Page 55 of The One-Night Heist

“Jack Wallash, New York Post. Does either Sotheby’s or the FBI Art Crime Team have any comments on news that the stolen art has made its way to Italy?”

The silence that momentarily fell over the gathered crowd was thick, and when Giano turned his face in my direction—complete with picture-perfect shocked expression—all I could do was play along with some faux shock of my own.

Now do you see who you got into bed with?

Agent Lowry quickly muscled Giano away from the line of fire before demanding the reporter prove the existence of his intel—the very intel my people abroad had emailed directly to the Post for maximum damage, as instructed by me.

Oops.

"Our verification desk says with 98% certainty that this is not an AI-generated photo." A gleeful Jack Wallash held up his phone, clearly showing one of Angelica Luxford’s Picasso’s propped against a sun-drenched villa’s terrace with an Italian newspaper in the foreground.

As expected, Lowry immediately pulled the plug on the entire media event.

Never let them touch the cup.

I could feel Giano’s accusing stare still fixed on me—and rightfully so—because this was not part of our plan. We’d agreed that I would hide everything locally for a couple of weeks max before an anonymous tip came through, leading the FBI to a miraculous recovery of the undamaged art in time for the Sotheby’s auction. Instead, it now looked like an international game of chase would be necessary, because I was nothing if not committed to the bit.

Technically, all I’d agreed to do was hide the art, but I’d never specified where. The way I saw it, as long as I got Giano his art back in the timeframe discussed, I’d still get paid, no matter how difficult I made it for him along the way. So, I did what I did best—cause chaos while ensuring my partner would never get the chance to take me down.

The name of my game is malicious compliance.

I knew I looked like an asshole—was an asshole—and that the reasons behind my actions were questionable at best, and more than a little damning the closer you looked.

Maybe I was jealous, or maybe I’d just decided to spice things up a little because I was bored. Or maybe I got off on watching a billionaire squirm like a bug under the heat of a magnifying glass. Maybe I wanted to see how desperately Giancarlo Luxford would beg me to return his precious art—all so he could auction it off, piece by piece like animals sent to the slaughter, to the highest, hungry bidder.

I just love it when he begs.

Eighteen

Giancarlo

This wasn’t part of the plan…

That singular, useless thought played on loop as I was hustled away from the throng of shouting reporters by Franz and deposited in my car.

“Y-you’re not coming with me?” I stuttered, snapping out of my daze as he moved to shut the door from the wrong side of it.

“No, Giano…” he replied, reminding me of the only other person who called me that—the one who’d decided to go completely off-script just now. “I need to get your PR firm started on fighting this new fire while my boss and Agent Lowry figure out what sort of resources Sotheby’s Italy can offer us.That is… if your art is even in Italy.”

Oh, it’s there.

If there was one thing I’d figured out about Rowen Quincy—despite his best efforts to be unknowable—it was that he did nothing by halves. I’d hired him to steal then hide my art where it couldn’t be found, and sending the entire collection across the Atlantic was certainly one way to accomplish that.

But why not discuss it with me first?!

Realizing Franz was still anxiously waiting for my reply, I nodded, forcing my face back to neutral for his sake. “Understood. You’ll call later to catch me up, though?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight. What I need you to do is go home and relax. I can’t imagine how stressful all this has been, especially so soon after your mother’s passing. Please, let me handle this for you.”

My stomach twisted with guilt, but there was nothing to be done about it. Telling Franz what I’d done would only put his career and reputation in jeopardy, while doing nothing to stop the wheels Rowen had already set in motion.

The machinations, more like it…

As much as I wanted to insist on staying and being included in the emergency meeting, I also knew I wouldn’t be any help. My thoughts were scattered and my heart ached. Whatever I was feeling went beyond anxiety. It felt like free-falling, like the solid ground I’d taken for granted beneath my feet had suddenly revealed itself to be nothing but empty air.

For one horrible moment, I wondered if Rowen intended to steal my art for good—if I’d unwittingly wandered into his trap by sheer coincidence and bad luck.

No.