Chapter Text
"Back again, Ms. Liberté?"
It took a few seconds before Nile remembered she was Ms. Liberté. She guessed her cover's black Amex card had made an impression.
"I did not think you would be back so soon." The gallery's salesperson, Devon, was a tall and enviably thin brunette in a blush linen suit dress. She'd automatically switched from Italian to English with only a hint of an accent.
"Wanted to bring some friends to see it," Nile explained awkwardly, thinking she should have picked up some new clothes after all. Hopefully, Nile looked like an eccentric rich woman, not like someone who'd recently pulled off a break-in at a certain pharma no one should name.
Copley had dug up reports different from the ones the pharma in their latest case had released to the public. He'd then anonymously forwarded the more accurate ones they'd found to the media. It had been just in time for the EU to pull back on their announcement about buying three million of the ineffective vaccines.
And now they were taking a break miles from Rome in a mountainside town called Ullria, far enough away that the news on their TV had only mentioned the crime in the third events-of-the day spot before moving on to the latest football scores. Not that their TV boasted enough channels to check out the actual game. And they were too early for skiing.
Nile didn't care, though. She was in Italy. She hadn't thought the guys would actually agree to her suggestion about staying. Nile hadn't even known they'd had a safehouse tucked away up in the hills here until Nicky had—after a thoughtful moment contemplating her eager face—quietly suggested it.
"I didn't think it was going to be so crowded today," Nile added, surveying the entranceway. Andy had left her sunglasses on despite being indoors, a subtle comment on how she felt about the forty-minute wait to get inside amongst the packed crowd.
But Nile noticed she hadn't insisted they leave. Nile made a face as she turned her head away from yet another selfie. At least not yet.
"It is the last week of viewing before the auction," Devon said with a Gaelic shrug. Her pronunciation was a lovely tumble of rolling syllables Nile's Duolingo app was still struggling to teach her. It didn't help that Andy had also insisted Nile learn Russian at the same time.
Devon smiled, somehow seeing dollar signs despite Nile's oversized navy t-shirt and cargo pants. Her shirt had a faded logo of some Danish pop band she couldn't pronounce. Nile wasn't sure if the shirt's original owner was a fan; asking anything about him still felt intrusive even after three and a half months.
"Perhaps there are other pieces that might interest you, too?" Devon asked, fixated on Nile as if she was the only client in the gallery.
Nile glanced over at Joe, who was in line behind her next to Nicky. Joe just raised his brows inquiringly back at her. He'd presented Nile with a black Amex card in her cover's name when he and Nicky had caught up with them at an outdoor café yesterday evening.
At Nile's surprised look, Joe'd grinned and said something about giving the store clerks a reason to cry. She'd thought he'd overheard Nile complaining to Andy about being snubbed in the Prada store during lunch. At the time, she'd sort of been touched. Now, Nile narrowed her eyes at Joe's overly innocent raised eyebrows. She wondered if a credit check on her cover's name showed more than a single Amex card.
Nicky and Nile had picked out fresh fruit and pastries from the market stalls for everyone's breakfast yesterday morning during their last morning in Rome. While looking over oranges, Joe had gently suggested Nile shop for things she could leave in their various safe houses like the one they were heading out to. It would be better than Nile borrowing whatever shirts Booker had left behind. She should have things of her own. He'd urged her to have fun. Even try out some of the overpriced Italian shops along the piazza.
Nile had learned to recognize them, the awkward pauses or beats in conversations where Booker was supposed to answer, even as the others worked up to a fragile status quo of not having him there. Respecting that it did not help to be wandering around in Booker's old clothes, Nile had agreed to go shopping that day. Who knew shopping would be full of so much drama?
Which is why she'd wound up in that part of Ullria without any new clothes and feeling pretty dispirited. She'd spotted the sign for the local art gallery and had decided to make herself feel better.
And that's when she'd seen it.
The most perfect of all distractions.
But maybe she'd been a little too distracted.
Because now Nile remembered the colorful slick pamphlet Devon had pressed into her hand by the end of her visit after disappearing for several minutes behind her monitor station to check on something. The elegant, gilded script announcing the week-long showing of a rediscovered Baroque sculptor and Devon delicately suggesting if Nile was so enamored with the collection, she might like a chance to revisit it.
No doubt the hour she'd spent taking photos, as well as the Black Amex and whatever friends Joe had included with it on Nile's credit report, was the reason for Devon's treating Nile like an old friend. The irony of it was pretty funny considering how'd she'd been treated just across the street by the folks in the fashion shops.
"You are fortunate." Devon managed to sound both charmingly careless and subtly eager for any chit-chat Nile might want to have with her at the same time.
"Leo is doing another English-language lecture on what beautiful works were rediscovered after the earthquake. If your friends like, he is ahead in front of what you have already discovered, just after the sketchbook pages."
