32. Antonio
32
ANTONIO
V alentina is nowhere to be seen when we emerge from the private room, and neither is Enzo. I’m not bothered by it, but Lucia is. We head to the coat check and retrieve our phones. While I call Quadri and give them a heads-up that we’ll be dining there, Lucia checks her messages. “She hasn’t texted me,” she says. “It’s weird that she would leave without a word.”
“Maybe she’s in a private room with Peron,” I suggest. I happen to know that Enzo and Valentina aren’t involved, but Lucia might not.
She shakes her head. “No, she’s not interested in him. I should drop by her place and make sure she’s okay.”
I’m not about to let her go. “Dante might know where she is.” I text him, and he responds immediately.
She had a migraine, and I took her home.
“She’s not feeling well,” I tell Lucia. “She went home.”
“What do you mean she’s not feeling well?” Lucia demands. “What’s wrong with her?”
She sounds on the verge of panic. Given what happened to her mother, I’m not surprised. “She gets migraines,” I reply, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “She’s been getting them ever since Angelica was born. The attacks usually only last a few days. She’ll be fine by the weekend.”
She opens her mouth to ask me another question, and I can guess it’s probably about Valentina’s daughter. She’s on the verge of abandoning me to go be with her friend. If I were a better person, I’d let her. But I’m selfish and greedy for her company. “Knowing Dante, he’s probably watching Angelica while she recovers.”
“Dante?”
“My second-in-command. You met him in?—”
“I know who Dante is. Why is Angelica with him?”
“He’s her uncle.” She’s still looking freaked out. “Are you okay, Lucia?”
“I’m fine,” she lies, giving me a bright, false smile. My sweet thief doesn’t like her vulnerabilities on display. “Let’s go to dinner.”
* * *
We arrive at Quadri twenty minutes later. Stefano and Goran are on guard duty today, and they won’t let me enter until they have checked out the premises. Thankfully, it doesn’t take them long. It’s late, and while the restaurant isn’t closed, it’s definitely emptying out. There are only a handful of people left, lingering over their dessert.
Lucia watches them as they do a sweep of the room. “This is a little intimidating,” she says. “Is this your life? Does this happen every time you go out for dinner?”
“Regrettably, yes. There are times when I can get away without guards, but not now.”
“Because of the Russian guns.” She links her arms with mine. “That’s fair. It seems foolish to chafe at the restrictions that keep you safe.”
“They don’t keep you safe. They just minimize the danger.” There’s no such thing as perfect safety in my life. I’m so used to it that I don’t even register it any longer, but it’s clearly new to Lucia.
She doesn’t appear to be bothered by it, but she should be. Being with me is not good for her, and I don’t know why I keep pretending otherwise.
My guards finish their sweep of the room, and Stefano signals that we can enter. The ma?tre d’ leads us to my usual table, and a waiter arrives a moment later with the wine list.
“Wine?” I ask Lucia.
“Just water for me, please.”
I turn to the waiter. “The same for me. Sparkling for both of us.”
The waiter takes our drink menus and fills our glasses. We both order the tasting menu, and he retreats. When he’s gone, Lucia eyes me curiously. “I didn’t know Dante was Angelica’s uncle. How is he related to Roberto?”
From the way her voice changes when she mentions Valentina’s asshole ex, she knows Roberto used to beat Valentina. “Dante is Roberto’s brother.”
“Huh. All I know about him is that he’s dead. And Valentina said you rescued her.” She leans forward as a realization strikes her. “Hang on, did you kill him?”
“Would it bother you if I did?”
“The right thing to do is to say yes,” she replies after a long pause. “But no, it wouldn’t bother me. Some people deserve to die.” She looks up. “Did you?”
“No, it wasn’t me,” I reply. “It was Dante.”
She inhales sharply. “His own brother? Wow.” She takes a sip of her water. “Valentina doesn’t know that, does she?”
“I haven’t told her.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t want me to.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“It’s his story to share, not mine. I keep people’s secrets.”
She surveys me for a long moment before a smile touches her lips. “Tell me a secret, Antonio.”
I sense an opening. “I’ll make a deal with you. Let’s trade an answer for an answer.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“If you’re too afraid. . .” I let my dare hang in the air. If I know Lucia at all, she won’t back down.
Sure enough, her eyes sparkle. “Okay, I’m in. But I get to ask the first question. Tell me something about yourself, something real. Something people don’t know.”
“After I ran away from my foster home and my uncle turned me away, I tried living on the streets. But the money my uncle gave me didn’t last long. I was soon desperately hungry but also too proud to beg him for more. So, I tried stealing some fruit from a vendor and got caught.”
“What happened?”
“An old thief saw me. Ricardo was a master of his craft, and I think he was offended at how bad I was. He took me under his wing and taught me how to steal properly.”
She looks fascinated. “Is he still alive?”
“No, he died five years ago. Peacefully, in his sleep, the night after we celebrated his eighty-fifth birthday with prosecco, cheese, bread, and mortadella. It was peaceful, but Ricardo would have been disappointed by it. He thought that dying in your sleep was a very boring and anti-climactic way to go.”
She puts her hand on mine. “And you became good at stealing?”
“The best.”
“So modest,” she teases.
We’re interrupted by the waiter, who sets a couple of bowls in front of us, each with a small, beautifully plated portion of fish. “Tuna carpaccio with radicchio and white truffle,” he announces. “Buon appetito.”
