I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the HOUSE OF HONOR: THE
HEIST OF CARAVAGGIO’S NATIVITY by Margaret Ann Philbrick Blog Tour hosted
by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to
enter the giveaway! September 29th is Caravaggio’s birthday so lets celebrate
it with this wonderful book!
About The Book:
Author: Margaret
Ann Philbrick
Pub. Date: June 11, 2024
Publisher: Ambassador
International
Formats: Hardcover, Paperback,
eBook
Pages: 352
Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/THE-HEIST-OF-CARAVAGGIOS-NATIVITY
"The Godfather meets The Da Vinci Code, but with a redemptive
twist." —TARYN R. HUTCHISON, award-winning author of The Cold War Trilogy
Two Italian sons, one woman, linked by a masterpiece painting, are put to a
test of loyalty and honor.
At the heart of this gripping tale is Orazio Bordoni, the wayward son of a
construction magnate, living a reckless life like that of his artistic hero
Caravaggio. He finds himself befriended by Nicolo Giotto, the devoted son of a
powerful Sicilian mafia clan, who wants to uphold the honor of his family.
As the dark underbelly of the art world and the Vatican expose their true
character, Orazio finds himself in a high stakes game where his loyalty is
tested, honor is redefined, and the boundaries between life, love and art blur.
He and Nicolo discover how far they're willing to push those boundaries, even
if it means sacrificing everything.
House of Honor is a pivotal story that weaves the threads of art history, the
ruthless allure of the mafia and the enigmatic power of the Vatican into a
riveting tale of betrayal, loyalty and love.
Excerpt:
PALERMO, SICILY
APRIL 1969
Get the rug first.
Pounding rain pelted the windshield.
Via Vittorio Emanuele, 204. The shop is a couple of blocks from the
Oratorio. I had burned
the instructions of the caller into my memory.
Sanni maneuvered the van down a dark alley of Palermo’s oldest neighborhood
and parked near the rear of Tappeti Shihab rug shop. The hanging bulb over the
back door was unlit.
I rubbed my fingers against the pockets of my pullover, careful to avoid
the razorblades tucked in the left corner and the roll of wire in the right.
Warm hands picked a lock quickly. Cold fingers would waste precious time.
After only a few seconds standing in the chilly rain, my fingers stiffened.
I managed to jiggle the wire into the lock, tumble the bolt, and push open the
back door. We entered the storage room, which smelled like a sick combination
of curry, patchouli, and wet wool. Sanni lit a match. Raindrops ticked down
through a hole in the roof onto a pile of Persian rugs. Typical—another
littered, bombed-out Palermo warehouse with something valuable inside.
Get a big one; you’ll need it. Remember, Il Dipinto is five square meters. The
caller knew the size of the painting well. His measurements were exact.
Choosing a rug too big was better than too small. We dragged a wet rug off
the top and tossed it aside.
“This one. Help me roll it up and get it out of here,” I whispered to
Sanni.
The heavy rug buckled in the center, but we managed to jam it between the
front seats. The end hung out past the cargo doors. “Cosa diavolo.” I
grabbed a greasy piece of rope from the rear of the truck.
“Just tie the doors together, Andiamo.” Only three blocks to go.
Since coming to Palermo, I’d visited the painting at the Oratorio di San
Lorenzo at least a dozen times. I knew the route with my eyes closed.
Only one guard will stand in your way. The caller had been here before.
The neon glow on the van’s dash illuminated the hands of the clock: 2:01
a.m. If lucky, the guard at the Oratorio would be out cold.
The sacristy door off Via Immacolatella was the easiest way in. Two minutes
from the rug shop to the Oratorio. Everything was on schedule. I jumped out of
the van onto the wet cobblestone street and stopped at the entrance. An
enormous iron key sat wedged in the keyhole. I turned it, and the door
opened—the irony of breaking into Tappeti Shihab to steal a Hamadan rug while
walking free and clear into the Oratorio, home to one of Caravaggio’s last
masterpieces . . . I almost laughed.
A moonlit shaft of light split through the grate covered window. Sanni
clicked on his flashlight. I signaled for him to turn it off. Someone was
there. The steady snore of the old man came from the corner.
He’ll be easy to
take care of, the caller predicted.
Sanni nodded his head in that direction. He raised his eyebrows,
questioning his next move.
Don’t touch anyone; leave that to Sanni was the last instruction given to me.
