“Excuse me?”
Lucia rubbed the back of her neck.
“What Gracie here is saying—”
“Her name is Lucia,” Penelope snapped.
Skye’s pale skin turned beet red. “Right. Anyway, whatLucia’ssaying is: is it really stealing if we’re only getting Francesca’s property back? Isn’t that righting an injustice or something like that?”
“That assumes I believe your story. Maybe you’re telling me what you think I need to hear to cooperate. Either way, you still haven’t told me what role you expect me to play.” Penelope’s gaze turned flinty. “I’m not breaking any laws for you.”
“To be honest, we never considered a role for you, not until Lucia…let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.”
“She could hardly know about my unique way of perceiving art,” Penelope said.
Francesca waved her off. “Yes, yes. No need to defend her. We won’t throw her to the wolves.”
“Yet,” Skye added.
“Oh, give it a rest,” Lucia said. “Should we show her?” she addressed Francesca, who nodded after a short moment.
“Come with me?” Lucia glanced at Penelope, who rose.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t accompany the lovebirds?” Skye fake whispered.
Francesca ignored her.
“Grow up,” Lucia hissed before leading Penelope to the gallery room.
The room was hushed and cool, its cream walls lined with a few select paintings—some real, some not so much. Soft spotlights bathed the space in a quiet reverence. A single easel stood against the far wall, shrouded in drape like a secret waiting to be exposed.
Lucia hesitated with her hand on the cloth, as if unveiling it would commit her to something irreversible. “We’re not planning just to steal it, given we’re not interested in a manhunt or a news story. Francesca wants her painting back, quietly, but if Varnelli gets her greedy hands on it first, she fears it’ll be lost forever.”
She removed the cover. “We’ll take the original and leave my version behind. So to the world, nothing happened.”
Penelope gasped, drawing closer to the forgedMadonna in Red.She shook her head. “I expected this, but not likethat.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Penelope closed her eyes, opened them again. She stepped to the side, tilted her head, and kept closing and opening her eyes.
“Pen?”
Penelope’s gaze snapped toward her. Her lips parted.
“What?”
“This is almost perfect.”
Lucia’s eyebrows furrowed. “Uh…thanks?”
“No, you don’t get it. With all your other pieces, it was easy to see your signature, well, the painter’s signature, as I didn’t know it was you at first. Despite your Bellini being skillfully done, it was still apparent to me that it wasn’t a true Bellini. Even more so with your Alessi.
“But this here?” She pointed at the painting. “I have toreallylook to see it. Your channeling of Varotti is impressive. It’s interesting—you handle the master better than the pupil.”
“Oh.” Lucia’s shoulders fell. “Thanks,” she muttered, then grimaced. It came out like she’d failed a test she didn’t know she was taking.
“That wasn’t an insult. Bellini might be more famous than his mentor, but I’ve always found Varotti’s few surviving pieces more complex.”