Lucia tries a forkful. “Oh God, this is good,” she moans in appreciation. “I’m biased because I’m hungry, but oh my God. This is delicious.” She dips her fork in the sauce, and the tip of her tongue darts out to taste it.
My vision goes hazy. Lucia is the sweetest temptation. Everything about her is fascinating.
And I want to know all her secrets.
“My turn,” I announce. Her expression turns immediately wary, but she doesn’t need to worry. I’m not going to push. For now. “Did you go to your parents’ storage unit?” I already know the answer to that question, but I want to hear from her.
Her shoulders relax. “That’s what you want to know? No, not yet.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just too hard to find someone to move stuff from Mestre to Castello.”
“Is that the only reason?”
She bends her head so I can’t see her expression. “What else would it be?”
“It’s okay to admit some things are hard, tesoro,” I say quietly. “When I was sixteen, a friend of mine, someone who lived in the shelter with me, overdosed. I had to go to the morgue to identify her body, and I couldn’t do it alone. Enzo had to come with me so I wouldn’t fall apart.”
Her head snaps up. “Enzo Peron, the chief of police? The guy you were glaring daggers at Casanova, you’re friends with him?”
“He’s like family. We grew up together on the streets. But we keep it quiet for obvious reasons.” I squeeze her hand. “There’s no shame in asking for help, Lucia. If you want company to go to the storage unit, I would be happy to come with you.”
“I might cry on you,” she says lightly, still not making eye contact. “What would you do then?”
I would burn the world down if it would help. “I’ll come armed with a pocketful of handkerchiefs.”
That makes her laugh. “And here I thought you’d threaten to murder somebody.” She wipes up the last of the sauce. “God, that was good. Okay, it’s my turn to ask a question. Tell me another secret.”
“I just did,” I protest. “I told you about Enzo.”
She smiles cheekily. “It wasn’t your turn, Antonio. It doesn’t count.”
“I don’t really think you’re playing fair.”
Her lips twitch. “If you’re too afraid. . .”
I laugh. “Okay, fine. I got really sick the winter after I stole the Titian. No matter how many blankets I piled on myself, I couldn’t get warm. Enzo and Tatiana begged me to sell the painting so I could buy medicine and sleep in a hotel room, but I wouldn’t. They railed at me and called me a sentimental fool, but I stayed stubborn.”
“Tatiana Cordova, the beautiful and talented actress that I thought you were dating?”
“Like Enzo, she’s family. You’d like her.”
“Are they the ones who think your house is too cluttered?”
She remembers my throwaway comment from weeks ago? I have to work to keep from smiling in triumph. “That’s them. They’re coming over for lunch on Sunday. Would you like to join us?”
The moment I ask that question, I know I’ve made a mistake. She lowers her lashes, hiding her expression from me. “I was just making conversation. Okay, it’s your turn. Ask me a question.”
Fuck. I pushed too hard, and she’s retreating again. I will myself to be patient. Lucia’s worth the wait. “How many people have warned you about being with me?”
Her shoulders relax. “That’s what you want to know? Half the people at work are convinced I’m your latest conquest, and the other half only care about the money you give the museum. My boss hasn’t said anything yet, so I don’t know which category he belongs to.”
I feel a sudden rush of anger. “Who thinks you’re my latest conquest?”
“Why do you want to know? So that you can threaten them?” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to tell you, Antonio.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
She shrugs. “It is what it is. You are who you are. People are going to talk.”
She doesn’t particularly sound perturbed, but I still don’t like it. Lucia takes in my expression, and a smile darts on her lips. “You’re glowering, and our poor waiter looks terrified. Let’s change the topic. It’s my turn again. I looked you up. According to the Internet, you’ve dated a string of women, but you’ve never been in a relationship.”
“Is there a question there?”
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
She leans forward, barely paying attention to the second course. “Why?”
“I’ve never met anyone I want to be in a relationship with.”
“That’s not a real answer,” she accuses. “You’re telling me that in that long line of women, there’s never been anyone you could see yourself settling down with? Why not?”
“Maybe I’ve been haunted by the memory of a girl with grief-stricken green eyes stumbling through the docks, clutching a bottle of vodka.”
Lucia sucks in a breath. “I don’t know what to say to that,” she says unsteadily. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
Everything.
“It’s my turn. I’m going to ask you the same question you asked me. Why do you avoid relationships?”
She fiddles with her napkin. “You already know why.”
“Do I? Tell me again.”
“Love is pain, Antonio. Love is loss. I’ve already lost everything once. I won’t risk it again.”
“Your parents died, and that was awful. But we all die in the end, Lucia. Death doesn’t discriminate. It’s what we do with the time we have that counts.” I hold her gaze in mine. “I’d rather take a chance on love than go through life without it.”
But even as I say that, I spot Goran moving to the door of the restaurant, his hand on the grip of his gun. Someone’s trying to come inside, even though the restaurant is closed, and my guards are instantly on high alert.
Then Goran steps aside and waves the person inside, and it’s one of the chefs. No danger here; it’s just a false alarm.
But it leaves me uneasy for the rest of the night because it’s a sobering reminder that I need to stay away from Lucia. What am I doing, gambling with her safety in such a reckless way? Ten years ago, I was ready to murder Marco and his friends because they tried to harm Lucia. But she was never in as much danger from Marco as she will be if she’s with me.
Am I really so selfish that I’m willing to risk her?