Kate Westcott, a gifted American art student, has come to Florence to study Michelangelo. Exploring the cobbled streets of the Renaissance city with her fellow student Marco, Kate feels the pull of destiny. And when the two uncover a chamber in a corridor sealed since the time of the Medicis, they make a stunning discovery: Michelangelo’s Midnight Angels—three small, exquisite sculptures long rumored to exist but never before seen. It is the find of a lifetime—and the beginning of a nightmare. Pursued by criminals, suspected by the Rome Art Squad, and navigating the underground network of a secret society, Kate and Marco must use all their cunning to protect Michelangelo’s work—and their lives. “Crackles with action . . . a riveting and ingenious read that will keep you turning the pages.”—Douglas Preston, author of The Monster of Florence “This is the book Dan Brown wanted to write.”— Providence Journal-Bulletin “[A] masterly thriller.”—Alafair Burke, author of 212   “Slick and entertaining . . . plenty of action.”— Desert Morning News Lorenzo Carcaterra is the author of A Safe Place , Sleepers , Apaches , Gangster , Street Boys , Paradise City , and Chasers . He has written scripts for movies and television and was a writer/producer for Law & Order . He has traveled to Italy on a yearly basis since he was fourteen and has written extensively about the country both for National Geographic Traveler and in his books. He speaks fluent Italian, and his favorite place to be is inside the church at Santa Croce, standing in front of the tomb of Michelangelo. He is currently at work on his next novel.   Chapter One Summer 2010 FLORENCE, ITALY Kate and marco made a sharp left onto chiasso altoviti, leaving the rushing waters of the Arno behind them, running at full speed across the cobblestones of the narrow street. Kate, her long brown hair held together by a blue butterfly clip, led the way as they dodged the occasional shopper, bumped against a parked Vespa, and successfully evaded an elderly woman hauling two plastic bags filled with fruits and vegetables. “They are no longer chasing us, I think,” Marco said, grinding to a fast stop. His English was accented, his light brown polo shirt marked with sweat as he rested his hands on the knees of a pair of Levi knockoffs. He was in his late twenties, thick dark hair flowing toward the nape of his neck, his strong features highlighted by rich olive eyes. Kate slowed her pace and turned to gaze down the curved street. “Let’s keep moving,” she said, “just in case.” “Just in case what?” Marco asked. Two men, dressed in track suits and sneakers, came tearing around the Borgo Apostoli. “In case you’re wrong,” she said as she grabbed his arm and sprinted down the street. “I told you we shouldn’t have done what we did,” Marco said, as short of breath as he was filled with anger. “I told you we should have left things the way they were.” “No, you didn’t,” Kate said, not slowing down as she turned her head to check on the men. “You never told me any of that.” “And what good would it have done if I had?” he asked. The men were closing in, moving through the early morning shoppers and tourists at a faster clip, more experienced in the art of pursuit than their targets were in the art of fleeing. Kate and Marco made a full-charge run toward the Uffizi. “If we can make it in there, we might have a chance to lose them,” she said, pointing toward the imposing gallery. “A guide who works there is a friend of mine. She’ll find us a place to hide.” “Are you sure she’s working today?” Marco asked. “It’s a guess,” Kate said. “But right now, a guess is the best I can do.” “We should be in a café, drinking espresso, listening to Bob Dylan,” Marco said. “Instead, we are running from two men who maybe want to kill us.” “I didn’t know you liked Dylan,” she said, turning onto Via de’ Georgofili, closing in on the Uffizi. She wiped a strand of brown hair from her face, gave a quick glance at her pursuers and a nod of encouragement to Marco. They both stopped when they saw the rope ladder hanging from an open double window three stories above them, a middle-aged man waving frantically for them to begin their climb. “Fai presto,” he shouted down. “Please, hurry. There is not much time. You have only seconds.” “How do we know to trust him?” Marco asked, reaching for the bottom rung of the rope, noticing the two men turning a corner and heading their way. “How do we know he’s not with them?” “We don’t,” Kate said, holding the rope for support and nodding for Marco to begin his climb. In seconds he was halfway up the ladder with Kate right behind him, lifting the rungs as she moved forward, leaving the two men at street level staring at them in frustration. They banged against the thick red oak door that led into the building’s entrance but were met by a series of dead bolts and unanswered buzzers. Marco looked up at the middle-aged man who was leaning out