Monday, October 21, 2024

HOUSE OF HONOR: THE HEIST OF CARAVAGGIO’S NATIVITY by Margaret Ann Philbrick Excerpt

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:

Title: HOUSE OF HONOR: THE HEIST OF CARAVAGGIO’S NATIVITY

Author: Margaret Ann Philbrick

Pub. Date: June 11, 2024

Publisher: Ambassador International

Formats: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook

Pages: 352

Find it: Goodreadshttps://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:

PROLOGUE

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’llbe 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?

                            The Adoration of the Shepherds with Saint Lawrence and Saint Francis
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.

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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 giveaway

Tour Schedule:

Week One:

9/23/2024

Two Chicks on Books

Excerpt/IG Post

9/24/2024

Fire and Ice Reads

Excerpt/IG Post

9/25/2024

Daily Waffle

Excerpt

9/26/2024

Writer of Wrongs

Excerpt

9/27/2024

Lady Hawkeye

Excerpt/IG Post

Week Two:

9/30/2024

@callistoscalling

IG Post

10/1/2024

Rajiv's reviews

Review/IG Post

10/2/2024

GryffindorBookishnerd

Review/IG Post

10/3/2024

Lifestyle of Me

Review

10/4/2024

Dana Loves Books

Review/IG Post

Week Three:

10/7/2024

Edith's Little Free Library

IG Review/TikTok Post

10/8/2024

Country Mamas With Kids

Review/IG Post

10/9/2024

The Momma Spot

Review/IG Post

10/10/2024

Books and Zebras

IG Review

10/11/2024

Kim's Book Reviews and Writing Aha's

Review/IG Post

Week Four:

10/14/2024

Brandi Danielle Davis

IG Review/TikTok Post

10/15/2024

@heyashleyyreads

Review/IG Post

10/16/2024

Deal sharing aunt

Review/IG Post

10/17/2024

@evergirl200

IG Review

10/18/2024

More Books Please blog

Review


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