The Vendetta (22 page)

“Shouldn’t we do something?” she asked after a few moments. “Like, call the police? It freaks me out, being here and knowing someone came in and…did this.” She gestured vaguely.

“We’ll go to your grandmother’s study. We can call from there.”

She nodded and then followed him out. He didn’t say anything else and neither did she, but between them was the knowledge that whoever had destroyed her room had been looking for the Rembrandt. The one that Lisa was hiding.

* * *

Nick stood in the back of the principessa’s study, watching Lisa give her statement to the polizia and then to the Carabinieri from the art fraud section. Of course she had the painting. He should have guessed that right away. But it had been surprisingly hard to admit to himself that she’d lied to him and withheld information. But now that he knew where the Rembrandt was, he was calm. Impenetrably calm, in fact.

The events of the past twelve hours had made it clear that he had to stay away from her. If Nick stayed out of the picture, then Van Alstrand would back off. It was that simple. The episode with the car and the destruction in her room had targeted Lisa, but Nick knew that the incidents had been a warning to him, to Nick.

Lisa laughed at something one of the cops said, and Nick’s heart squeezed, turning over in his chest. He clenched his hand into a fist. He would stay away. He had to.

For the first time since he was ten years old, there was something more important in his life than the vendetta.

* * *

Lisa strode through the palazzo’s gallery. She had taken an unusual approach in putting together the showing, but now all the arrangements were in place. She’d wanted to display only a few very select pieces, ones she thought were a tribute to the principessa’s collecting vision and her selected theme of love. And, of course, there were the special pieces, the Rembrandts, which were more a tribute to her grandmother’s ability to manipulate matters even from the grave.

Lisa was proud of the result of her efforts. She had consulted with Van Alstrand to keep up appearances, though she’d been uncomfortable enough to ensure there was always someone else in the room with them. Their conversations had been businesslike communications about storage, security, and movement of objets d’art. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the man was a true professional, dedicated to the artwork. But she did know better, and his presence in Palazzo Severino made her nervous.

She had not seen Nick at all in the two weeks since they’d found her bedroom tossed. Their nonrelationship had caused her no small amount of tears at night. But she’d gambled that the separation would pay off today. She’d planned on it, in fact.

Her grandmother’s notoriety as an eccentric, not to mention her considerable wealth, had drawn the glitterati of Italy, as well as an international art crowd. People had begun arriving at Palazzo Severino at eight o’clock this evening. Fashion designers, businessmen, nobility, and cinema celebrities now crowded the long gallery, drinking Prosecco, exclaiming, and air kissing. This was the venue, the stage on which Lisa would launch her own revenge.

“Ciao, piccola.” Lisa turned at Rafaela’s greeting. They exchanged kisses, and then Rafaela teased, “Where did you get that divine dress?”

Lisa smoothed her hand down the red silk sheath that clung to her curves. “I bought it with you in mind, Rafaela.”

Rafaela clucked her tongue. “That,” she said, “I do not believe, little Lisa. I think you had someone else on your mind when you purchased that dress.” Rafaela nodded her head at something, or someone, over Lisa’s shoulder.

She turned and saw Nick enter the gallery. Her stomach dropped, and the blood rushed into her cheeks.

He frowned, searching the crowd.

When his eyes met hers, she swore that a spark of relief or fierce pleasure or even desire shone through the reserve that had characterized their interactions since the day he’d told her about the vendetta. He smiled at her, and her knees almost buckled. How would she make it through tonight without touching him?

He strode over to her. They had to touch now. A greeting, a kiss on both cheeks. He pulled her close with his hands in hers. The slide of his smooth skin felt cool on her hot face. Words, things she wanted to tell him, crowded her mind and hovered on her lips, but she had to be patient. It was not time yet. She squeezed his hands instead.

He looked up, surprise written clearly on his features. “All right, carissima?” he asked. He held onto one of her hands, while his other hand came up to very gently run a knuckle from her cheek to her throat.

She nodded and bit her lip. It was the first time he’d touched her in two weeks. She wouldn’t be able to hold it together if he were kind. For the benefit of the prowling, curious masses, and for her own self-respect, she pulled herself together.

“Van Alstrand is here.” She looked toward a massive statue by Canova and took a sip of her wine.

