Grand Theft [top] Here

The painting’s replacement was the hardest part. Viktor could not simply take the Caravaggio. The theft would be discovered within hours. He needed a fake—a perfect fake—to hang in its place. Marcus had spent a year painting it, using seventeenth-century pigments ground by hand, on a canvas aged with smoke and sunlight. When he finished, even Viktor, who had stared at the real Caravaggio for eight hours of surveillance footage, could not tell the difference.

“What about it?”

“Mr. Nazarov,” the tall man said. “My name is Dante. I represent the Duchessa’s family.” 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. The painting’s replacement was the hardest part