41. Lucia
41
LUCIA
I have ten minutes to get ready. If I were a better person, I’d have already figured out what I was going to wear on my date, but I was busy with Angelica yesterday, and I thought I’d have plenty of time to sort it out today after I got back from work.
Oops.
I turn my closet inside out, trying to figure out what to wear. A black, knee-length, fitted sheath dress gets discarded as too business casual. I try on a soft, cream-colored sweater dress that hugs my curves in all the right places, but knowing me, I’m likely to ruin it by spilling pasta down my front.
Finally, I decide on an emerald-green wrap dress that was part of Antonio’s shopping spree from the day I got soaked in the rain. The V-neck is deep, the dress nips in at my waist, and the skirt is full and flowing, falling just above my knees. The fabric is a blend of silk and wool jersey, and it feels warm against my skin.
I don’t have enough time to do anything elaborate with my hair, so I just run a brush through it and leave it down. I pair my dress with knee-high brown suede boots and add a wrap for extra warmth, race through my makeup, layering on three coats of mascara and adding a bright red lip, and then, I’m ready.
I glance at my watch. That took seventeen minutes instead of my promised ten. I quickly put on my mother’s pendant, take one final look in the mirror, and head to the living room.
“Sorry about the delay,” I apologize. “It turns out that ten minutes was an optimistic estimate.”
He takes in my appearance, and heat touches his eyes. “You’re always worth the wait.” His gaze trails down my body and rests on my boots. “Those heels look like weapons, Lucia.”
I flash him a grin. “I guess you’ll have to remember to behave.” Those are fighting words to a man as dominant as Antonio. I might as well wave a red flag to a bull.
“Why would I do that? It sounds boring.”
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flat box roughly the size of my hand. “I have something for you.”
“That looks like jewelry.” I give him a wary glance. “Antonio, you can’t keep buying me things.”
“So you say.” He hands it to me. “Open it.”
His tone gives him away. Whatever is in the box, it’s important to him that I like it.
I flip the lid open.
It’s a bracelet. But not just any bracelet. Six rubies, each the size of my thumb, are cradled in intricate filigree, with golden tendrils twisting and curling around the gemstones like vines. The rubies glitter and shine against the gold, catching the light with every movement.
I swallow the lump in my throat. This jewelry has been designed to match my mother’s pendant, which I wear daily on a chain around my neck. The filigree work is identical. The colorful stones are a perfect match.
This is. . . incredible.
I lift my gaze up to meet his. “You had this custom-made?” I whisper.
He nods carefully. “Yes. Do you like it?”
“I love it.” I blink the tears away before they have a chance to fall. If my mother were still alive, she would pull me aside and tell me that Antonio is a keeper. “When did you commission it?”
He doesn’t answer my question right away. “Show me your arm,” he says instead. I extend my right hand toward him, and he fastens the bracelet around my wrist. “I had it made the day you stole my painting from Daniel’s apartment.”
“Once again, not your painting,” I reply automatically, and then his words sink in. “Hang on, the day I stole the painting from Daniel Rossi’s apartment? But that was only the second time we met. You didn’t know me at all.”
“But I wanted to. Besides, I like to think positively.” He winks at me. “What is the thing that self-help books recommend you do? Manifest.”
I have to struggle not to giggle. “You manifested that I’d sleep with you?” I tease, but his expression turns serious.
“I didn’t know what would happen between us, Lucia. I hoped something would, yes, but I would never take you for granted.” His fingers stroke my wrist. “I commissioned this because I thought you’d like it.” A pause. “I would do anything to make you happy.”
I touch the bracelet. It probably cost more money than I’ve ever made in my life, but that’s not why I’m struggling to keep from tearing up. After all, Antonio is the richest person in Italy. He has plenty of money.
But, like the furniture he bought me, like the blue-and-white vase filled with spring blooms he sent me at work, this is thoughtful. He knows how important my mother’s pendant is to me, and he’s given me a gift that complements it.
Through his words and actions, he’s showing me that he wants me in his life.
I can’t find the words to express how much this bracelet means to me, but I look up, and the gentle warmth in his eyes tells me that maybe I don’t need to. “Thank you,” I whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
He kisses my cheek tenderly and offers me his arm. “Shall we?”
* * *
La Buona Tavola is one of many small trattorias that dot the Campo Santi Giovanni e Paolo. From the outside, it looks indistinguishable from the dozens of small restaurants in Venice. But true insiders know better. Claudia Marino is an amazing cook, and her food is to die for.
Four bodyguards surround us on the five-minute walk to the restaurant. Two in front, two in the back. Antonio looks faintly unhappy but otherwise ignores them, and taking a cue from him, I do, too.
“Can you walk in those?” Antonio asks, glancing at my boots. “They look uncomfortable.”
They are hideously uncomfortable, and no, I can’t walk in them for any distance. Although if I say that to Antonio, he’s more than capable of carrying me. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know.” He takes my hand in his and frowns. “Lucia, you’re freezing.”
