry about Antonio right now; I have bigger problems to tackle.
* * *
It feels like forever, but only two days have gone by since I walked out of Daniel Rossi’s apartment with the Titian tucked into my backpack. Antonio would know that I got in as part of the cleaning crew, but as busy as he’s been killing people, I doubt he’s found the time to track down the details of my fake ID. It’s madness to try to break into Rossi’s apartment as part of the cleaning crew again, but maybe I could disguise myself somehow?
I’m still working out what to do when I call my supervisor at the cleaning company.
It’s an awkward conversation. I was planning on disappearing after my heist, and I’d given Ramona both a fake name and a burner phone number. I also didn’t show up for my shift on Sunday.
Needless to say, she’s not happy with me. I spend the first five minutes groveling about missing my shift. “I’m so sorry,” I say for what seems like the hundredth time. “I ate something that disagreed with my stomach and spent most of the day throwing up.”
“You could have texted,” she replies caustically. “Or did your mystery illness affect your fingers as well?”
Solid burn, Ramona. I apologize again and beg her for some shifts this week, and she finally relents. “Fine,” she says. “I don’t have anything for you today or tomorrow, but maybe Wednesday.” I hear the sounds of paper rustling as she looks through the schedule. “No, Wednesday won’t work because of the move. Can you work Thursday?”
“Yes,” I reply. “What move?”
“One of the residents is moving out, so they’ve asked us not to come in for the day. Apartment 3B. Rossi.”
I sit up. Of course, Daniel Rossi is moving out. I doubt the lawyer ever lived in that building. The entire thing was a trap that Antonio set for me. And now that he has no use for the furniture in Daniel Rossi’s fake apartment, it’s getting dismantled.
And the fake Titian on the wall—what’s going to happen to it?
As soon as I finish my conversation with Ramona, I go online. Venice—the island proper, not the mainland—is a notoriously difficult city to move into and out of. There are no cars, no moving trucks, and everything happens via canals and footbridges. Rossi’s apartment isn’t close to a canal, which means that porters with carts will need to carry the furniture over bridges and through narrow alleys. It’s a logistical nightmare, which is why there are only three or four companies that even do it.
It doesn’t take me long to make a shortlist.
The first company I call doesn’t know anything about the job, but I strike gold on my second attempt. “I’m calling about the Rossi move,” I say to the woman who answers the phone.
“Yes,” she says. “What about it?”
“I’m Signor Rossi’s assistant,” I lie. “I’m just calling to confirm that he told you about the museum employee.”
“What museum employee?”
I sigh in exasperation. “He didn’t tell you. I wish I could say I was surprised. Signor Rossi owns a painting of some value, and he’s arranged to loan it to the Palazzo Ducale. They’re picking it up on Wednesday.”
“He didn’t say anything about this to us,” the woman replies, half-suspicious, half-annoyed.
“He didn’t say anything to me either,” I invent wildly. “He forgot all about it. If the museum hadn’t called me, I don’t know what would have happened. Honestly, that man is so absent-minded that I don’t know how he manages to dress himself every day.” I have no idea what Rossi is like, but hopefully, neither does this moving company employee. “Men.”
“Tell me about it,” she agrees with a snort. “My husband doesn’t know how to pick up after himself. I went away to visit my mother for three days, and when I came back, the house was in shambles. What would they do without us? Okay, I’ll add a note on the file about the painting. You said someone from the museum will be picking it up?”
“Yes.” I bite back my smile. It’s too early to celebrate; I’m not in the clear yet. “Her name is Lucia Petrucci. I can’t meet her there, Signor Rossi needs me to go to Milan on Wednesday. What time will the movers be at the apartment? I’ll ask her to pick the painting up at the same time.”
“I’m not sure,” she replies. “Why don’t you just ask her to pick it up from our facility? It would be easier.”
Yes! I was hoping she’d suggest that. On the off-chance that Rossi’s building is being watched, it’s a lot safer if I don’t show up anywhere in that vicinity. “You’re right,” I agree gratefully. “That is a lot easier. I’ll ask Signorina Petrucci to pick up the painting sometime on Thursday.”
“Tell her to go to the Mestre location,” she helpfully adds. “I don’t work in the mornings, but my colleague, Sonya, will be there to assist. If she gets there in the afternoon, though, I’ll be there. My name is Maria.”
“Thank you, Maria,” I say with a grin. “You’ve been a lifesaver.”
I’m a little concerned that Rossi might move the fake Titian before the move, so on Wednesday evening, I settle in a coffee shop across the street from the building and watch the movers in action. I luck out and see one of them carry out a small, flat plywood box that very likely holds the painting I want.
First thing Thursday morning, I’m at the movers’ facility in Mestre. “My name is Lucia Petrucci,” I tell Sonya with perfect honesty, flashing my museum ID at her. “I’m here to pick up a painting from Daniel Rossi’s unit?”
“Yes,” Sonya replies. “We’ve been expecting you.”
My heartbeat speeds up. “You have?”
“Yes,” she replies, picking up a ring of keys and lumbering to her feet. “Maria put a note on the file. Follow me.”
Sonya leads me to Rossi’s unit. The plywood box is the first thing I see when she opens the door. “That’s it,” I say, relief shuddering through me. “That’s the painting.”
She doesn’t even make me sign for it. I pick up the box and walk out of the facility, my spine tingling, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I’m fully expecting Antonio to sneak up on me again. Fully expecting him to look me up and down with his wickedly mesmerizing blue eyes before ordering me to hand him the painting.
Nobody intercepts me on my way back. I stuff the painting into my backpack and walk into the museum, thirty minutes later than usual, and put the fake Titian back in the dusty storage room I found it in.
Am I slightly disappointed that Antonio was nowhere to be seen? No. Of course not. That would be insane. Am I feeling a little deflated? Yes, but that’s just the adrenaline crash after a successful heist. It’s perfectly normal to feel a little flat, and it has nothing to do with a gorgeously seductive mafia boss.
Nothing at all.