Page 2 of The One-Night Heist

“I do,” I replied. “And I have no intention of filling the empty space for a while.”

The blessed empty space.

Franz chuckled as he entered my study, and I tore my focus away from my miniature masterpiece long enough to meet the gaze of my family’s longtime appraiser—and my closest friend. He had an iPad tucked under one arm, a fedora perched on his head, and his wool suit was crisp enough to forgive the pinstripes.

It’s part of his signature style, after all.

Leonardo Franzini was in his mid-forties and had been a part of my life since I was a teenager—twenty years ago at this point—ever since he’d taken over my family’s inventory and appraisals from his predecessor in the Sotheby’s Valuations Department and become a surrogate older brother to me.

Mother tried to flirt with him at first, as she’d done with most men who drifted too close to her orbit—although his conventional attractiveness surely hadn’t hurt. The son of a prominent gallery owner and a famous art model, Franz had a natural poise I dreamed of possessing, even if his light complexion, sandy brown hair, and pale blue eyes were in sharp contrast to my southern Italian heritage.

His self-confidence was another trait I had learned to emulate over the years, after witnessing him consistently shut down Mother’s advances in charming ways that never seemed to offend her easily offended sensibilities. Most importantly, his expertise spoke for itself, and after he outbid one of Mother’s rivals for a Picasso on her behalf, Franz was officially seen as someone worthy of her respect.

Another acquisition for her investment portfolio.

“Understood.” Franz nodded, forever ready to support me. “Angelica was also particular with her acquisitions, so there’s no rush for you to build your own collection.” He cocked his head and eyed me curiously. “I must admit, though, I’m surprised you want to part with the pieces I've brokered for you over the years.”

I shrugged and returned my attention to the only painting that mattered. “Let’s call it a fresh start.”

“A fresh start would be good for you,” he murmured absently before clearing his throat. “Will this piece be included?”

It took my brain a moment to realize he was referring to Poppy #5.

My masterpiece.

“Absolutely not!” I barked, harsher than I intended, but the idea of being separated from the only painting—the only possession—I cared about in this entire estate felt like a personal affront.

This one stays.

Thanks to our long history, and that he was accustomed to dealing with far more volatile clients than me, Franz barely reacted to my outburst.

“As you wish, Giano,” he replied—the only person aside from my childhood nanny who’d ever been allowed to call me that. “I will say that Poppies #1-4 are either in private collections or lost to the wind, so you’d be surprised how much this little beauty could command on the block.”

No.

“I’m not doing this for the money,” I growled, although that wasn’t entirely true.

But no one needs to know that.

The imperious glare I gave him would have made Mother proud, but true to form, Franz was unruffled. “Suit yourself. Give me a few days to research the current market values and consult with some colleagues. Then I’ll send along the suggested starting bids and estimated hammer prices by the end of the week. Caprese?”

Caprese.

The sigh I released was half-exasperated, half-fond. By slipping that purposeful mispronunciation of capisci into the conversation—a private joke between us—he’d lessened the tension I hadn’t otherwise been able to shake.

“Capisco,” I replied correctly, offering a strained smile as I did. “And forgive me for raising my voice. Settling Mother’s estate has been… challenging.”

Franz grinned and squeezed my shoulder. “Understood. Hey, what do you say you let me get you out of the house tonight? There’s an industry event at The Skyline… You might even have fun!”

A reflexive “no” was on the tip of my tongue, but then my mother’s voice echoed in my head, reminding me of the importance of keeping up appearances—especially among potential buyers.

Just until the estate is finalized.

And then…

That was the biggest question of all—what I would do with myself once everything was settled. With Mother gone, and my father long dead before her, I would no longer need to concern myself with anyone else’s interests but my own. I would be free to do whatever I wanted.

The possibilities were terrifying.