I tapped my fist against the side of my skull to indicate to Sanni a
knockout, not a kill, and left him to it. My goal was to get us and the
painting out in less than ten minutes. I clicked off the safety on my gun just
in case the old man gave us any trouble.
Our black leather shoes ground into the gritty floor, and the noise caused
the guard to stir. Sanni raised the gun above his head, and a crack rattled
through the room, then a sigh.
Just get to the altar. Don’t worry about the old man, dead or alive, I told myself. Almost at the sacristy
door, I squeezed by the guard’s desk. Sanni followed. I creaked open the narrow
side door used to bring in the Eucharist. Holy things in, holy things out. Had
the master’s hands pushed this same dry, mahogany door as he oversaw the
hanging of his priceless painting?
Facing the cold marble altar, I tried to see Caravaggio’s Nativity
in the darkness. The black frame made it hard to distinguish the edges, but the
white marble pillars and angels surrounding the frame reflected the moonlight.
With one powerful leap, Sanni landed on the altar. He grabbed the wing of
an angel to steady himself, then extended his hand and pulled me up. My
pounding heart felt like it might crack a rib as I scaled up the side of the
high, black marble.
On top of the altar, I gazed upward. La Nativita was taller and
thinner than she had appeared from my days staring at her in the pews. At this
height, my eyes met the Virgin Mary’s hand clutching the fabric of her red
dress. I could make out his brushstrokes. Joseph, Saint Lawrence, and Saint
Francis stared down at me. I pushed aside the eerie feeling that they
disapproved of what I was about to do. Assessing the distance, I realized that
even if I stood on Sanni’s shoulders, I couldn’t reach the top of the painting.
If I used one of Serpotta’s guardian angel statues as a footstool, I could
climb higher. I pointed to the angel and then slapped my palms onto Sanni’s
leather-jacketed shoulders. He could boost me up, and then I would fit my foot
into the angel’s hand, reach the top of the painting and start cutting. I
double-checked to make sure the razorblades were still in my pocket.
Sanni narrowed his eyes and shook his head in disagreement.
“No, climbing from here up the statues won’t work,” he whispered. “They’re
too delicate. I think they’re plaster. We need the ladder from the truck.”
The ladder? I squelched a feeling of panic and reminded myself of the precise instructions of the caller. This miscalculation of the height from the top of the altar to the top of the painting had already cost precious time, but I had to get back to the van. Would the ladder hold against the frame? It couldn’t rest on the statues. What if it damaged the painting? What if the driver of the van had already left?
 |
| Caravaggio, 1609 |
About Margaret Ann Philbrick:
Margaret Ann
Philbrick is an author, gardener and teacher who desires to plant seeds in
hearts. Her first novel, A Minor - A Novel of Love, Music and Memory (2014)
released to critical acclaim and her first picture book, Back the the Manger
(2009) is now a Christmas classic. Her second novel, House of Honor: The Heist
of Caravaggio's Nativity releases June 11, 2024. She is the contributing editor
of Everbloom (2017), a poetry and essay collection designed to help women find
their unique voice. Margaret is a frequent contributor to a wide variety of
magazines and her poetry has been published in numerous anthologies. She has a
B.A. in English Literature from Trinity University in San Antonio TX and a
Masters (M.A.T.) from National Louis University. She is a member of the Redbud
Writers Guild and the Door County Published Author Collective. You can find
Margaret digging in the dirt or wandering in a forest or connect with her via
her website, margaretphilbrick. Her poetry and photographs are available on Instagram
and TikTok at seasonedpoetess.
Website | Instagram | TikTok | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub
Giveaway Details:
1 winner
will receive a finished copy of HOUSE OF HONOR: THE HEIST OF CARAVAGGIO’S
NATIVITY, US Only.
Ends October 22nd, midnight EST.
a Rafflecopter giveawayTour Schedule:
Week One:
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9/23/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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9/24/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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9/25/2024 |
Excerpt |
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9/26/2024 |
Excerpt |
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9/27/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
Week Two:
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9/30/2024 |
IG Post |
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10/1/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/2/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/3/2024 |
Review |
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10/4/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
Week Three:
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10/7/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
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10/8/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/9/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/10/2024 |
IG Review |
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10/11/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
Week Four:
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10/14/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
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10/15/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/16/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/17/2024 |
IG Review |
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10/18/2024 |
Review |
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