17. Antonio
17
ANTONIO
I spend the next couple of days trying to ferret out how strong of a foothold the Russians have already gained in Northern Italy. And so, it isn’t until Friday that I find out that Lucia has stolen the fake Titian from the storage facility.
Stefano reports the news to me nervously, bracing himself against my displeasure. “I’m very sorry, Padrino,” he says. “I just assumed she was visiting the unit where her belongings are in storage. I didn’t realize?—”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off. I watch the security footage of Lucia entering the moving facility and offering up her museum ID to the employee there and laugh out loud. I have to hand it to her. This was a stunningly simple heist that only worked because it was so brazen and unexpected. None of us would have expected her to just walk up to the storage unit and demand the fake Titian.
“What do you want me to do?” Stefano asks.
“Nothing. I’ll take care of this one myself.”
I’m one of the Palazzo Ducale’s biggest donors. Every year, I write them a massive check, and every year, the museum director, Gisele Sabatino, writes to me with effusive gratitude. Once Stefano leaves, I pull up the director’s latest letter. She thanks me for my generous gift, gives me an update on the important conservation work the museum is doing, and most importantly, invites me to visit anytime. “The chief curator would be delighted to give you a private tour of our collection,” she writes.
I’m not interested in a tour by the chief curator. But a private tour with the newly hired assistant curator in charge of conservation and collections management? That, I would love.
Still laughing, I head toward La Piazza.
* * *
Signora Sabatino is thrown by my unexpected arrival but does her best to take it in stride. She spends a few minutes fawning over me, and when I express my desire for a tour, she personally escorts me to the chief curator’s office. “Dottore Garzolo will be a much better guide than me,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “My background is in fundraising, and my knowledge of early Venetian art is regrettably quite limited.”
We’re on our way to Dottore Garzolo’s office when I spot Lucia. She’s walking in my direction, in intense conversation with a limping older man. Signora Sabatino beams when she sees them. “Ah, Nicolo, there you are. I was just on my way to your office. Signor Moretti, may I introduce you to Dottore Nicolo Garzolo?” She searches her memory for Lucia’s name before adding, “And our newest assistant curator, Lucia Petrucci.”
Lucia’s head snaps up at the mention of my name, and when she sees me, her eyes go very wide.
Did you think you’d get away with it, my little thief?
“Dottore Garzolo,” the director continues. “This is Signor Antonio Moretti, one of our most generous benefactors. He has expressed a desire to tour our museum.”
The chief curator shakes my hand effusively. “I’d be happy to show you around, Signor Moretti.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you, Dottore.” I give him a warmly concerned smile. “Your leg appears to be bothering you, and I wouldn’t want to make it worse.” I turn to Lucia. “Perhaps Signoria Petrucci would be kind enough to give me a tour instead.”
Lucia looks like she wants to strangle me, but her voice is pure sweetness when she replies. “I would be delighted.”
I wait as Signora Sabatino and Nicolo Garzolo pull Lucia aside, presumably to impress upon her that I am very important and that she should treat me accordingly. Signora Sabatino even offers to tour the museum with us, but I shut that down. “It’s not necessary,” I tell her firmly. “I’m sure you have plenty to do. I’ll be perfectly fine in Signorina Petrucci’s capable hands.”
The director nods reluctantly and leaves with Dottore Garzolo. As soon as they’re out of earshot, Lucia whirls toward me, her eyes sparkling with fury. “What are you doing here?” she demands. “Are you stalking me? Is this all a big joke to you?”
Her green eyes glitter like emeralds when she’s angry, yet I find myself drinking the sight of her in. “Tsk, tsk. Didn’t your bosses tell you to be nice to me?”
She snorts. “You already know the answer to that,” she says disgustedly. “I’m supposed to do anything to make you happy. How much money do you give the Palazzo, anyway?”
“Fifteen million euros so far this year.”
Her mouth falls open. “What? But that’s almost twenty percent of our operating budget. Then again, you did steal one of our paintings. Is the large donation a way to soothe your guilt?”
“I don’t have time for guilt,” I reply. “Want to show me around? Let’s start with the forged Titian that you took from the storage facility in Mestre yesterday.”
“Oh,” she replies. “That.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” I take her by the elbow and steer her toward a gallery. “I seem to remember warning you not to steal from me, Lucia. And yet, here we are.”
“I didn’t steal from you,” she replies immediately, defiant as always. “I stole from Daniel Rossi. As far as I’m concerned, you have nothing to complain about.”
My lips twitch. “But you don’t make the rules, tesoro. I do. I told you not to steal in Venice, and you defied me. And now you’ll have to face the consequences of that decision.” I smile at her. “Go ahead. Show me around.”
“What do you want to see?”
“The Illuminated Manuscripts exhibit opens next week, doesn’t it? Can I get a sneak peek?”
She looks surprised that I know about the upcoming exhibit. “Of course you can,” she replies sourly. “I’ve been instructed that the entire museum is at your disposal. Why that exhibit? Are you hoping to steal a 16th-century Bible?”