I am. It’s chillier than I anticipated, and my wrap isn’t enough to keep me warm. I open my mouth to tell him we’re almost there, but before I can do that, he removes his coat and drapes it over my shoulders.
Warmth hugs me. “Thank you.” I come to a stop outside the restaurant. “We’re here. It’s not as nice as Quadri, I know?—”
He chuckles. “I grew up on the streets, cara mia. I remember pressing my nose to the windows of places like this, fantasizing about a future where I could afford to order anything on the menu.” He squeezes my hand. “Also, Signora Marino is a great cook.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Not in years. How do you know it?”
One of Antonio’s men enters the restaurant to check it out for threats. We’re supposed to wait until he gives us the okay to enter. Once again, I do my best to ignore the heightened security.
“I’ve known Claudia and Miriam since I was a child. My mother used to babysit them. We were here the day they opened this place.” I smile at the memory. “I was thirteen. I didn’t want to be here; I wanted to stay home and watch TV. But Claudia bribed me with apple fritters.”
Antonio’s bodyguard comes out and nods to us. “Shall we sit by the window?” I ask with slightly forced cheer. “La Buona Tavola is a seat yourself kind of place.”
I’m not going to lie: the precautions are getting to me. They’re making me remember that Antonio is at war with a rival mafia, and the situation is serious enough that Valentina and Angelica have moved in with Dante for protection. They’re making me realize that the man I’ve fallen in love with will always be in danger, and I could lose him in the blink of an eye.
Antonio gives me a careful look as if to gauge the extent of my irritation. But he has it wrong. I’m not irritated. I’m afraid.
“Sure.” He pulls out my chair for me. “I’m sorry about this.”
I’m about to tell him it’s fine when one of the bodyguards walks into the restaurant. “Padrino, may I?—”
“No,” Antonio snaps without looking at the guy. “Go away.”
The man retreats without another word. Antonio looks frustrated. “Once again, I’m truly sorry.” He grimaces. “This is not how I wanted this date to go.”
I place my hand on his. “It’s fine,” I say. “It’s your life. I get it.”
“It’s not normally my life.” He runs his hand through his hair. “This is temporary, I promise.”
I hope so. I smile at him. “I’m starving. Let’s get some wine and order some cicchetti?”
“Sure.”
Another man walks into the restaurant. “Padrino, I’m sorry to interrupt. May I have a word, please?” It’s phrased as a request, but his tone makes it clear he’s not going away until he talks to his boss.
Before Antonio loses his temper entirely, I give him a little wave. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
With a frown, he gets up. The guy pulls him to the back and says something in a low voice. Antonio responds, his expression annoyed. The guy throws up his hands in the air. It’s like watching a play, so I’m almost disappointed when Claudia’s sister Miriam bustles up to me and interrupts my view.
“Lucia!” she exclaims, bending down to kiss my cheeks in her typical exuberant manner. “You’re very dressed up today. What’s the special occasion?” Without waiting for me to respond, she continues, “A half-liter of wine to start and some cicchetti? Our specials today are bigoli con l’anatra, and risotto al limone con gamberi e zucchini. Or do you feel like soup? The creamy pumpkin soup is very good today.”
“Umm, I’m here with someone.” I gesture in Antonio’s direction. “Can you give us a few minutes?”
She glances at Antonio and does a double-take. Her mouth falls open, and her eyes go wide. “Is that. . .?” she whispers, her voice trailing off.
“Antonio Moretti,” I finish for her, realizing as I do that I may have made a mistake. Crap. Do Miriam and Claudia have a history with the mafia? I wasn’t thinking through the implications when I invited him to dinner. Should I not have brought him here?
“That’s who you’re here with?”
I nod mutely. The two women who run this restaurant have known me since I was a baby. They can be a little protective of me, so I’m pretty sure I know what Miriam is going to say. She’s going to remind me that sensible women do not hook up with violent, dangerous men. She’s going to warn me to stay the hell away from Antonio.
“Miriam, I wasn’t thinking straight. Do you want us to leave?”
“Leave?” Her face breaks into a huge smile. “Why? Just wait until I tell Claudia who’s eating with us tonight. She’s going to be thrilled.”
I’m missing something. “You know who Antonio is, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Am I an ostrich? Of course, I know who he is, Lucia.” She lowers her voice. “A few years ago, Bruno fell in with the wrong crowd and got into trouble with the carabinieri.”
“He did?” Bruno is Claudia’s twenty-year-old son. He’s quiet and serious and wants to be a doctor. I can’t imagine him running afoul of the law.
“He might have gone to jail if the padrino hadn’t intervened,” she says solemnly. “And Bruno’s not the only person he’s helped.” Her eyes shine. “Signor Moretti will always be welcome here. Always.”
She hurries to the back, undoubtedly to tell Claudia about the celebrity in their midst. Antonio finishes his conversation and returns. “Leo, my head of security, insists we move away from the window.” He looks pained. “I’m so?—”
“It’s okay,” I say before he can apologize again. We need to move away from the window because a sniper could shoot Antonio through the glass. My stomach does a weird flip, and my palms go damp.
