Epilogue
LUCIA
A ntonio gets discharged a week later. The proposal—the real one, as Antonio insists on calling it—happens the next day. We’re lying in bed together when he retrieves a small box from his bedside table and flips it open.
“This is it,” he says. “The real deal. Remember, you already said yes.” He holds the ring out to me. “Yes?”
I stare at my engagement ring in shock. A central oval ruby is surrounded by diamonds and encased in filigree. It looks like an antique, but the design simultaneously feels timeless. The stone catches the light and glows like fire.
Like the bracelet he gave me, it perfectly matches my mother’s pendant.
How?
I prop myself on an elbow. “How long have you had this?”
He gives me an enigmatic smile.
“Antonio,” I say, my voice rising in pitch. “Seriously, how long?” He said he commissioned the bracelet the day he met me. He didn’t commission the ring at the same time, did he?
“I can’t tell you all my secrets,” he says with a grin but relents. “Do you know the story of your mother’s pendant?”
I bite back my smile and fake ignorance. “What story? My father gave it to her as a wedding present.”
He grimaces. “Fuck. Now I’m going to destroy your illusions.”
He looks guilty, and I can’t cause him any stress. His doctors will kill me if he ends up back in the hospital. “As tempting as it is to see you squirm, I already know he stole it for her.”
He leans back on the pillow. “You had me worried,” he says. “When I don’t feel like a truck ran me over, I’m going to make you pay for that, cara mia.” The words are a delicious promise, and a shiver of anticipation runs through me at the way his voice roughens.
But not now. Sadly, the doctors have vetoed sex for a few more weeks.
“My dad stole the pendant. It was supposed to be sold, but my mom fell in love with it, so he gave it to her instead.” I smile wistfully. “I always thought that was the most romantic thing ever.”
My parents loved each other with a fierceness that I am finally beginning to understand. Those agonizing hours in the hospital, waiting to find out whether Antonio would be fine, taught me something. I don’t think I’d ever make the same choice my father did, but I finally understand it. Losing the person you love is a terrible thing, and grief isn’t rational. It’s a wild and desperate beast clawing at your heart.
“Interesting how you find some grand larceny romantic, yet when I steal a painting from a museum, it’s all don’t do this, Antonio , and it belongs to the Palazzo Ducale, Antonio .”
I roll my eyes and pretend to throw a pillow at him. “Stop whining,” I tell him. “It’s a terrible look on you.”
He flashes me a glance that promises retribution.
I can’t wait.
He wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me closer. “Back to the ring,” he says. “Your father stole the pendant from the Duke of Aosta. I asked around, and it was, I gather, a crime of opportunity.”
“I didn’t know that. They didn’t talk much about their work.”
“No doubt they were trying to discourage you from following in their path.”
“Pity that didn’t work out,” I quip. “And now I’m marrying another thief. They’re probably rolling over in their graves.” That’s a lie. Antonio would have charmed the pants off my parents. My mother would have made all her favorite dishes for him, and my father would have insisted the two of them hang out in his study and smoke cigars. It was his highest form of praise, reserved only for the people he genuinely liked.
“Anyway, the pendant was part of a set, and there was a matching ring.” He slides it on my finger. “This one.”
I stare at my left hand in shock. This isn’t just any ring. This is the ring that matches my mother’s pendant perfectly. Antonio isn’t just offering me forever—he’s making me a promise that he will always pay attention to my needs. He doesn’t just want me in his life—he wants to build a life together.
My emotions are a topsy-turvy turmoil. There’s surprise and disbelief that he’s really mine, and there’s gratitude that I found the missing half of my soul. But above all, I feel a shining sense of joy. My heart is so full that it might spill over, and I think I’m going to cry.
“Did you steal it?” I tease, trying to blink away the tears.
“I was tempted,” he admits with a small laugh. “It would be very poetic. But it’s too recognizable a piece of jewelry, and unlike the pendant, you can’t keep it hidden.” His eyes flash with possessive fire. “I don’t want you to keep it hidden. I want the world to see it.” He kisses my hand. “If you don’t like it, we can shop for a different?—”
“Don’t you dare. I love it.”
We both want a small wedding, and neither of us wants to wait, so we decide to get married in two weeks.
I ask Rosa if she’ll design my wedding dress, and she nearly has a heart attack when she hears the date. “Two weeks,” she bitches at me through a mouthful of pins during my first fitting. “What is the hurry? Are you pregnant?”
