Gianni switched from English to Italian as he reminded his brother, “You and Papa do remember that just a year ago I bargained with Interpol to get us all immunity for past thefts?”
Paulo shuddered visibly and took another sip of scotch before replying in Italian. “Being that close to that many police? Don’t know how you managed—or for that matter why you bothered.” He set the heavy crystal tumbler down onto the polished oak table and ran his fingertips around the rim. His gaze locked on his brother’s. “We didn’t ask for immunity.”
True. They hadn’t asked. But Gianni had secured that promise of safety for them anyway. Unfortunately, his family not only didn’t appreciate it, but they were also appalled at the thought of giving up the “family business.”
The Corettis had been jewel thieves for centuries. Skills were handed down from one generation to the next. Secrets and tricks of the trade were taught to children who grew into adults with quick hands, quicker minds and the ability to slip in and out of locked doors without leaving a trace of their presence.
There were police on every continent of the globe who would give anything for one iota of evidence against the Corettis. But so far, the family hadn’t just been good, they’d been lucky. And Gianni was convinced their luck, eventually, would run out.
Try to tell that to a Coretti, though.
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Paulo asked.
“About what?” Irritation colored Gianni’s tone.
Paulo snorted. “This new life of honesty and goodness, of course.”
That irritation inside him flared brighter. “You make it sound as if I’m becoming a—” he paused to think of the best way to put it “—Boy Scout.”
Laughing, Paulo asked, “Aren’t you?”
For a year they had been talking about this and still his brother and father didn’t understand Gianni’s decision. But then, he told himself, it was hardly surprising. A legacy of thievery didn’t usually lend itself to suddenly becoming a law-abiding citizen. But Gianni had had an epiphany of sorts more than a year ago.
His sister, Teresa, thank the gods, understood, because she had chosen years ago to leave behind their family traditions. But Teresa was the only one to understand, because the changes he had made to his life had not only perplexed most of his family, but also, at times, himself.
“You have a job now, Gianni.” Paulo gave a dramatic shudder again as if the very thought of being employed shook him to his soul. “Corettis do not have jobs. We go on jobs. There is a difference.”
Across the room, a fire burned in a stone hearth, casting flickering shadows on the oak-paneled walls. Outside the casement windows, stately trees rattled their leaves in the near constant English wind. It was a perfectly pleasant room that normally he would have enjoyed. If he weren’t faced with talking to his hardheaded brother.
“And that difference could send my family to prison.”
“It hasn’t yet,” Paulo reminded him with a smug smile.
No, it hadn’t. But Dominick Coretti—Gianni’s father—was getting older. And even the best of men lost some of their skills with age. Not that Nick would ever admit to such a thing. So Gianni had arranged for his father’s safety because there was simply no chance his papa would survive a prison sentence.
Of course, that hadn’t been the only reason Gianni had, as his father continued to phrase it, “betrayed his very heritage.” While being a world-renowned thief had its perks, it also wasn’t without its downsides. For example, having to look over your shoulder your entire life.
Gianni wanted something else.
And if his father and brother kept screwing up, Gianni’s future was in jeopardy, too. In spite of the deal he’d made with certain agents of Interpol, if it was proven that the Coretti family was still making off with the jewels of Europe, he had no doubt that his deal would be broken and that his new “friends” would find a way to lump him in with his family.
“You worry too much, Gianni,” Paulo offered. “We are Corettis.”
“I know who we are, Paulo.”
“Do you?” Tipping his head to one side, the other man studied Gianni for a long moment before saying, “I think you’ve forgotten. And when you finally remember, you will leave this new life of yours behind—eagerly.”
Gianni finished his own drink, then stared at his brother. “I know exactly who I am. Who we all are. I gave my word in exchange for the immunity, Paulo.”
He snorted again. “To the police.”
As if that didn’t matter.
“It’s my word,” Gianni growled. “And the deal I struck with Interpol only includes past crimes. If you or Papa are caught now...”
“Again you worry.” Paulo shook his head. “We will not be caught. We are never caught. Besides, you know Papa. He could no more stop stealing than he could stop breathing.”
“I know.” Gianni wished he could order another scotch. But once Paulo was on the plane to Paris, he himself would be driving back to his home in Mayfair. And he really didn’t need a cop pulling him over for weaving along the streets.
His expression must have been easy to read since Paulo laughed again. “Papa is who he is, Gianni. Also, Lady Van Court was practically begging someone to take those stones.”
And the ease of the job would have been impossible for his father to resist. With a sigh, he said, “When you see him, tell Papa to lay low for a while at least until the reporters move on from covering the theft. In fact, if you have to, lock him in the closet at your place.”
Paulo laughed, finished his scotch and set the glass down again before standing. “I won’t even respond to that last idea, as we both know that it would take more than a simple lock to hold our father when he doesn’t wish to be held.”
“True enough,” Gianni mumbled. He stood up and followed his brother out the door and along the gravel drive to Gianni’s car. The airport was a short drive from the inn and all too soon, the brothers were standing on the tarmac with an icy British wind buffeting them.
“Watch your back out there in the world of respectability, brother,” Paulo said.
“Watch your own,” Gianni told him, pulling his brother in for a hard, brief hug. “And Papa’s as well.”
“Always,” Paulo assured him, then picked up his bag, turned and headed for the private jet waiting for him.
Gianni didn’t stay to watch the plane take off. Instead, he walked back to his car and drove home to his new life.
* * *
“So,” Marie O’Hara whispered into the darkened silence, “clearly, crime pays pretty well.”
She was in a position to know, since she was, at the moment, sneaking through the private lair of one of the world’s most notorious jewel thieves. Her stomach jumped with nerves and breathing wasn’t easy. All of her life, she’d followed the
