Chapter 7
Lament
Later that week, Francesca asked to catch up, pulling Lucia out of a stretch of lingering distraction. The sharp scent of espresso clung to the air, mixing with the citrus polish used on Francesca’s antique floors.
“We’ve encountered a bit of trouble,” Francesca said.
Lucia leaned forward slightly. “What happened?”
“Someone’s watching us.” Francesca’s tone sharpened. “Jules hit multiple snags with the blueprints. Our informants keep contradicting each other, which risks a different time for the authentication. That’s something you need to confirm with Blackwell, since it must happenafterthe exchange. The point is for yourMadonnato get the stamp of approval.”
No pressure.
“Are we sure the timeline changed?” Lucia asked.
“No. That’s the problem. Someone’s feeding false information into the system. Or someone knows we’re sniffing around and is scrambling the trail.”
“Varnelli?”
Francesca flinched. “Who else?”
“But she can’t know of our plan to steal theMadonna.”
“No. But why loan it out after hoarding it for decades? She knows I’d make a move.” Francesca paused. “That’s probably what she wants.” She crossed one leg over the other, her fingers curling loosely around the porcelain cup she hadn’t touched since Lucia arrived. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running with open eyes into a trap.”
“In what way?” Lucia asked.
“I don’t know. That woman’s made a career out of anticipating, expecting betrayal. Of course she’d prepped everything and is just waiting for us to walk into her net.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t. If you think she knows and is planning something, then—”
“No. This is the first real chance to get myMadonnaback. I won’t waste it on what-if scenarios or cower before ghosts.”
Varnelli might haunt Francesca, but she was no ghost. Lucia knew better than to say that out loud.
“All right,” Lucia said slowly, “but why try to mess with the museum schedule unless…”
“Unless she’s trying to protect it.” Francesca’s eyes darkened. “Jules picked up rumors she’s been asking about shortening the loan period. Trying to pull theMadonnabefore the gala.”
Lucia frowned. “That’s even more suspicious.”
“Exactly. But she hasn’t officially withdrawn anything. I’m not sure she even could, given she must have signed a contract. Anyway, it’s just murmurs. She’s moving carefully.”
“Or she’s heard something.”
Francesca gave a slow nod. “Maybe. Jules thinks there might have been a breach—some server access pattern that didn’t match the museum’s usual logs. Could be nothing. We don’t know yet.”
Lucia kept her expression neutral, though something cold settled in her gut, like the dip in temperature before a storm.
“I’m assuming she’s not above using surveillance.”
Francesca leaned back. The amber light caught on the subtle lines near her mouth, a flicker of old anger carved into her otherwise composed face. “She’s not. She’s already dangled my painting in front of me. And if she knowswhenwe’ll try to make a move…”
“She’ll kill the timeline,” Lucia finished.
Francesca gave a sharp nod.
“We need to keep her guessing just long enough. And if we can’t rely on the schedule, then we have to rely on Blackwell.”