Nile scanned the gallery. Despite the crowd, the stark white space was spacious, half walls creating makeshift alcoves to display art and objects going to auction after the final showing.
Andy was begrudgingly inspecting the signage beside a set of decorative daggers by the main entrance. She was dressed in her usual goth all-black attire, her stiff posture and shades all but proclaiming, "look, I'm here, alright? Leave me alone." Tourists gave Andy a wide berth, steering for the collection of miniature horse pins and jewelry instead.
Nile should feel guilty about insisting they all go. But she knew Andy would be glad once she realized why Nile had brought her along. Andy, for all her grim expressions, had a wicked sense of humor. And she wasn't the only one. Joe and Nicky were dragging Andy purse shopping after this of all things. Joe had promised the evening would not be complete until they had all seen a tiny pink bag hanging off Andy's elbow.
Andy, it seems, had lost a bet. It had something to do with the fluffy white sheep grazing near the grounds of their safe house. Nicky had kept sharing little smirks with Joe about it all along the drive up. Joe had hinted that the bag might even need to have glitter on it. Nicky had nodded solemnly at this and opined to Nile, "for want of a sheep, Andy must now have appropriate evening attire."
Nile didn't even ask what the joke was or how far back this bet had been lost, just the thought of a glittering pink evening bag…on Andy.
This though…this might just top that.
Trying not to appear impatient, Nile gestured to Joe and Nicky to move forward past the cases of sketches by various artists. She bit back a grin when the two dutifully moved closer. She didn't dare to try to be too pushy or get Andy yet. It would be too obvious.
"…look at the design on the pommel," Joe complained as they drew near one that involved a sword. "What were they thinking?"
Nicky shot Joe a sideways glance, a small upturn at the corner of his mouth. He murmured a response, tone serene yet managing to also be amused at the same time. It sounded like Italian. Kind of.
Whatever it was, Joe guffawed. He hooked a hand around Nicky's elbow to turn him back towards the previous display.
"No, wait, I'll show you, Nicky…" Joe snickered. "How a weapon should be used."
"Come on, guys," Nile laughed. "Wrong way."
She nodded her head to where a tall, heavyset man, presumably Devon's Leo, who wore a charcoal gray tailored suit, lumbered to stand beside a cloaked pedestal set up in the center of the main room. Above him were three unlit spotlights around the gallery's veiled centerpiece. A tiny speaker set up just past the display squealed as Leo readied his wireless microphone.
"There is Leo, the gallery owner," Devon offered. "I will find you after his presentation. We will be serving wine and cheese."
Nile waited until the woman was out of earshot. She grabbed Nicky's sleeve, knowing Joe would follow. Nicky shot Joe an eyebrow but gamely let himself be tugged to the other side of the glass cases with sketches and towards the center of the gallery.
"We could give you a personal tour," Nicky murmured to her, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow and somehow making her tug into a gentlemanly gesture.
"Nicky and I both know better stories about these things," Joe added, grinning wickedly.
"And spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what part was real and which part was bullshit?" Nile mock glared at Joe. "No thanks."
Joe threw her a "who me" gesture grabbing his chest, along with an over-the-top wounded expression.
No, Nile wasn't bitter about that museum in Prague. Where Joe had solemnly told what she later realized were outrageous fibs about one artifact after another. It didn't help that Nicky had played along, nodding solemnly as Joe spun a tale about a wicked looking bronze dagger on display. She should have been more suspicious when Joe explained it was really a toenail trimmer for some warlord's nephew who lost it in an ancient game similar to strip poker with Andy.
It was Andromache's favorite game, Nicky deadpanned, and Joe burst out laughing at Nile's open-mouthed expression. They'd made too much noise, were politely asked by security to get the fuck out, and Nile had missed out on the tapestries exhibit she had wanted to check out in the first place.
No. Not bitter at all. Nope.
"...unknown for quite a long time." They wormed their way forward along with the crowd as Leo led off with the introduction to the exhibit and the sculpture behind the curtain.
"There were brief mentions in records, of course, but not much else was known until the earthquake in 2013." Just the top of a ghostly projection of an architectural schematic image shimmering onto the expansive gallery walls was visible beyond the crow. In front of it, Nile knew the curtained pedestal stood waiting.
"A secret. A hidden room under his villa in a section we now know used to be part of his estate. As the structure was being restored, crews uncovered it beyond the cellar. They could hardly believe their eyes when they broke through at what they had discovered." Segments of a darkened cellar in black and white now filled the edges of her view.
"Nicky, what do you think about this?" Joe's voice broke in quietly at her shoulder. "Didn't we have something like this in '09?" he asked speculatively.
Nicky halted their movement forward to look past Nile at the display that had caught Joe's attention in a nearby alcove. He squinted, tilting his head. "It is possible. We will look afterward."
