A Thief in Venice (5 page)

Lucia:

I pushed thoughts of Antonio out of my head with determination. My resolve succeeded during the day, for the most part. At night? My nights belonged to Antonio. He was always in my dreams.

I stayed away from the club. He was under my skin, this dangerous man, and other men would have seemed like pale imitations.

Instead, I doubled down on the preparation for my next attempt at the Madonna. He hadn’t said anything overt, but he’d clearly dismissed my skills as a thief, and I didn’t like it. Antonio Moretti was too smug and too self-assured for his own good. The next time I was in his dungeon, it would be on my terms. With the Madonna safe and sound in the Doge’s vaults.

But first, I needed to send him a message. Not a note, this time. A different message.

***

Antonio:

I watched the security tapes once again. The guards had backed away from me, fearing my anger. As they should. This was an unbelievable breach of security, and I had no idea how she’d managed to pull it off.

The video footage showed her in my office. Right where I was seated at the moment. She had turned to the camera, removed her cap. Bowed and winked. And then, she’d given me the middle finger. Again, my lips twitched as I saw that gesture. Lucia was feisty when she was challenged.

“Find out how she got in,” I said evenly. The guards nodded and retreated hastily.

Once I was alone, I laughed out aloud. My little thief was going to keep me on my toes.

***

Lucia:

I went to work the day after I’d managed to enter Antonio’s house with a huge smile on my face. I’d deliberately let the cameras run. I wanted him to know I was there. He would underestimate me at his peril.

The Madonna had been moved, of course. In any case, I didn’t have time to search for it. My entry into his house was to make a point. It could be done, and I had done it.

***

My first homage to my parents wasn’t a homage. It was bitter reproach that they had abandoned me. I had no idea how I managed to steal that painting without getting caught, reckless as I was in my grief.

It wasn’t a valuable painting, as these things went. It had been painted by a turn of century Venetian who had painted thousands of images of the canals for the tourists that had flooded Venice even then. But it was important to me, and I had never sold it. It hung on the mantel in my tiny living room, and every morning when I woke up, I would sit on the couch and sip my coffee and eye my painting. It centered me and calmed me.

When I came back home from work that evening, my painting was gone. And there was a note in its place.
“Lucia. Have dinner with me tonight. - Antonio.”

Antonio:

I rang the buzzer to her apartment, and she came down almost immediately. She was wearing a yellow sundress that hugged her breasts and flared out at the waist into soft folds. She looked touchable.

“I want my painting back,” she said with heat. “That’s the only reason I’m having dinner with you.”

I laughed at her. “Ah, Lucia. Lying to me would be forgivable. But lying to yourself?” I knew what I felt, and I could tell that she felt it too. There was a unique chemistry between us. The games we played over the Madonna added spice, but even if we didn’t spar over a painting, there was a heat between us that we both felt.

My sweet little thief. When I took her hand, she didn’t pull away from me like a scared kitten. No. Lucia walked close enough that I could feel the heat emanate from her body.

I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. I hadn’t kissed her before, and I could feel her stiffen for an instant before she kissed me back with passion. Her lips were soft and her tongue was demanding, and I smiled and gave in to both our needs. We were both panting slightly when we separated.

“I still want my painting back,” she muttered under her breath. I laughed and reached for her again.

***

Lucia:

Fuck. He was a good kisser.

I thought his mouth would crush mine, that his tongue would invade my mouth. But no. His lips were soft and persuasive. He seduced. He nibbled. He sucked my lip into his mouth till I was helpless with need, and my mouth parted open. Even then, his tongue darted, fleeting, until I growled and deepened the kiss. I could have kissed him all evening.

I could feel his hands stroke the sides of my body, staying clear of my breasts, conscious of the fact that we were on the street where anyone could see us. Finally, I pulled away.

“It’s a lovely night for walking,” Antonio said. “Shall we, Lucia?”

“Where are we going?” I asked him.

“Dinner,” he said. “I thought we might have a meal together.” He grinned. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed our previous encounters, of course.”

I laughed. “Do you need to steal paintings to get girls to have dinner with you?” I asked him, a challenge in my voice.

He winked at me. “Sometimes,” he said. “Do you like seafood, little thief?”

I nodded. We wound our way through the narrow streets until we arrived at the Piazza San Marco. A warm summer evening, the square was crowded with tourists. As we walked, I noticed we were being followed at a discreet pace by two men.

“Just guards,” Antonio murmured. “Relax.”

“They go everywhere with you?” I asked.

“Clearly not.” I flushed as I thought of Antonio’s dungeon, and he chuckled at my expression. “Come,” he said. We were in front of Quadri, one of Venice’s best restaurants. The prices here were significantly beyond my income level.