Valentina chokes on her glass of prosecco, looking like she’s on the verge of breaking out into giggles. “Are you?” she asks when she’s done coughing. “And you never said anything.”
I glare at both of them. “I am not, thank you. But we want a small wedding, and I don’t see any reason to wait. Now, stop monopolizing the prosecco and pour me a glass.”
We don’t want to wait; that part is true. But that’s not the only reason we’re getting married as soon as we are. I want to get married in winter. My parents died this time of the year, and I want to replace that memory with a happier one. It doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about their deaths, and it certainly doesn’t mean I don’t still miss them every day.
But it’s a reminder that life holds both sweetness and bitterness. Both joy and sadness and it’s this duality that makes us human.
It’s the same reason we’re getting married at Il Redentore. Antonio and I aren’t religious, but this is the church he was abandoned in as a baby. Every time he walks past it now, that memory will be replaced with this one.
Fuck the past. Fuck those demons. We’re going to make our own future, and it’s going to be glorious.
The night before our wedding, I’m in bed with Antonio. I know it’s tradition to spend this night without him, but I’ve spent too many nights alone, and I don’t see the point of it. “I have a present for you,” he says. His gaze meets mine, and a smile touches his lips. “Wife.”
“Husband.” I try the word out experimentally, and a possessive surge runs through me. Yes. My husband. Mine. “Another present? Antonio, we’ve discussed this.”
“No, you’ve discussed this.” He offers me a small rectangular box. “Open it.”
I frown at him. “If it’s more jewelry, I’m going to. . .” I open the lid, and my voice trails away. “This is a key,” I say, confused. “A key to what?”
“To a museum. Well, right now, it’s an empty space on the floor above the new community center. But I’m hoping you’ll shape it into a museum, one that feels accessible to everyone.”
A museum located near the dock where we met, one accessible to street kids like him. I stare at him in shock. “You want me to set up your museum?”
“Why do you look so surprised? I already told you I wanted you to do it. Unless you feel you’re not up to the challenge.” He gives me a wicked smile. “Of course, some of my collection has been. . . ahem, dubiously acquired, so you’ll have to figure out how to return those to their original owners.”
“Won’t you miss them? Once they go back, you can’t change your mind.”
“I don’t care about the paintings, cara mia,” he says. He cages me in with his body and palms my breast, pinching my nipple. “I have more important things on my mind.”
Our wedding is beautiful.
It’s a small, intimate ceremony, and only the people most important to us are invited. Enzo and Tatiana are there, of course, as are Dante, Valentina, Joao, Tomas, and Leonardo. Antonio invites Agnese and Liam, the manager at Casanova.
Valentina is my maid of honor, and Angelica is our flower girl. I also invite Alvisa Zanotti, Claudia and Miriam, and Rosa.
Valentina and Rosa have overseen the decor and done an amazing job. The altar is adorned with fragrant white roses and lilies, interspersed with tall candles. Garlands of greenery wind around the marble columns, and small arrangements of roses dot the pews. After a week of overcast skies, the sun comes out, streaming through the windows and filling the church with light.
Angelica walks down the aisle, wearing a cream silk dress with a lace overlay and a tiara in her hair, looking every inch like a fairy-tale princess.
Then the music swells, and it’s time to marry the man I love.
* * *
Antonio
Lucia is a vision in ivory silk. She glides to me, her hair falling around her shoulder in soft waves, her green eyes luminous and soft. Behind her, the doors to the church are flung open, and Venice gleams in the backdrop, a golden jewel sparkling in a sea of sapphire. Today, though, I don’t have eyes for my city, just for my beautiful, beautiful thief.
My bride.
Mine.
She glides toward me, each step drawing her closer. And I find I can’t stand still; I can’t wait. So, I go to her, ignoring the priest’s raised eyebrow. “My little thief,” I murmur, cupping her cheek.
She’s actually doing this.
She’s choosing me.
She lifts her eyes up to mine. “Antonio,” she whispers. “What are you doing?”
“Marrying you.”
A flash of pertness peeks through. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go do that.”
That’s my Lucia. I lift her hand to my lips, and we walk, hand in hand, to the somewhat scandalized priest.
Last night, in bed, we made a bet. “You’re going to cry,” I predicted. “You might pretend otherwise, but I know you, tesoro. You’ll be tearing up when you say your vows.”
But it turns out I’m wrong.
In the church where I was abandoned as a baby, surrounded by the people I consider my family, I look into the jewel-green eyes of the woman I love and promise to stay at her side in sickness and health. I promise to love, honor, and cherish her for the rest of my life. And when she repeats the same promises, her hand in mine, it’s not my little thief who tears up.