“Lisa.” Nick’s voice sounded a warning, accompanied by a frown.

As if on cue, Van Alstrand walked up behind her.

“May I see you in private for a moment?” the curator asked Lisa.

“No.”

“But I must tell you, this arrangement is not at all what we discussed, Signora Carnavale.” He spit her last name out like a curse.

“There is nothing you can say to me that cannot be said in front of this crowd,” responded Lisa. She searched the sea of people and marked off Nick’s mother. Good. Everyone was in place.
Now or never
.

“As Principessa Giovanna Severino di Giorgio’s longtime curator, I think you should do the honors.” Lisa gestured to two velvet-draped paintings. Van Alstrand’s elongated face took on a hunted expression, and he flicked a nervous glance toward Nick.

Lisa tapped a fingernail on the edge of her champagne flute. The noise got everyone’s attention, and silence fell in the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Lisa pitched her voice so the entire room would hear what she had to say. “I have arranged this special showing of the Severino Collection in memory of my grandmother. As many of you know, she had a way with art and artists. Unfortunately, she did not always have such a way with her daughter, or her granddaughter. My mother, Elisabetta Severino di Giorgio, married my father, an American Air Force pilot, and her mother never spoke to her again.”

There were a few polite laughs and some gasps from the audience, but Lisa pressed on. “Fortunately, they found a mutual source of peace and frustration in me. I am the Principessa Annalisa Giovanna Severino di Giorgio, and this is
my
collection.”

On cue, her assistants pulled the drapes off the artwork. Around the room, pieces in her grandmother’s collection—all relating in some way to the theme of love—sparkled in the spotlights. And, in the middle of the gallery space, the two Rembrandts held pride of place, side by side and identical.

Van Alstrand let out an inarticulate moan of distress.

Lisa cast a glance at Nick. His face was unreadable. She could feel the coiled tension in him, but he didn’t say anything.

“Two paintings, ladies and gentlemen, one provenance,” she continued. “No one questioned the paintings because they were never shown together. Was that how it went, Mr. Van Alstrand?”

There was a collective gasp as the crowd realized the magnitude of Van Alstrand’s double-dealing. Whispers and murmurs spread around the room. Paintings sold by Van Alstrand had disappeared into private collections across the globe for years. Everyone would be questioning those transactions now. Lisa surmised the curator had benefited both from the purchase of the original, usually at a highly publicized auction, and the sale of the copy at a price inflated by demand.

At Lisa’s nod, two Carabinieri, investigators in plain clothes, approached Van Alstrand.

“You will come with us, Mr. Van Alstrand,” said the taller policeman. “We have some questions for you.”

The curator cast her a look of utter hate. “You won’t get away with this, Signora Carnavale. You have no proof. You are making this whole thing up to save yourself.”

She felt Nick coil tighter at her side.

She drew herself up.
Finish it, Lisa
. “Oh, but I do have proof, Van Alstrand. I have the testimony of Niccolo Carnavale.”

“Ha. What good will that do you? He was just a boy, and it was dark. What would—” Van Alstrand cut himself off. “I…I mean…”

Lisa’s heart pounded in her ears as the room quieted.

An ugly scowl took over Van Alstrand’s face, and he surged toward her. Nick stepped in to fend off a blow, but the Carabinieri grabbed the curator’s arms, pulling him back.

Van Alstrand struggled, yelling as the policemen dragged him out of the room. “You won’t get away with this. The principessa meant me to have the collection. Me! She was a tough old bird, but I took care of that. Didn’t I? How was I to know you’d spread your thighs for that bastard, and he would marry you? I won’t forget you, Carnavale. You’ll pay for this. Do you hear me? You’ll pay!”

The door to the gallery slammed, and not one of the two hundred or so guests made a sound, but Lisa could feel all eyes on her—except for Nick’s. Air strangled in her impossibly tight chest as she struggled for composure. She could barely wrap her mind around the implications of Van Alstrand’s ravings.
Oh, Gran!

Nick turned and she met his gaze, gray turned to silver fury.

“Your revenge, Nick. I hope it makes you happy.” She pressed her hand to her mouth to hold back a sob, her entire body trembling.

