Page 45 of The One-Night Heist

He sighed, looking pained, and my stupid heart tried to trick me into feelings territory once again. “There is a guest bedroom up there, but it’s rarely used.” Then he lowered his voice. “But it’s not like that with me and Ana. Not at all.”

Sure, dude.

“Not like that at all…” I repeated, moving to the next frame and running my fingers over the cut, for no other reason than admiring my own handiwork. “Didn’t you say the same thing about Daddy Pinstripes?”

“Giano!”

Siiiigh.

Apparently, the universe was determined to try me today, as Franz suddenly appeared, wild-eyed and stricken beside us.

“Oh, my God!” he gasped, his fedora clutched to his chest to add to the dramatics. “I came as soon as Agent Markel contacted me but… why didn’t you call, Giano?”

“I’m so sorry, Franz,” Giano replied—looking truly devastated—and I had to stop myself from caring. “It’s… been a morning.”

“I can see that…” Daddy Pinstripes continued to gape at the empty frames. “How did this even happen? Do they have any idea who could have done this?”

Me.

Giano cleared his throat. “I had an electrician here yesterday, and somehow a breaker got tripped while Ana and I were at the gala. That’s when whoever accessed the apartment and took the paintings but, as of now, we don’t have any clear suspects.”

The call is coming from inside the house.

Now Franz was staring at our “victim” with outward confusion. “That seems awfully coincidental, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Giano’s gaze flickered my way, as if expecting me to take over, but I was too busy enjoying the show. “The Art Crime Team has already sent agents to question the electrician, along with members of my staff, and a floral design company that made two houseplant deliveries to the Wentworths yesterday.”

One, actually.

But it will take them a while to figure that out.

“Regardless, I’m choosing to not make assumptions about anyone without having all the facts.”

That last part of Giano’s speech was definitely aimed at me, but I refused to acknowledge it. Instead, I kept my expression neutral, partly because I was still mad about his little sleepover, but mostly because watching my billionaire squirm under pressure was hot as hell.

Sadistic tendencies too.

Franz puffed out a forceful breath and slapped his hat back on his head, his gaze back on the empty frames. “Well… I suppose I should contact Sotheby’s and tell them to pull the listings⁠—”

Oh, shit.

This time, when Giano looked on the verge of panic, I smoothly stepped in. “Why would you do that?”

Daddy Pinstripes turned to face me, gesturing at the evidence as if I was an idiot. “Because there is no art left to auction.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t some Italian artist sell an invisible sculpture for twenty grand a few years back?”

“Yes…” Franz scoffed, although I could tell he was amused by the reference. “Salvatore Garau—for fifteen thousand euros to be exact—but that’s an entirely different market.”

“Is it, though?” I continued, daring this man to fuck with our plans. “I’ve always heard any press is good press, and the rich love a good scandal, don’t they?”

“That we do,” Anastasia materialized again, much to my annoyance, handing both me and Giano teensy mugs that smelled like heaven. “I know you said no more caffeine, Rowen, but I thought a murder might improve the mood around here.”

Okay, fine.

She’s cool.

“Thank you, Ana,” Giano murmured, taking a sip of his espresso, visibly relaxing from that sweet, sweet caffeine hit before addressing his appraiser. “Please don’t pull the listings, Franz. There’s a PR company Luxford Holdings has worked with in the past… Perhaps they’ll have some thoughts on how to frame this.”