I rolled my eyes. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

He laughed. “The food is pretty good, little thief.”

Lucia:

We were greeted deferentially and seated instantly in a discreet alcove. A bottle of wine was brought, our glasses filled, then our waiter retreated.

“Is this how the other half lives then? Must be nice.” My voice was wry.

“Indeed,” Antonio said. “To your health.” He lifted his glass towards me.

“To the speedy retrieval of my Madonna,” I retorted. His lips twitched but he didn’t reply. His eyes just watched me, amused.

“I recommend the tasting menu,” he said. I nodded, our orders were taken, and we were alone once again.

I took a sip of my wine. It was delicious, and I sighed softly. “Lovely,” I muttered.

“Indeed,” he said. “You have a little drop on your lips, here…” His fingers were at my lips, and I kissed them as he wiped the wine. I flushed again. I was making a habit of kissing his fingers as they brushed past me. It was pathetic.

He had noticed, but before he could remark on it, I cast around for a topic change. “Tell me about yourself,” I asked him.

He smiled. “What do you want to know, Lucia?”

“How did you become the head of Thieves Guild? Is that hereditary?”

He shook his head. “I’m an orphan; I never knew my parents. When I was thirteen, I ran away from the orphanage to live on the streets of Venice. I was soon desperately hungry, and I tried stealing some fruit from a vendor. Almost got arrested. An old thief saw me. He felt sorry for me, took me in and showed me how to steal properly. The rest is history.”

I looked at him. There was a world of pain in that story, but his voice had been without emotion; a dry recitation of facts. “You stole the Madonna when you were sixteen, you said.”

He grinned. “My first major job. I should have fenced it right away. But I couldn’t. Something held me back. Guido was so angry with me…” His voice was remembering.

“In that case, I’m surprised I didn’t end up in the canal when I tried to steal it,” I commented.

“You are too beautiful to end up in the canal, little thief,” he smiled at me. We were interrupted by the waiter, who set a couple of bowls in front of us, each with a beautifully plated small portion of fish. “
Bon appetit,
” he said and receded.

I dug in with gusto. I was suddenly starving. The fish was delicious. I made a small moan of appreciation as I ate, and Antonio’s lips twitched. “Tell me about Casanova,” he said.

I was suddenly wary. “What do you want to know?”

“Why don’t you play outside of Casanova?” he asked. “Why just in the club?”

I chewed a piece of fish as I thought about how to reply. “It’s safer in the club,” I replied.

“A half-truth.” His voice was even. Being able to tell when you were being lied to was probably part of the training you needed to become the head of Thieves Guild.

“I don’t get involved,” I said.

“Why?”

“Love is loss, Antonio.” My gaze was direct. “Love is pain.”

He made a small noise of dissent. “Ah, Lucia. Trust me when I tell you it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.”

I would have protested angrily, but Antonio had never known his parents. He had neither known the warmth of a mother’s hug, nor the strong grip of a father’s steadfast love. I kept quiet and ate, lost in thought for the remainder of the meal.

***

“Come here,” he said, when the waiter had set our desserts in front of us. I looked up and he patted the space next to him. I rose up and sat by his side, and he pulled me into his body so that my back was resting on his chest. Our waiter had discreetly vanished.

He kissed my neck, and held a spoonful of chocolate mousse out in front of my mouth. I opened it dutifully, and he fed me spoonfuls of dessert and berries from his fingers. “Why so pensive, Lucia?”

“You just gave me an abbreviated lesson in perspective,” I said. “I’m absorbing it.”

“How so, sweetness?” I opened my mouth and chewed on the raspberry he fed me.

“My dad shot himself when my mother died of cancer. I was twenty-one.”

I could feel him nod. He kissed me again on the neck. “I was at the funeral,” he said.

He had said that before. “You weren’t the head of Thieves Guild then. I would have remembered meeting you.”

“No, I wasn’t,” he replied. He fed me another spoonful of mousse.

“Anyway,” I said, continuing my train of thought. “I suddenly realized there are worse things. Never knowing a parent, for instance.”

The fingers of one hand continued stroking my neck. He moved his other hand around my waist, and pulled me close to his body. I suddenly wanted to kiss him very badly, and so I twisted around and my lips met his.

After an initial surprised pause, he pulled my head into his hands, and kissed me back, very, very thoroughly. My lips felt swollen when we were done. I looked at him, need obvious in my eyes.

He quickly waved for the bill and paid it. The waiter fussed around us, anxious to know if everything met with Mr. Moretti’s satisfaction. “Everything was lovely,” Antonio said politely. “Thank you.” He placed a hand in the small of my back, and we left, walking back towards my apartment. Our guards were once again following us.