"...Clearly influenced by the school of Bernini. Rare considering most Baroque sculptors lost favor around his time. If you look at the display imagery we've recreated on the walls. You can see the bodies are positioned in what the Renaissance used to call 'De Divina Proportione' or the divine proportion."
"Guys, we're missing his talk," Nile urged.
Nicky shook his head, smiling to himself, but at least he murmured to Joe they shouldn't dawdle.
So, of course, Joe stopped to comment on something else. This time on the other side of the gallery that he'd spotted past the crowd. Argh. Wait. Could he be doing this to mess with her? Nile shot Joe a narrow-eyed look.
"...yes," Leo chuckled, encouraging several of the tourists to giggle at something that was now being projected. "I know what it looks like. This artist does seem to have a rather intense appreciation of the male body."
Leo's voice boomed louder to encourage people to inch closer to the pedestal.
"There were letters where he defended his works as carved from the word of God. However, with this recent discovery, experts theorized his inspiration may have been of a more..." Leo paused dramatically, "Sexual nature." More giggles.
"Now you know why we insisted you must be eighteen and older? You, sir, are you old enough to be here? A grandfather? Hmmph. A likely story." This earned Leo a few laughs from the crowd.
"Well, the notes they found with this piece said it was a study. Hm, a study of what or whom?" The round of giggles almost drowned out Leo's next comment.
"There are theories the sash that looped around each subject represented how high he held them in favor…"
Nile craned her neck from the back of the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the image of the small practice statues now being projected as the three of them slowly wound past a group of Portuguese tourists. But it was still mostly hidden from view by all the bodies in the way.
"...it's a shame not many pieces survived." Leo sounded regretful. "Not even the practice statues. He gifted many to his wealthy patrons, but those were lost to time. He died at such a young age before he could reveal what he claimed was his most precious masterpiece."
Leo lowered his voice to a stage whisper.
"Late eighteenth-century records said he was murdered in his bed, his lovers all dead in his home." Leo's voice fell to the confiding tone like he was imparting a secret to the wide-eyed crowd.
"Yes, that's right. Lovers, as in plural. It is said that thieves broke into his villa and took everything of value. His lovers, who were theorized to have also been his models, fought in his defense. Tragically, they all died, heartbroken with grief at his feet."
"Thanks to this huge find, Matteo de Biffoli will be lauded as the Michelangelo of his time..."
With a grand gesture, the curtain was pulled to the side.
Nile pressed forward when she spied the white statute just behind Leo's shoulder that she had seen the afternoon before, eager for the others to see it too.
Nile tugged at Nicky, who had abruptly stopped in his tracks.
Leo's voice rose higher like a showman's call, getting ready for his finale.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Leo said in well-practiced breathlessness. "Galleria di Rosa is most honored to welcome..."
"Nicky?" Nile asked, puzzled at his frozen expression. Just beyond him, Joe was staring, too.
Joe swore something under his breath.
Nicky suddenly surged forward. This time he was the one dragging Nile, her fingers curled on his rigid elbow. Joe at their back.
"Sorry, scusi," Nile stammered. She found herself and Nicky standing in front of the crowd.
"Our newest national treasure," Leo drew out. Nile was surprised there wasn't a drumroll. "Il tormento del favorito, Matteo de Biffoli's study piece number fifty-three!"
On cue, the three spotlights flared as Leo stepped aside. People gasped at the sculpted male nudes carved in a heap on the polished stone now highlighted. Another set of male bodies knelt on top of them, their faces turned adoringly upward, hands clutching each other like a passion play.
A man with a physique typical of many Roman statues stood over them all. It was the only one without a face, just a mouth suggesting an indulgent smile in the carved stone of a warrior.
The muscular arms flung upward, a victorious fist held high above his head while clutching a wide band that threaded throughout the entire tableau, asking one's eyes to follow it. The warrior figure's robes spilled open to reveal a thick torso, legs and a hint of what hung in-between. Muscled thighs, so detailed, Nile swore they flexed the first time she'd seen the statue. They straddled a final lithe male body, the titled favorite, arched like a dancer rising up towards the arm.
Where the other bodies had the sash woven among limbs, the broad ribbon spilled down into detailed folds around the final figure's neck and into his nude lap. The triumphant figure cradled the back of the subject's head, which was turned away from the viewer.
Long strands of hair curtained most of the face in the sculpture, but the distinct shape of a strong nose and the curve of the mouth of Nicolo di Genova was unmistakable. She should know. She'd spent five hours packed in a car next to it along all the windy and sheep ridden way up from Rome.
Nile tipped her face up to Nicky, who was still staring at the statue.
"So," Nile quipped. "I can't wait for you guys to tell me the story about this one."