Page 93 of Enduring Caine
Giovanni inclined his head toward Scarlett. “This has been in the works for months. After Fiori tampered with Andrea’s work, I knew something had to be done. So when he stole this from my family, I decided to take it back.”
Antonio leaned closer, inspecting the fresco. Without looking up at me, he said, “Is it the right size? It feels like it is.”
I’d taken a measurement of the missing piece and this matched the size and shape perfectly. I joined him to look at the edges. “Looks like the same tool marks, too. What about the pigment pot?”
“It’s yellow, which is what the missing one was, but I need to take it back to the lab.” He straightened, peering at Giovanni. “I can take it back to the lab, sì?”
Giovanni spread his arms wide. “This is a gift from me to you. Do with it as you will. But I assume you’ll return it to the Archaeological Park.”
The slender man withdrew a sheet of paper from an inside pocket of his jacket. He unfolded it, producing a rough rectangle with irregular edges. It was an exact tracing of the piece stolen from the Casa. He laid it on top of the fresco, lining up the edges. “The size is exactly right. I have a portable Raman spectrometer that we can use to confirm the pigment.”
Antonio looked at the man. “Do I know you?”
He nodded at Antonio. “We met at a symposium in—”
“Munich? Three years ago?”
“Daniel Weber.” The slender man’s face lit up, seeming excited Antonio remembered him. “I spoke about preserving the frescoes in—”
“—in Saint Mark’s Cathedral in Alexandria!”
“Yes, exactly! Ms. Reynolds invited me here to verify the authenticity of the pieces.”
As the two men reminisced and went about setting up the spectrometer, I faded to the edge of the room. It was too much to process. The tube Vincenzo’s contact had delivered, the painting he was going to take from the crate, and now Giovanni returning the lost pieces from Pompeii.
Scarlett joined me, while her associate hovered nearby. “Don’t tell me Dr. Ferraro is the one you were flying to in August?”
I kept my voice low, rather than inviting further scrutiny from Leonardo. Although whispering probably did exactly that. I looked at Antonio, hand still clutched in his pocket, explaining to a rapt Cesca how the spectrometer worked. A giddy energy flowed out of him and my heart swelled to see it. “He is.”
“Good looking man. Something wrong with his arm?”
“He was shot a week ago.” I shook my head to clear the memories before they came over me again. It was in the past. I was stronger than those memories. “I thought you said you were in tech security?”
“Good memory. You could say I’mtech-nicallyin security.” She smiled, raising an eyebrow and shifting her gaze toward Leonardo. “Well, technically… inbypassingsecurity.”
I stifled a gasp. “You’re a thief?”
“Oh no.” She swiped a hand through her hair. “I’m a recovery agent. I find and return lost things. As I understand it, that fresco and pot were stolen from the Pompeii Archaeological Park and Dr. Ferraro works there. I can’t stand when people steal cultural treasures like that.”
“We should’ve talked more on the plane. You and I apparently have a great deal in common.” Except no matter how she dressed it up, she was a thief. But did stealing from the man who stole it make it less wrong? And did it even matter? Because wasn’t that the same thing I’d helped Vincenzo with earlier? Getting the tools to steal something from Giovanni?
Unless the TPC was wrong about whatever was in those crates. What aboutThe Magdalen? Why not take her back? She was worth a lot of money and didn’t belong to Gio either.
What was in that crate that was so important?
And why did I care so much? I should have been rejoicing that the surprise was revealed and we could leave. Antonio would return to Naples a conquering hero—who couldn’t tell anyone how he got the items back.
And Vincenzo would recover the painting from the gallery. Except I hadn’t given him the passcode yet. I’d have to find another private moment with him.
“Everything looks right,” said Antonio. “Zio, I can’t thank you enough for this.”
Gio tipped his head, the unspoken message clear: This was something he wanted his brothers to hear about. How much of a risk was it for him to have this stolen? Would Antonio suffer Fiori’s revenge over it? Or would Giovanni be taking the brunt of that?
“It was good seeing you again, Sam.” Scarlett squeezed my arm. “I’m glad things worked out for you.”
A bright flash of lightning forked across the sky outside the seaside windows. The rain—which had eased to a steady drizzle while Vincenzo and I were in the wine cellar—resumed the downpour.
“Rav,” said Scarlett, and her associate joined her. “We need to get going.”