His brows winged down, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Then he turned and walked out.

Chapter Fifteen

Lisa stood looking out the front window of Art and Bean with a damp bar rag in her hand.

“Lisa,” said Kimmi, who was working the espresso machine. “You’re supposed to wipe the tables with that rag, not use it for a hankie.”

Startled out of her reverie, Lisa turned and looked at the younger girl. “Sorry, Kimmi. I guess I was daydreaming again.”

“Anything you wanna share?” Kimmi said it with a wink, for laughs, but Lisa knew she was sincere too. Kimmi had been very good to Lisa from the moment she’d turned up at their old apartment two weeks ago, needing a place to stay.

Lisa shook her head. “No. Nothing interesting.”

“Aw, come on, Lis’, nothing?”

A picture of Nick flashed in her head, but she shook it off. Nick never wanted to see her again, and that was just fine with her. Though he hadn’t told her that, his actions had spoken loud and clear.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, though, because Kimmi’s smile faded, and she turned back to the coffee counter.

“OK. Well, Ty wants you to do the coffee order again tonight. History repeats itself. Oh, sorry Lisa…I didn’t mean—”

“Would you all stop walking on eggshells around me?” Lisa said to the room at large. “Yes, my grandmother died, and I married a man I barely knew to keep her art collection intact. But the…ah…marriage didn’t work out, and now I’m back here at my job. It wasn’t a complete tragedy but it wasn’t a fairytale, either. That’s all you need to know.”

There was total silence in the café.

Lisa bent down and gathered up a few napkins that had spilled onto the floor. The bell on the door jangled, breaking the tension.

“I’m sorry you guys, I just—”

“Uh, Lisa,” Kimmi interrupted her.

Lisa looked up to see the girl’s eyes flick behind her and grow wide. The hair on Lisa’s arms stood up.
Nick
. She turned and saw him standing near the cupcake case.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered. He couldn’t be here. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I am looking for my wife,” he said, his voice still smooth and deep. “And a shot of espresso. In a china cup.”

She opened her eyes, and her heart dropped right into her shoes. He seemed as if he would reach for her, but his hands slid slowly into his pockets.

She just stared.

“How are you, carissima?”

She had to clear her throat before she answered. “I’m good. Fine.” But stupid tears formed and spilled over onto her cheeks. Nick’s brows winged down, and he pressed his lips together.

She wiped her face with her fingers and gestured awkwardly toward the big espresso machine. “Do you want that drink now?”

He nodded, but then stepped to block her way when she moved to the counter. “There’s something else you could have added to your summary of events a minute ago. You captivated your husband until all he could think about was you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “But I didn’t know. You never said—”

“You also left out that you transformed him, you changed the way he looks at things, and now he can’t change back.”

“Nick…”

“And for a fairytale, you left out the most important thing of all. They lived happily ever after.”

“But I said it wasn’t a fairytale.”

His lips twisted wryly. “No, it wasn’t. You’re right about that. Maybe this will help with the ever after, though.” He went down on one knee right in the middle of the coffee shop. Her mouth dropped open.

“Lisa.” He reached for her hands, and they slid into his, while something inside her clicked. “What I am trying to tell you is that I am nothing. I am dust,” said Nick.

The ready tears spilled over again. “Because the vendetta is paid? Oh, Nick, you are so much more than that. You have so much more to offer the world. If you would—”

His eyes shut for a moment. When they opened, they revealed a curious combination of frustrated amusement and hope swirling in their gray depths. “No, Lisa, it’s not the vendetta. Forget the vendetta. What I am trying to tell you is that I am nothing without
you
. I love you.
Ti amo
.”

She tried to pull her hand away to press back more tears, but he gripped it tightly and kissed her fingertips.

“I am a better man around you, Lisa, a better version of me. When you exposed Van Alstrand at the gallery showing, it nearly stopped my heart, and all I could think about was the danger you’d put yourself in. But later, when I’d had a chance to think, it made more sense. You had to act. It’s how you are, what you do. It’s what you did, here, on the day I met you. The vendetta had blinded me to that, to the possibility of that. But I’m not here to put you on a shelf, Lisa. I want to
share
my life with you. I want you to be my wife. Forever this time.” He stood, still holding her hands.