“They don’t eat at Quadri?” I asked wryly.

“Would you believe I’ve offered?” he remarked. “They put up with it once, and then told me they preferred pizza. Philistines.”

I laughed. “Where are we going next?” I asked him.

He smiled. “To your apartment,” he replied.

I gazed at him with disappointment in my eyes. I wanted him to take me to his dungeon. When we walked up to my building, he took the front door key from my hands to open the door for me. “Come, I’ll walk you upstairs,” he said. “Your building is far from secure.”

“I’m rather aware of that,” I replied dryly. “I still want my painting back.”

He laughed. “All in due time, sweetness,” he said.

At my apartment door, I looked at him hopefully. “Would you like to come in?” I asked him. I wanted him to push me through my door. To take the choice away from me. It was easier that way. There was less potential for pain.

But he didn’t. He just looked at me intently. “Will you make me a cup of coffee, Lucia?” he asked, finally.

I nodded. He stayed on my couch and drank the coffee I made him. He thanked me with a kiss on my lips that left my entire body aching with need, and then he left.

Lucia:

I woke up the next morning with a silly smile on my face as I thought about the previous night and the way Antonio had kissed me. Brushing my teeth, I caught a glimpse of my expression in the mirror. There was a soft and tender look in my eyes, and I flinched. No. Fuck no. This wasn’t okay. I couldn’t be sweet and giggly and soft when I thought about Antonio Moretti. I slept with whomever I wanted, and I didn’t stick around. I didn’t get involved. That was who I was.

This ridiculous flirtation with Antonio Moretti was going to have to end. I’d avoided going to the club since the day I’d ended up in his dungeon, but that was probably why I was dangerously sweet on him. There was something about sex when you gave up control. It made you soft and pliable. I just needed to scrub Antonio out of my head and my heart by duplicating that experience with one of the tops at the club. Enzo, if he had got over whatever was ailing him the last time I was at Casanova. If not Enzo, then someone else.

That evening, I showered, dressed with care in a dress that hugged every curve of my body, and I caught a water taxi to the club. The bouncer at the door started slightly when he saw me, but nodded politely enough. “Top or bottom, Miss Petrucci?” he asked, as he always did, and I choose to bottom again, and accepted the pale blue wristband.

The club was busier than it had been the last time. It reminded me that I needed to pay my club dues for the next three months. I walked towards Liam’s office. Until very recently, I thought Liam Callahan owned the club.

“Hey Lucia,” he greeted me. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to pay my dues before you send the enforcers,” I joked. There were no enforcers that I knew of. I paid because I wanted to play.

He nodded. “Let’s see what you owe,” Liam said, typing something at the keyboard on his desk. He read the screen, and looked at me, puzzled. “Are you sure?” he asked me. “You are all paid up.”

I shook my head. Casanova was expensive. I wouldn’t have paid and forgotten about it. A chill of suspicion went through me. Antonio? What the heck was he playing at?

“I can’t be paid up,” I said.

“Look for yourself.” Liam turned the screen towards me and I looked. I was paid up for the year.

“My mistake,” I said smoothly, trying my best to contain my rage. Did Antonio think I was his kept woman? How dare he. I seethed as I walked into the club floor. All the more reason I needed a good session with a Dom who would work me over and readjust my attitude.

Apart from Enzo, there were a handful of Doms I played with somewhat regularly. Luc, a French writer, one of the very few non Venetian members. Paolo. Tomas. Luigi. None of them would meet my eye today, their gazes sliding over me as if I wasn’t there. What the fuck?

I walked over to the bar and took a seat. “Okay, Shaun,” I said to the Irish bartender. I knew him well; he’d worked at the club for all of the four years I’d been a member. “What gives? Do I look fat or something today? Why is everyone avoiding me?”

He laughed. “You don’t know?” he asked me, then he looked at the blank expression on my face. “No, you don’t know. You were seen kissing Antonio Moretti last night at Quadri. And there’s not a single guy here who is going to risk ending up floating face down in the canal by coming anywhere close to you.”

I gulped down the contents of the glass in front of me. My hands were shaking as I peeled off the pale blue wristband. What kind of sick, twisted game was Antonio playing? “Another one, Shaun,” I said, my voice tight with anger. He wisely didn’t reply as he mixed up my standard drink and set it in front of me. I took one long swallow, then I got up. Fuck this. I wasn’t going to roll over and do whatever Antonio wanted. He couldn’t make the club off-limits to me. He was going to fix this.

Seething with rage, I made my way over to Antonio’s house.