46. Lucia
46
LUCIA
O n the day of the gala, Antonio arranges to pick me up at my apartment. He knocks at my door exactly at seven, but I’m still putting the finishing touches on my makeup, so it takes me a minute to get to the door.
He’s on the phone when I open it, in conversation with one of his people. But the moment he sees me, he stops speaking and hangs up on them mid-sentence.
His heated gaze roams my body. “You look amazing,” he says, sounding slightly dazed. “You’re a vision.”
I flush at his compliment. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” This is the first time I’ve seen Antonio in a tuxedo. It’s beautifully tailored and fits him impeccably, and the effect of all that jaw-dropping perfection makes me lightheaded. “Who did you hang up on?”
“Dante.”
“Shouldn’t you call him back?”
“No,” he replies. His lips curl into a slow smile. “What I should do is come inside and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”
My knees go weak. “Tempting, but no,” I say regretfully. “Rosa gave me a steep discount on the dress because she’s counting on people seeing it and seeking out her boutique, so as much as I want to blow off the gala, I can’t.”
“Oh, fine,” he grumbles, offering me his arm. “If you insist.”
The gala is a glittering affair, taking place in the ornate halls of the palace. The décor is inspired by the Renaissance era. Rich velvet drapes hang from the walls, and gilded accents are everywhere, illuminated by a thousand flickering candles. Elaborate floral arrangements featuring Venetian roses, peonies, and lilies dot the room, filling the air with their delicate aroma.
I walk through these halls every single day, but tonight, the space has been transformed into something intimate, sensuous, and magical.
We walk into the grand ballroom arm in arm. Heads turn at our entrance, and whispers fill the air. People stare openly. Everyone here knows who Antonio is, and I can feel the weight of their gazes on me, wondering who I am and how I managed to land Venice’s most eligible bachelor. The men are curious and leering, and the women’s gazes stab me with envy.
“Ugh,” I mutter under my breath. “I really don’t like being the center of attention.”
“And you wonder why I don’t attend these things,” Antonio replies. He lifts his hand, and a waiter materializes in front of us bearing a tray with flutes of prosecco. Antonio hands me a glass with a grin. “Drink up, cara mia. You never know what the evening has in store for us. The last time I was here, a very trendy caterer served us droplets of meat jelly topped with vegetable foam. Fifteen courses, and I was still hungry at the end.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish.” He rests his hand on my lower back, a subtle gesture of claiming that sends a thrill through me. We wind through the crowds, making our way to our table.
We’re almost there when Felix Mayer intercepts us. “Lucia,” he says, kissing my cheeks as if we’re long-lost friends. “It’s so good to see you.” He sticks his hand out to Antonio. “Mr. Moretti, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr. Felix Mayer, the assistant curator in charge of acquisitions here at the Palazzo Ducale.”
Antonio’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks at Felix’s outstretched hand for a fraction of a second too long, then finally shakes it. “Lucia’s told me a lot about you.”
Felix is too tone-deaf to hear the warning in that sentence. “Only good things, I hope.” He doesn’t wait for Antonio to respond before barreling on. “I’m a great admirer of yours, Mr. Moretti. I’ve been following your acquisitions for a long time, and it’s rumored that you’re planning to set up a museum. If you’re ever looking for someone to work with you?—”
“I’ll ask Lucia,” Antonio interrupts. “Obviously.” He puts his arm around my waist and nods curtly to Felix. “Please excuse us.”
Call me petty, but I can’t help snickering once my least favorite coworker is out of earshot. “That was delightful,” I giggle. “Did you see his face when you rebuffed him? I shouldn’t get such joy out of it, but he’s such a jerk. What was that about, by the way? Are you planning to set up a museum?”
“I haven’t given it a lot of thought,” he replies. “But I do own a lot of art, most of it even lawfully acquired. People tend to assume I want to set up a private museum.”
“Do you?”
“Only if you’ll help me. Are you interested in being the director?”
My mouth falls open. “Is this a job offer?”
“If you want it to be.” His voice lowers and turns serious. “Only if it didn’t interfere with us. I can hire a dozen people for my museum, but. . .”
“But?” I forget to breathe.
He takes a deep breath, and his expression is open and vulnerable. “Lucia, I love you. There’s only one person I want at my side, and that’s you.”
“Oh,” I say faintly.
He’s looking at me, waiting for me to respond, and I don’t know what to say. After spending years protecting myself from feeling anything at all, Antonio’s become so important to me in a few short weeks that I can’t contemplate life without him.
Every moment we spend together is special. The heated debates over dinner, the evenings spent arguing about what we’ll watch on TV, our banter about which one of us is the better thief—I love it all. I didn’t realize how big the void inside me was until Antonio filled it.
And when I realize that it’s finally time to acknowledge that the training wheels have been off for a while. There’s no one running behind me, holding me up. I’m doing this on my own, and I’m not afraid.
In the end, it’s simple. “I love you too,” I tell him, squeezing his arm tight and standing on tiptoe to kiss him, uncaring who’s watching.
For a brief moment, there’s shock in his eyes. He exhales as if he wasn’t sure what my response was going to be until I said it, and then he smiles at me. “Is that a yes on the museum?”
I should tell him about the Uffizi, but in the moment, I don’t even remember it. “I’ll think about it,” I reply, winking at him. “It all depends on the salary.”
He chuckles. “We should probably take our seats,” he says. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about me fucking you senseless?”
