“Okay, if you’re sure,” I say even as I wrap an arm around her shoulders and insert the key into the lock. It turns and cracks open, and Matilde clings to my side as if she's scared whatever's in there will jump out and attack her. Slowly, I open the door fully, and my brows wing up when I see what's inside. I sense the confusion in Matilde, but I also feel her relax a bit.
“What is that?” she asks, leaning forward and peering in. “Is that…a painting?”
“I believe it is,” I say, reaching in and taking it out to study it. I turn it around, but there aren’t any inscriptions or details indicating what the painting could mean. There’s a signature in the corner, but it’s so faded I can’t make it out. Nothing else ishidden under the frame. It's. in all senses of the word, just a painting. But something tells me it's more than that.
“It’s a picture of some guy in a field…” Her eyes narrow as she leans forward. "What's so important about it anyway?"
“Let’s find out,” I say, taking out my phone to see if I can find anything online. The search immediately gives me results, and my body tenses when I realize we're holding a painting worth fifteen million dollars. Well, at least that’s how much it was worth before it was stolen from a museum twenty years ago. Matilde’s eyes are on my screen, so I sense the second she realizes what we’ve discovered.
“Luca,” she gasps, clinging onto my arm as she stares at the information on my phone. “W-why did my parents have a stolen painting in their possession?”
“I don’t know, baby,” I say, rubbing a hand down her arm. “But I know someone who might.”
***
The ride to the Rossi family estate is spent in silence.
We left the painting locked safely in the bank locker—no sense carrying fifteen million dollars’ worth of stolen art around the city—but Matilde insisted we stop at the bakery first to pack some pastries before making our way to the Rossis.
She spends the entire ride staring out the window. I can tell she's deep in thought. She didn't seem overly surprised that her parents owned something illegal, which makes me wonder about them. From what I've observed of Giovanni Marino, I figured his daughters and nieces were in the dark about his illegal practices, but maybe I was wrong.
Maybe Matilde isn't as oblivious to her family's habit of dabbling in the criminal world as we thought.
I squeeze her hand as the massive gates of the Rossi estate open. Matilde turns to me and offers me a small smile, squeezing my hand back. There are questions I want to ask her, but they’ll have to wait until later.
The drive up the driveway is a long one before I pull up in front of the house, an old, magnificent estate that’s been in the Rossi family for generations. My mother is standing on the steps when we pull up, a beaming smile on her face when she sees me.
“Amore,” she calls out, her arms open wide as we walk up the short steps and towards her. “This is a pleasant surprise.
“Ciao,Mamma,” I say, leaning into her tight embrace. “How are you doing?”
“Good, perfect,” she says, turning to Matilde, who receives the same treatment. “Ciao, cara. You look so skinny. Have you been eating? Oh, what a stunning girl, Luca. You need to start cooking for her! I thought I taught you better. Come, come—let’s get you both fed. I just made fresh bread.”
Matilde’s eyes widen at my mother’s fussing, and she turns to me. If she’s hoping for me to rescue her, it won’t be happening. I’ve made it obvious to my mother and sister that Matilde is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. The one I want walking down the aisle to me. Carrying our children. When she doesn’t get much of a reaction from me, Matilde turns back to my mother.
“Signora Conti,” she says, holding out the pastry box she brought with her. “I’m sorry we came here on such short notice, but I hope you like these.”
“Oh, cara, I am sure I will love them.” She takes the box from Matilde and brings it to her nose, smiling at the smell of the baked goods. “And call me Silvia. I hope you two will stay for dinner. I madebrasato al Barolo.It's one of Luca's favorites."
“Sì, Mamma. We’ll stay for dinner,” I tell her even if it was more of an order than a request. “But we need to speak to Leonardo first.”
“Of course,” she says, leading us up the steps and into the main house. Growing up, Leonardo Rossi treated my sister and me like his own children. We never met our father, and my mother never really spoke about him, so we all pretended he never existed. Her pregnancy had gotten her kicked out of her own family, but the Rossis welcomed her in. As a kid, I used to hope my mother would marry Leonardo Rossi so the man could become my permanent father, but although that never happened, the man treated us like his own children. It was a no-brainer that I would work for the family.
When we arrive at Leonardo’s office, my mother excuses herself. Leonardo appears equally excited to see us, hugging us and exchanging a few pleasantries before we get down to business.
“I was surprised to see your call, Luca,” he says. “Tell me now, what is this you wanted to talk about? Did you come here to tell me you’re marrying this young lady?”
“Soon,” I tell the older man. “But this is not about that. Matilde and I came across some…sensitive information.” I take out the picture I took of the painting and show it to Leonardo. “What do you know about this?”
Leonardo grabs his glasses and leans closer for a better look at the picture, and I see the moment he recognizes it because my eyes are on him. "Aaah," he says, leaning back inhis chair. He's silent for a moment, scratching his beard with a faraway look in his eyes. "Twenty years ago, you must have been only a child, so you wouldn’t remember. There was a museum heist that shook the city. Two hundred million dollars’ worth of art pieces were stolen from a museum here in New York. Some of the artwork turned up on the black market, others were recovered by the cops, and most of them somehow made their way back to the museum—except one painting. They never found the painting, and the thieves were never caught.”
“My father?” Matilde speaks for the first time since stepping into the room.
“It was rumored that Alessandro and Giovanni Marino were part of the group that stole those art pieces but no one could prove it. Your mother, Carina Marino, God rest her soul, was already from a wealthy family. She’d inherited multiple properties in New York City, so no one could attribute your family’s wealth to that heist.”
“Oh God,” Matilde whispers, getting up from her seat to start pacing. It's a lot for a child to learn about their parents, and even worse, they're not here for her to question. “The man who killed…” She stops, grabbing the back of her chair and squeezing her eyes tight, shaking her head when she hears me start for her. “I was hiding in the closet when the intruder shot my parents. I remember him asking about where something was, I believe. They ransacked my parents' office and bedroom and almost caught me, but then they heard the sirens… That's what saved me that night.”
We stay for dinner, but Matilde doesn’t say much. I figure that it’s going to be a silent ride back to the apartment. Seeing her this sad and stressed bothers me, so I try to break the silence. “I guess you have something really important to tell your sister now.”
