Page 39 of The Thief

“Tell her not to bother. They’re Verratti’s ships.”

“Probably. Each ship had a container of guns hidden amidst their regular cargo.” He has a grim look on his face. “I have contacts in Paris. The weapons have already reached their streets.”

Cold fury fills me. “This ends now,” I snap. “Every ship coming into Venice is suspect. Tell the union. Nothing clears the harbor without a thorough search. If I find out that another container of guns got through, I will personally kill the person who signed off on the inspection. Got it?”

Dante nods soberly. “Yes, Padrino.”

I remain in a bad mood for a long time after he leaves. I go home for lunch, and Agnese has made a roast chicken that reminds me of when Lucia was here last week.

Lucia.

As angry as I am, thinking about her puts a smile on my face. As busy as I’ve been in the last five days, my thoughts have kept returning to her. I want to see her green eyes spit fire at me; I want to hear the sound of her voice moaning my name.

I’ve kept my desire at bay and focused on protecting Venice from an influx of Russian weapons. Surely, I’ve earned a reward. A few stolen hours with my favorite thief.

My nerves buzzing with anticipation as I pick up my phone.

20

LUCIA

Itold Antonio to leave me alone. Did I expect him to call me anyway?

Yes, I did.

But he doesn’t. The weekend goes by with no word from him. On Saturday, I’m hopeful he’ll call, but by Sunday night, I feel like a fool.

You asked him to stay away, and he’s respecting your boundaries. And you’re annoyed by that? You are such a hypocrite.

Okay, I’ll admit it. On some level, I thought he’d pursue me harder. He is a predator, and I’m prey, and I was enjoying the hunt. I wanted him to chase me.

I am such an idiot.

I start the next week in a bad mood, and it doesn’t get any better as the day goes on. Everyone at the museum is talking about the ship that exploded in the harbor. “It’s the mafia,” Dr. Meyer, my least favorite coworker, says, giving me a pointed glance. “The rumor is that it’s some kind of turf war.”

I don’t like the look he gave me, and I don’t like the reminder that Antonio is a dangerous man. I stew and fret, which doesn’t improve my mood. By the time Giana Caputi, our department assistant, knocks on my office door on Wednesday, it takes everything I have not to snarl at her.

Then I notice what she’s holding.

Flowers burst exuberantly from a familiar blue-and-white ceramic vase in a riotous celebration of spring, filling my tiny office with their delicate aroma. White lilacs and pink hyacinths dance together with yellow honeysuckle, and lavender sprigs add pops of deep purple.

And the vase. . . This is the vase I admired at Antonio’s house last week. I picked it up and fell in love with it, and Antonionoticed.

And he’s sent it to me.

“These came for you while you were at lunch,” Giana says, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “But there wasn’t a card.”

By now, everyone at work knows I had lunch with Antonio on Friday. I don’t have to be a mind-reader to know what Giana is thinking.Are these flowers from him? Are they an item? Does she know he’s a mafia boss?

Whatever. I can’t bring myself to care about work gossip right now. A smile spreads on my face as I inhale the scent of the blossoms. “Thank you, Giana.”

“This box came along with the flowers.” She hands me a pale pink rectangular box tied with a silk ribbon. The logo is a string of pearls spilling from a seashell, and the words La Perla Nera are stamped on the bottom.

I’m unfamiliar with the brand, but Giana clearly recognizes it. “La Perla Nera is a lingerie store,” she tells me, her eyes wide. “A very expensive one. They only see customers by appointment.” She’s not brave enough to ask me if Antonio sent me lingerie, though I can tell from her expression that she dearly wants to.

“Thank you, Giana,” I say again, waiting for her to leave before I open my package. The department admin is the biggest gossip in the museum, and she’s positively agog. By the end of the day, every single one of my colleagues will know that someone—Antonio?—sent me flowers and lingerie.

I can’t tell if I’m thrilled by the gift or annoyed by the prospect of being everyone’s favorite topic of conversation.

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