Grand Theft Exclusive — Best Pick

“You look different, Dottore,” she said.

“Don’t,” he said. “We don’t want the painting. We want the painting to stay where it is. The fake, I mean. The one hanging in the vault. It’s very good. Our restorer—the real Pietro Fontana—would not have noticed for months. Perhaps years.” grand theft

Viktor looked at Dante, then at Marcus, then at the painting. He thought about the Duchessa, dead in Venice, her secrets dying with her. He thought about Signora Ricci, waking up on the marble floor with a headache and no memory. He thought about the Saudi prince, waiting for a masterpiece that did not exist. “You look different, Dottore,” she said

Novak, who had been silent, finally spoke. “And the old woman?” We want the painting to stay where it is

The Caravaggio hung alone on a crimson wall. Even in the dim light, it was devastating. Two young men at a card table, one cheating, the other about to lose everything. The boy on the left had a knowing smile, his fingers hidden behind his back, holding extra cards. The light fell across the table like a knife.

“Mr. Nazarov,” the tall man said. “My name is Dante. I represent the Duchessa’s family.”

He had the team. Lina, his ex-wife, who could disable any alarm system ever built and who still hated him enough to do the job perfectly. Marcus, a forger from Cape Town who could replicate a museum guard’s retina in resin. And Novak, the muscle—a former Serbian special forces operative who had, on their last job, broken a man’s arm for reaching toward a panic button and then apologized for the mess.