It’s me.
And shockingly, I’m okay with it.
* * *
“Okay, this is ridiculous.” I glare at the two offending members of my organization. Dante and Valentina have always had a tumultuous relationship, but somehow, things have escalated to the point of utter chaos. I assumed that they would sleep with each other during the Verratti affair and get some of that sexual tension resolved, but no. They’ve been sniping at each other with increasing venom over the last four weeks.
“It’s the day after my wedding,” I continue. “I’m leaving for my honeymoon in three hours . And instead of eating a lazy breakfast with Lucia, I find myself here.” My withering gaze falls on Dante and then Valentina. “Dealing with your petty squabbling.”
Joao grimaces in sympathy until I focus on him but quickly forces his expression back to neutral.
“This latest fuck-up at Pascale.” I glance down at Tomas’ report. “Would either of you like to explain what went wrong?”
“I told Dante—” Valentina starts.
“Valentina wouldn’t listen—” Dante interrupts.
“Enough,” I snap. “This is not a fucking playground, and the two of you aren’t cranky toddlers.” I stare at them in frustration. All I want to do is leave for my honeymoon with the knowledge that my organization will still be here when I get back. But that’s not guaranteed with Valentina and Dante in their current moods.
Time for drastic action. I don’t like to throw my weight around, but if there was ever a need for it, it’s now.
“I’m tired of this,” I say, leaning forward and fixing my gaze on them. “It’s obvious there’s some sexual tension between you.”
“Sexual tension?” Valentina goes red. “Between Dante and me? With all due respect, Padrino, not even if he was the last man in the city.”
“You wish,” Dante sneers.
“I’m delighted to hear you say that.” I smile evilly. “Because you work together. Dante, you’re Valentina’s superior. If we had an HR department, they’d be freaking out about workplace harassment.”
Guilt flashes on Valentina’s face. “He’s not?—”
“I’m not done.” I sink some steel into my voice. “Your personal issues are disrupting team morale. So, I forbid it.”
Dante’s head snaps up. “What?”
“The two of you claim you’re not interested in each other, so this shouldn’t be a problem. Just so we’re clear, there are to be no dates. No cozy, intimate glasses of wine after Angelica has gone to bed. No sneaking around and no sex.” Tomas is studiously reading something on his phone, and Leo is trying not to laugh at Dante and Valentina’s consternation. “I forbid it all.”
Lucia is drinking a cup of coffee when I get back. “What was the big emergency?” she asks.
I fill her in, and she starts to giggle. “Oh, you are evil ,” she says. “If there’s anything that’ll make the two of them—two of the most stubborn people we know—see sense and realize they’re perfect for each other, it’s you telling them no. Making it forbidden fruit.” She cocks her head to one side. “Did you plan this?”
“Of course. After insisting they hated each other, they could hardly protest my edict. You should have seen their faces.”
“So conniving.” She kisses me. “I love you. By the way, not that I’m complaining or anything, but we leave for our honeymoon in two hours . Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
I bite back my smile. Turns out Lucia hates surprises. I offered to plan the honeymoon and told her to take two weeks off and pack warm, and ever since, she’s been trying to figure out what I have in store. It’s driving her crazy.
“Sure.” I hand her a manila envelope.
She frowns. “What’s in this? It can’t be a plane ticket; nobody does that anymore.”
“I could tell you,” I reply dryly. “Or, and this is just a suggestion, you could open it.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Everyone’s a comedian,” she grumbles. She extracts the contents of the envelope and looks at them with a puzzled frown. “Okay, this is some kind of blueprint, a couple of sheets of numbers, another blueprint. . . What exactly am I looking at?”
“A heist.” What else could the two of us do on our honeymoon? Apart from sex, of course. And trust me, we’ll be doing plenty of that. But when we’re not in bed. . . We are thieves, after all. “For our honeymoon, I thought we could fly to England and rob Arthur Kirkland. What do you think, cara mia? All thirty-seven stolen paintings in one fell swoop?”
She stares at me, shocked, and then laughs. “Best. Idea. Ever.” She shakes her head, her eyes dancing with mirth. “You’re insane, do you know that? Yes, absolutely.”
Her laughter feels like music. I pull her into my arms and kiss her hard. She’s full of fire and life, and she’s all mine. She deserves a lifetime of joy, and I’m going to give it to her. Forever.
Thank you for reading The Thief.