Her directness must have caught him off guard. Lucia could almost see the cogs begin to turn in his mind. Neither said anything for a moment, and the silence was broken only by the arrival of an elderly lady carrying a silver tray with biscuits, an ornate moka pot, and two hand-blown blue glasses.
Tiziano acknowledged the woman’s arrival with a nod, and poured Lucia a coffee. He set it down in front of her before proceeding to pour his own. ‘And you think of me as some kind of bank? As if I have money lying around in drawers, under mattresses, and hidden in secret safes behind my bookcases?’
Seeing her chance to bring some levity to the moment, Lucia said, ‘Yes. Because that’s what happens in the movies.’
Over the top of his glass, Tiziano’s lips puckered into a smile. Lucia couldn’t read if it were sardonic, or simply impressed, but it was a change all the same. ‘What are you thinking, then, Lucia?’
Taking a sip, she began. ‘Your annualSan Valentinomasquerade ball.’
He nodded. ‘Next week. Yes.’
‘It’s the event of the year for so many, not just us Venetians. I’m attending with a friend this year.’
‘I look forward to welcoming you both personally.’
‘It’s a sell-out?’
‘Every single year.’
‘And how many tickets do you sell?’
‘Six hundred at three hundred euro per head.’
She took another sip, and gave a nod of congratulations. ‘Admirable.’
‘Considering the overheads, it turns a modest profit.’
‘But surely, Tiziano, for a man such as yourself, with your successful business endeavours, breaking even, or even turning a minor profit, would be enough. For you, it’s more about being seen and being the face of the event, is it not? It’s the recognition, as much as the turnover.’
‘It’s about Venice, Lucia.’ He set his cup down with great assurance. ‘It’s for the people of this city. For our legacy. For our culture. It’s about providing a space and place for those traditions, some centuries old, to continue to flourish.’
Lucia nodded firmly. ‘So we understand each other.’
His eyebrows knitted. ‘How so?’
‘Becausemywork,mybusiness, which strives to achieve all those things, and perhaps more, is at risk.’
Tiziano leaned forward. ‘Is your school in trouble?’
‘Structurally . . . it’s complicated. I require assistance to purchase Jacopo Molin’s share of the school, otherwise I run the risk of co-ownership with parties who may not have the school’s best interest at heart.’
‘Ah, yes. I heard of Jacopo’s passing.Mi dispiace tantissimo.’
‘Grazie.’
Lucia could sense a rising quiver make its way through her chest. She swallowed the rattling sensation down. Now, more than ever, she needed to appear as strong as was humanly possible. ‘So I’m here, one business owner to another, to ask for your assistance.’
‘My money.’
It wasn’t a question, and Lucia knew that his assertive tone was a warning. ‘Yes. Yourinvestmentin Venice. My proposal is this: host your ball, frolic, dance, we’ll all drink and be merry. And at the end, when the costs are settled, gift the profits to me. To secure the future management of my school, La Scuola Rosa.’
‘A loan?’
She shook her head. ‘A gift.’
‘And what is in it for me? A share? A stake?’
Lucia’s hand immediately rose between them to stop him. ‘No. A sizeable, unquestionable, transparent, all-above-board tax deduction, on account of your donation to my school.’