I laugh. “Not today.” Sunbeams bisect the passageway, shining through graceful arches with views of the piazza below, reminding me that Lucia is back in Venice after a very long time. Entertaining as our back-and-forth banter is, I also want to get to know the woman underneath. “I forgot to ask you on Sunday how you’re liking your new job.”
“It’s fine.”
She doesn’t sound terribly enthusiastic. I give her a sharp look. “Is someone giving you a hard time at work?”
“No, no. Like I said, the job’s fine. Being back in Venice, though. . .” Her voice trails off into a sigh. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. I think I’m okay, then I’ll turn a corner and stumble upon the park my mother used to take me to when I was a child. Or I’ll take a shortcut back home and walk onto the street where my dad taught me how to cycle.” She takes a deep breath. “I should have stayed away.”
I have that feeling in my chest again, that tight squeeze I felt when I watched her cry at her parents’ graves. I want to comfort her, but I don’t know what to say. Any words of comfort I could offer feel trite compared to the magnitude of her loss.
My silence doesn’t seem to bother her. “You told me you didn’t know your parents. When I’m having an especially bad day, I wonder if it would have been better that way. If I didn’t have memories of them. . .”
Time hasn’t yet managed to erase the bleakness in her eyes. I usually avoid talking about my past, but today, it’s better than watching her suffer. “You were loved, Lucia,” I say harshly. “Your mother taking you to the park, your father teaching you to ride a bike. The memories you have are good ones, do you understand? I have none of those. I was abandoned in Il Redentore as a baby. Trust me on this: you don’t want my life.”
The Chiesa del Santissimo Redentore—Il Redentore as it’s called—is in Giudecca, a five-minute walk from my house. Lucia knows the church’s location because her expression softens. “Is that why you live on Giudecca?” she asks gently. “Because it’s where you were found?”
“It’s a quiet neighborhood,” I prevaricate. “Not too many tourists bother with it. It gives me the privacy I need.”
I sidestepped answering her question, but she doesn’t press me. “I shouldn’t have compared my life with yours,” she says instead. “It was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry.”
Hundreds of people have begged for my forgiveness in the last ten years. Stefano apologized to me just a few hours ago. Lucia’s apology feels different. She sees me as a person and recognizes that I have feelings, and she regrets hurting them.
I’m not used to that. I am the king of Venice, and kings are not supposed to bleed when cut.
“And here we are,” she adds. We come to a stop in front of a set of stairs, and Lucia gestures to a gallery on the right. “The Illuminated Manuscripts.”
I spend the next hour in the gallery. Lucia is an excellent guide. She warns me as we enter the exhibit that this isn’t her area of expertise, but it soon becomes obvious that she’s selling herself short. She’s extremely well-versed in Venetian art history, and she’s able to tell me stories about the manuscripts on display, making what could be a dry subject come alive with her enthusiasm.
I lose track of time in her company.
“Have lunch with me,” I say when we’re done.
She gives me a strange look. “And if I say no? What happens if I turn down your invitation?”
“I wasn’t asking, Lucia. Lunch is part of the price you pay for going against my rules.”
She glares at me. “You don’t make the rules, Antonio.”
“Actually, cara mia, you’ll find that in Venice, I do.”
She opens her mouth to respond with something cutting and then closes it. “What are you playing at, Antonio?” she asks instead. “Why are you pretending you’re interested in me?”
Her words stop me in my tracks. “Why do you think I’m pretending?”
“Because I’ve seen the women you date. Supermodels, world-famous actresses, heiresses to massive fortunes. Last month, you were photographed attending a party with Tatiana Cordova, for heaven’s sake. I don’t belong in that world.”
I don’t know if you belong in that world, Lucia. But you belong in mine.
I hesitate. I want to tell Lucia that the parties, the glamor and the glitz don’t matter, at least not to me. I want to tell her that she’s wrong when she thinks she doesn’t belong and that she’s far more real than any heiress or supermodel she’s seen me with.
“I’m not pretending to be interested in you,” I say instead. “Now, let’s go eat lunch.”
She gives me a long look. “And if I don’t cooperate, you’ll complain to Signora Sabatino and get me fired?”
I grin. “You make my life much more challenging, little thief. Why would I have you fired? I’m much more likely to give the Palazzo money to extend your contract.”
She gives me another glare and then shrugs her shoulders. “Very well,” she says. “Let’s eat lunch. But that’s all it is. I don’t care if you gave the museum fifteen million euros or fifteen billion—I’m not sleeping with you.”
I rest my hand on the small of her back and steer her toward the exit. “You keep saying that,” I say mildly. “I’ll try not to take it personally. Anywhere you’d like to eat?”
She thinks about my question for a minute, and then a gleeful smile crosses her face. “Your house,” she says. “I didn’t get a good feel for your security on Saturday. This time, I’ll pay better attention.”
“Don’t believe in giving up, do you?”
“You told me yourself, Antonio. I make your life interesting.”
I have to laugh. We walk out to the piazza, and I lead her to the nearest dock, where Goran is waiting with my boat. As I help her in, I’m struck by something. I can’t remember the last time I invited a woman I’m interested in to my house, but this is the second time this week that I’m bringing Lucia home.