He gives me a hopeful look, and goosebumps break out on my skin. I don’t want to be here either, especially now. This moment calls for intimacy, not a glittery gala with a thousand prying eyes watching our every move.
“I want to,” I murmur. “But I promised Rosa.” I sigh heavily. “Let’s get through it as quickly as possible.”
We take our seats at the table. A string quartet plays Vivaldi while we eat a five-course meal. The food isn’t as bad as Antonio predicted, but it’s also not particularly filling. The wine, on the other hand, is excellent. I’m quite tipsy by the time I’m done. “Let’s get pizza when this is over,” I whisper to Antonio under cover of the music.
He laughs at me.
After dinner, Dr. Garzolo takes the guests on a private tour. He showcases some of the museum’s most prized possessions, highlights recent acquisitions, and finishes in the Illuminated Manuscripts exhibit. While the other guests are oohing and aahing over the richly colored illustrations, Antonio murmurs into my ear. “I’m extremely fond of this exhibit. And for the record, you’re a much better tour guide than Dr. Garzolo.”
The tour is followed by a live auction and dancing. By then, I’m tired of being gawked at and ready to go home. “Want to get out of here?” I ask Antonio.
“God, yes. I thought you’d never ask. Still want pizza?”
“Yes, please.”
He gives me a fond look and turns to his bodyguard. “Carlo, do you know a place round here that’s open late?”
“There’s a pizzeria one street over, Padrino. I’ve eaten there. It’s good.”
“Perfect. Lead the way.”
We’re on our way out when a man stops us. “Antonio,” he says, shaking his hand. “I didn’t think you attended these things.”
“I don’t, usually,” Antonio replies with a wry smile. “And neither do you. Lucia, meet Theo Delacroix. He’s very disreputable and all-around bad news. Theo, Lucia Petrucci.”
“Charmed,” Theo says, shaking my hand, laughter dancing in his eyes. I’m head-over-heels in love with Antonio, but that doesn’t stop me from noticing the faintest hint of a French accent in his voice. It’s pretty damn sexy. “I’m a great admirer of your work, Signorina Petrucci.”
I narrow my eyes. What is he talking about? I’ve never met him before. “I beg your pardon?”
“I sit on the board of trustees of the Turin Museum,” he replies. “We were recently reunited with one of our stolen paintings, a rather lovely Jacopo Bassano.” He lifts his glass in a toast. “I believe I owe you my gratitude.”
How does he know it was me who returned the Bassano? Before I can ask, Antonio cuts in, his voice exasperated. “What are you doing here, Theo?”
“Me?” He gives Antonio an innocent look. “I thought I’d visit Venice to see what it was about the real estate market here that made you drop fifty million euros on it. Ah, I see someone I have to chat with.” He nods pleasantly to me. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Signorina Petrucci. Have a wonderful evening.”
The pizzeria Carlo takes us to is mostly empty. He ducks in to check the premises while Simon stays with us. I’m not paying any attention to them; my head is reeling. Signora Stanescu said that someone bought every building in my square, including mine, but I never got a notice. And now Theo Delacroix revealed that Antonio spent fifty million euros on Venice real estate. I’m putting two and two together, and it’s painting one very obvious conclusion.
It’s Antonio—he’s the one buying up buildings in my neighborhood. All this while, I’ve been wondering why he hasn’t insisted that I move in with him, and now I know why. He didn’t need to; he just bought every building near me to protect me.
Once the place is clear, we enter. Antonio gives me a wary look as soon as we sit down to eat. “You know, don’t you?” he says, his voice resigned. “I’m going to strangle Theo.”
“Fifty million euros,” I hiss. “That’s an insane amount of money. What the hell, Antonio? What possessed you to do something like that?”
“I’ve already told you. I’m not rational when it comes to your safety.”
“Fifty. Million. Euros.”
“We had the cash,” he says as if what he did was no big deal. “It had to be invested in something. Real estate was as good a place for it as any.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I wasn’t,” he replies bluntly. “Because I was afraid that you’d freak out when you heard. Lucia, there is nothing I own that I wouldn’t give up for you. Money isn’t important. You are.”
I give him a frustrated look. “I don’t like secrets. And besides?—”
I cut off what I’m about to say because a man has just walked into the restaurant, and I instantly recognize him. It’s the same man I saw at the airport. The one who was staring at me.
I don’t believe in coincidences.
“Antonio.” Something in my voice must alert him because he’s already turning around.
“Marco,” he says, his voice turning icy.
My heart speeds up. This is Marco, the man who grabbed my necklace so hard that it cut into my skin. The former padrino’s nephew, the man that Antonio banished from Venice.
Everything seems to happen in slow motion.
Marco raises his hand. He’s holding a gun. Oh my god, he’s holding a gun. Where did that come from? He sights Antonio and smiles maliciously and then moves the muzzle so it’s not pointing at him.
He’s aiming straight for me.
Everything seems to happen in slow motion. Carlo and Simon hurl themselves at Marco, but I know they’re going to be too late. His finger is already on the trigger, and death is staring me in the face.
My life doesn’t flash in front of my eyes. Instead, I’m hit with an onslaught of emotions. Regret that I won’t have more time with Antonio, intense relief that I took the chance of love when I did, and above all, gratitude. I was loved by Antonio Moretti, and it was truly magical.
I reach for his hand, wanting to touch him one last time. . .
But it’s too late. Before I can react, Antonio is in front of me, blocking the bullet with his body.
He falls back, stumbles against a chair, and crashes to the ground.
And his blood—his bright red blood—spreads all over my golden gown.