26. Antonio
26
ANTONIO
F or the first time, my house feels empty and alone. The objects I bought because they brought me pleasure feel like clutter. The bright, vivid colors around me look faded as if worn out by spending too long in front of a strong sun.
Because of Lucia. Everything pales when compared to Lucia.
I go to my bedroom and stare at the new painting on the wall. Once again, Lucia’s approach was brilliantly simple. When I told her that I always had time for her, I left her an opening, one she took advantage of. She guessed she would be allowed into my house, so she just walked in, took the Titian, and walked out.
I have to hand it to her. Valentina will not help her steal from me, so she’s found another way.
The painting she’s left as a replacement is surprisingly lovely, with bright colors and vivid brushstrokes. I quite like it. Which is insane. If someone told me two months ago that a thief could come into my house and steal my Madonna, and I wouldn’t even mind that much, I would have told them that they were out of their mind.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I go through the rest of my day on autopilot. Lucia’s refusal to let her guard down around me feels like a lead weight in my gut. Tomas calls with a question about finances, and I answer him, though I don’t recall a word of our conversation. Dante reports on a discussion he had with an informant in Bergamo, and Valentina sends me a progress report. I listen, I respond, and I do what’s necessary, but none of it seems to matter.
The walls feel like they’re closing in on me, and I need to escape. Get some air.
I head outside. The moment I shut my front door, Rafe and Andreas fall into step behind me. I wave them away impatiently, and they recede a little, though they continue to follow me at a safe distance. I let them; Leo will have their hide if they leave me unprotected.
I take my boat to the harbor and spend an hour talking to the stevedores. By now, everyone knows what happened to Sandro Rizzi. They’re all on edge, and they want reassurance. “My men will be here,” I tell them. “They will provide security.”
“Or we could just stop searching the containers,” a hard-faced man shouts back. “And then things will go back to normal.”
Andreas opens his mouth to shout something threatening back, and I gesture for silence. “I know I’m asking you to put your lives in danger,” I reply. “You have every right to question me about it.” I look around the assembled crowd. “The Russian mafia wants to flood the streets of Europe with their illegal guns. They asked me if they could ship the guns into our port, and I said no.”
Some murmurings fill the air.
“You might think that because the guns aren’t meant for our city, they won’t find their way here. But that’s where you’re wrong. Sooner or later, those weapons will show up in Venice. On our streets and in our schools. Russian bullets will kill our children, and I will not have that. ”
This time, there are shouts of agreement in the crowd. “And that’s why I’m asking you to search the ships,” I tell them. “This is our city. Let’s protect it together.”
Ignazio finds me on my way back to Giudecca. “I’m sorry, Padrino,” he says sheepishly. “It was my decision to let Signorina Petrucci into your house. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He looks like he’s bracing himself for my wrath, but I’m not his shitty father. “You did the right thing,” I reply, patting him on the shoulder. “My order still stands. She can steal everything I own—I don’t care. Lucia is always welcome at my house.”
I walk for a couple of hours, maybe more, without a destination in mind. The night descends, and the fog deepens. Lights still shine behind cheerful cafes and vinotecas, but the streets are empty. Just the way I feel.
What am I doing? Why am I chasing someone who seems so reluctant to spend time with me? Is it really just about the chase—am I really that shallow?
Eventually, my footsteps take me to the docks where, ten years ago, Lucia stumbled into my life.
This afternoon’s events play in a nonstop reel in my head. That first thrust into her hot, wet cunt. Her moans. The curve of her neck as she threw her head back. The glazed expression of pleasure in her eyes as she came on my cock.
The shock that ran up my spine at the rightness of it all.
Ten years ago, the drunk girl about to fall into one of Venice’s many canals hadn’t avoided emotion. She’d been honest and raw. Splayed open and grief-stricken, but oh-so-real.
In the intervening years, she’s learned to protect herself. Her heart is buried behind layers of armor, and she doesn’t let her guard down willingly.
I told her that if she wanted to see me again, she would have to call me.
Will she?
I have no idea.
Lucia is not blind to the attraction between us. If I offered her something temporary and uncomplicated, she might accept. And the sex would be off-the-charts amazing.
But temporary and uncomplicated is not what I want. The hardened, defiant thief fascinates me, but I want the real woman underneath. Lucia is the first person in a long time to treat me like a real person. She teases me and laughs at me, and she’s not afraid to give me a hard time. That’s valuable and rare, and I’m not willing to give it up.
My head is telling me to protect myself. Stop throwing myself at her. Follow through on my grand speech and leave her the fuck alone.
But my heart knows differently.
I’m always calm and controlled. I don’t act on impulse, and I don’t have violent mood swings, terrifying everyone around me. I’m ruthless, yes, but I’m always logical.
But I’ve followed my heart in every pivotal moment of my life.
When I stopped Marco’s abortive mugging of a drunk young woman on these very docks, even though everyone else turned a blind eye to his wild excesses.
When I gave him an ultimatum—leave Venice or else—even though he was the Padrino’s nephew. His precious nipote.
When I spent the night in Lucia’s hotel room, lying awake in the dark next to her sleeping body after she whispered that she didn’t want to be alone.
My heart knows what it wants. It knows that Lucia is precious, and the thing between us is rare.
Now what?