The Vendetta by Kecia Adams Page A

vault door, breathing easier now that she was back in the main room. She propped the painting on a display easel near Gran’s chair, and was immediately disappointed. The painting was somehow unremarkable. Oh, to be sure, it was a well-executed portrait of a man of the Dutch Golden Age, most likely Rembrandt van Rijn, but for Lisa it held no particular attractiveness, no spark, no magic. Did that mean this was the fake as Nick had said?
    “Gran—”
    “Isn’t it wonderful, Annalisa? Just look at that execution, the brush strokes, the expression in the eyes. I believe it is my most important acquisition yet.”
    Lisa turned to study Gran’s rapt expression, surprised at the avidness in her face over such dull execution. The principessa looked like a woman in love, or rather, like a woman looking at her lover. Lisa had been about to grill her grandmother about Nick’s allegations, but found she couldn’t find the heart to shatter Gran’s clear pride over her new possession. She couldn’t keep completely quiet, however, when there were so many questions floating around. Gran, she’d noticed, was very good at avoiding questions.
    “Did you know Nick Carnavale claims a connection with this painting?” Lisa asked, striving for a neutral tone.
    Her grandmother turned shrewd eyes on her. “Why, yes, child. I made a bargain with Nick about this portrait. His taste is impeccable, you know.”
    Lisa’s stomach dropped to her beaded slippers. What had Gran gotten herself into? “A bargain? What kind of bargain, Gran?”
    “A business deal. Quid pro quo.”
    “Really.” And wasn’t it interesting Nick had not said a word about it.
    “Yes.” The principessa smiled knowingly but did not elaborate.
    Lisa barely resisted rolling her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t get any more information out of her grandmother until the old woman was good and ready, if ever. “Well, thanks for showing it to me. I believe you know what you’re doing.” That, at least, was the truth.
    Her grandmother smirked. “Yes, I believe I do.”
    Lisa lifted the painting and stepped back into the chilled gloom of the safe. She looked at the picture again, unable to see the qualities in it that so enthralled her grandmother. How odd, to be surrounded by such beauty, so many treasures, and yet feel so strongly for what was obviously an unremarkable portrait—and a possible forgery, at that. But Gran had always made her own way in the art world, formed her own opinions. And those opinions had given the Severino Collection its reputation for brilliance.
    After she’d put the painting back in its drawer and the safe had been locked again, Lisa thought to ask one more question. She spoke up as she rolled the principessa’s wheelchair back through the stacked and shrouded art. “Gran, now that you’ve introduced me to your ‘secret’ room, what do you expect me to do with that information?”
    Her grandmother turned in her chair to look over her shoulder at Lisa. “Why, my dear, what do you do with any secret? You keep it.”
     
    * * *
     
     
    The taxi pulled up in the Piazza Barberini, and Lisa stepped out into the crisp early morning air, looking around the gray, deserted square for Nick. She’d not slept much last night—for the second night in a row—determined to not think, or dream, of the man. Yeah, that had worked really well.
    If the Rembrandt Gran had shown her was a fake, as Nick claimed, it was an excellent one that had fooled the principessa, for one, and Lisa had not had the facts or information to warn her grandmother of the possible forgery. She’d been surprised when the principessa had revealed that Nick had negotiated with her for the painting. But the question still lingered: if the painting was a fake, why did everyone want it so badly?
    Lisa had been elated, much to her disgust, when Nick phoned late in the day to request this early morning meeting.
    Now, as a spark of anticipation at seeing him bloomed in her chest,