Page 61 of The Thief

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 maître 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.

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