“A little of both.”
“I see.”
“We keep saying that, but all we’ve done is assume, no? So do we really see?”
“Am I your mark? Is that the correct term? Did you show up at the lecture to what? Manipulate me?” Penelope’s voice sounded brittle.
Lucia suppressed the impulse to reach out. Shame spread through her, hot and heavy. “As you said, it’s complicated. Some of my secrets aren’t mine to tell. For the most part, we were interested in your ability to spot fakes. I’m not sure that’s the same as manipulating you.”
“It is when you flirt with me under false pretenses, because you want to…I don’t know. Unbalance me so I lose focus at work.”
“I doubt that’s possible. But no. My interest in you is genuine.” She paused. “Even now.”
Penelope flushed and averted her gaze. “That’s obviously over.”
Lucia leaned forward, her pulse thudding in her ears. “Is it?”
“How can it not be? With everything standing between us now.” She shook her head.
“It seems you want us to be on the same side, though.”
Penelope jumped up, her voice rising. “No! I don’t want to be a part of your—your whole criminal thing!” She waved a hand, as if catching herself. “Empire, whatever.”
“It’s hardly an empire. Also, not mine.”
“Does that matter? You’re still breaking the law.”
“You’ve never done that? Not even a speeding ticket?”
“Why do you keep making these ridiculous comparisons that don’t hold up?”
“All right.” Lucia sighed, standing, too and taking a step closer. “What doyouwant, Penelope Blackwell?”
Penelope’s breathing hitched. “Justice.”
“For your father?”
“Yes.”
“And you think I can help? After everything?”
“You. Your…collective. Your Italian friend.”
“I’d have to talk to her, and she might not be up for it. She’s not the most trusting person.”
“But she trusts you?”
“Yes.”
“And do you trust me?”
Silence once more settled between them.
“Yes.”
Something in Penelope’s posture relaxed, as if she’d braced for a different answer. “Will you help me?”
“Yes.”