He does his best to keep his face expressionless. “This isn’t what you thought you were getting into. I’ll understand if you need to leave. You’ll be safer that way.”
Leaving would be the smartest thing to do. But I’m past that. Maybe I was past that when I asked him to stay with me ten years ago.
I get to my feet and lace my fingers in his. “Stop apologizing. It was cold by the window anyway.”
I can’t decide between the risotto and the steak, so Antonio suggests we get both and share. Claudia pops up with a platter of cicchetti and a complimentary bottle of wine. She fusses over Antonio, promises to make him a meal to remember, gives me an approving nod, and disappears into the kitchen.
Once we’re alone, I lift the bottle of wine. “I’ve known Claudia and Miriam all my life, and I’ve never gotten free wine,” I grumble. “Then again, I’ve never kept Bruno out of jail.”
“Is that what Miriam said to you?” Antonio looks uncomfortable. Hang on, is he blushing? I love it. “She’s exaggerating.”
“You don’t even know what she said.”
“I can guess.” Yup, he’s definitely blushing. “All I did was make a couple of phone calls.” He gives me a stern look. “And you’re having entirely too much fun at my expense.”
Oops. “Guilty.” I pour us both some wine and sip the complex red. It’s glorious. Claudia really is pulling out all the stops. “Maybe I’m looking to get punished.”
A smile curves at the corners of his mouth. “Are you, now?” Our food arrives before he can elaborate on how he’ll make me pay for my teasing. Pity. There’s nothing like anticipation to make a spanking even sweeter.
My meal is delicious, and I’m stuffed by the time I finish, but I greedily insist on ordering dessert anyway. “How’s your work going?” Antonio asks as we share the orange liqueur-flavored panna cotta. It’s served with chopped kiwi, passion fruit, and mango, and it’s irresistible. “Any blowback from our Quadri meal?”
He’s frighteningly astute. “Let’s see. Signora Sabatino offered me a full-time job and a larger office if I talked you into giving the Palazzo Ducale more money, and my most sexist co-worker, who usually expects me to bring him coffee and take notes at meetings, actually apologized for the sexism and brought me pastries. Dating Antonio Moretti comes with its perks.” I roll my eyes. “The director, I understand. Felix, though? I can’t even. Does he really think I’m going to turn to you when we’re in bed and say, ‘Do you know who’s really good at acquiring fine art? Dr. Mayer.’”
His eyes narrow. “Felix Mayer,” he says, a touch of frost in his voice. “Good to know.”
I glare at him. “Do. Not. Do. Anything. This is my problem, and I’ll handle it.”
“Mmm.”
“I’m serious, Antonio.”
He lifts his hands up in a placating gesture. “I won’t do anything without your knowledge,” he says. “I promise.”
I set my fork down. “I can’t eat another bite.”
He gestures for the check. I attempt to pay, but he won’t hear of it. Claudia and Miriam tell him the meal is on the house, but he won’t listen to them either. “The food was even more delicious than I remember,” he tells them. “I’m delighted Lucia suggested we eat here tonight.”
We head back outside. It’s gotten even chillier, and Antonio immediately drapes his coat back over my shoulders. “I hope you’re not done for the night because I have plans for you.”
My insides quicken. “What kind of plans?”
“Plans that involve you spending all night tied up to my bed.”
“Oh, that’s a pity.” I paste a disappointed look on my face. “Because I was going to invite you to spend the night at my place. After all, I do have a sturdy new bed.”
It’s a big step, and a small part of me wonders if I’m being reckless. But a much larger part of me insists this is the right thing to do. Something’s changed tonight. I don’t know if it’s because of the priceless Titian that Antonio gave up because of me, or if it’s because he accompanied me to my parents’ storage unit.
I think I finally believe that my heart will be safe in his hands. He won’t let me fall.
For a fleeting second, shock fills his eyes. Then a neutral mask once again slides over his face. “I can be flexible.”
I give him a teasing smile. “Can you, now?”
“Of course,” he says loftily. “When the situation calls for it, I can adapt. It’s always wise to consider new information when making a decision.”
I have to struggle to keep a straight face. “What kind of new information?”
“Your place is less than five minutes away.” He kisses me, quick and hard. “Four, if we hurry. Walk faster, Lucia.”
I laugh and put my arm around his waist. I’m happy and also squirmy with anticipation. I’m a tiny bit tipsy and very, very turned on, and I can’t wait for us to get home and test out my new bed
Of course, that’s when my conscience shows up like an unwelcome guest. You didn’t tell him about Florence, it prods. You told him about the job that Gisele Sabatino offered you, but you failed to mention your call from Rocco Cacciola. You’re starting this relationship under false pretenses; Antonio has every right to know you’re thinking about taking a job away from Venice as soon as your contract here is done.
I dismiss that nagging voice. It’s too soon to have that conversation. My contract at the Palazzo Ducale still has a few weeks to go, and besides, I don’t even have an interview with the Uffizi yet.
But the feeling of guilt persists all the way home.