Page 64 of The Thief

I get up and start to dress. Antonio rises as well. “I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“If you think I’m letting you walk home alone at three in the morning, Lucia, you don’t know me at all.”

“I won’t be walking home alone,” I point out. “You’ve assigned bodyguards to me, remember?”

“This isn’t up for negotiation, tesoro.”

I roll my eyes. I should be feeling irritated right now that he’s being so bloody stubborn, but instead, I’m feeling affectionate. Oh God, what is wrong with my head? I think his bossiness isendearing. Somebody kill me now.

“So bossy,” I say, shaking my head and smiling. “Okay, King of Venice. Let’s go.”

* * *

As expected,I’m a mess on Friday. I didn’t get enough sleep and can barely keep my eyes open, but that’s not the main reason.

It’s Antonio. Thoughts of him consume my mind.

Telling him I needed to leave was a reflex born of fear. The moment he invited me to spend the night and I realized I wanted to stay, I panicked.

He’s told me that his men have standing orders to let me into his house. He was able to pinpoint with unerring accuracy the real reason I took refuge in kink. He offered to come with me to my parents’ storage unit.

It’s too intimate. Too terrifying.

Too tempting.

Because who am I kidding—it feels good to beseen. To be understood. And I’ve always felt seen by Antonio. Both during my encounter with him ten years ago and now.

He’s offering me a shoulder to lean on, and it’s getting increasingly harder to resist the urge to accept.

A couple of hours after I arrive, my phone rings. My cell phone, not the line in my office. Antonio, I think instantly, my lips curling into an involuntary smile. Then I glance at the display, and it’s a number I don’t recognize.

I normally wouldn’t pick up my phone if I don’t recognize the caller, but today, I could use the distraction of yelling at a telemarketer, so I answer. “Hello?”

A man’s voice says, “Signorina Lucia Petrucci?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Rocco Cacciola. I head the Conservation Department at the Uffizi. You applied for a job here?”

“I did?” I ask blankly and then want to smack myself. The Uffizi in Florence is arguably the best museum in the country, and I sound like an idiot. “I mean, yes, of course I did.”

“It was last August.” He sounds like he’s smothering a laugh. I’m glad he finds my incoherence charming. “I found your resume interesting, but we already had a candidate in mind for that role. However, I have another opening coming up soon that I think you’d be perfect for.”

He goes on to describe the job, and it isperfect.It’s a mix of acquisition and exhibit design, and I’ll have a lot of autonomy to set things up the way I want to. If I had to describe my dream job, it would be the role Rocco Cacciola is dangling in front of me.

“I’m very interested,” I say when he’s done explaining the description. “It sounds like a fantastic opportunity.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “In terms of next steps, you’ll have to start by formally applying for the role on our website. Please do that this week, Lucia. After that, there are three people on the hiring committee, and I’m one of them. If the other two are convinced you’re right for the role, we’ll invite you to Florence for an interview. If all goes well, we’d like you to start in January.”

January. That’ssoon.

We finish our conversation, and I hang up and stare at the screen in front of me, lost in thought. Florence is only a couple of hours away from Venice, but if I accept this role, I’ll have to say goodbye to my weekly dinners with Angelica and Valentina. I can’t drop by their place at the drop of a hat; I’ll only be able to visit on weekends.

And Antonio? What about him?

I’ve never let myself get in a situation where I’ve had to choose between my career and a man. It hasn’t come up because I’ve never been in a relationship, never wanted to.

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