Page 70 of The One-Night Heist

Giano sighed, exasperation clear on his handsome face, and it was all I could do not to snicker.

Yeah, I did that.

Of course, Vincenzo interpreted that exasperation as being directed at him instead of me, which also delighted me to no end.

“I assure you, la polizia are investigating that possibility as well!” the Sotheby’s director hurriedly replied.

Now they will be.

Luckily for me and mine, this was far from my first rodeo. It was standard practice in my world to move stolen goods from one middleman to another before being delivered, which protected the buyer from being identified. Aside from my South American clients, I rarely knew who I was working for, and the way I was able to take them down with me as part of my plea deal demonstrated exactly why that separation usually existed.

While Vincenzo launched into a monologue of everything else the Italian police were supposedly doing to not find the art, I took in our posh surroundings in the light of day. The best way to describe the sprawling—two bedroom—suite was “rich uncle who collects cigars and scotch and watches high-brow gay porn.” The design was Art Deco meets Roman gladiator, with a color palette of tan, brown, and copper, with textured wallpaper, tweed, and leather furnishings, cherry wood surfaces—including a fully stocked bar—and a marble, claw-foot tub in Giano’s bathroom.

Which I’m sure I could claim if I wanted to…

I appreciated how the decor subtly reminded visitors we could feed them to the lions if need be, but our suite felt more like another relic of Giano’s inherited social standing than what he might actually choose for himself on vacation.

Has he ever taken a vacation?

“Mr. Luxford…” I turned my attention to where my boss had called in to the meeting on the wall-mounted flat screen. “I know you were hesitant to question the guests who attended your party prior to the theft,” Agent Lowry continued, “but time is of the essence in cases like these⁠—”

She was interrupted by a commotion from the Sotheby’s New York feed, and I gritted my teeth as Franz appeared on the screen just as his boss, Mr. Samuel, muted the mic. What followed were several awkward yet entertaining seconds where the rest of us watched the two men engage in a heated debate over something, but only when Giano glanced my way again—clear worry on his face this time—did I consider it might have something to do with me.

Oh.

Because I was at the party.

And Daddy Pinstripes saw me there.

I shrugged in return, since I wasn’t particularly worried about it. If there was anything I’d learned from working with the type of people who carried big guns and could make me disappear, it was to never let them see you sweat.

“Is there something Sotheby’s New York would like to share with the class?” I interrupted the pantomime performance, instantly stopping the action.

“Rowen…” Agent Lowry warned, as if the bullshit position she gave me, plus my naturally combative personality hadn’t resulted in this perfect storm.

I have the big, scary FBI in my corner this time.

“Forgive the side conversation, Mr. Quincy.” Samuel frowned as Franz stalked out of frame. “We were simply discussing how hesitant we all are to question Mr. Luxford’s guests—as they are the same clientele we hope will enthusiastically bid on the collection once it’s recovered.”

Smart man.

I did not for one second believe that had been the topic of their conversation, but I knew first-hand how the presence of the FBI tended to make people behave. As much as I despised my consulting gig, it was currently giving me protection from being a suspect myself. Ironic, considering I was the suspect, but a truly satisfying full-circle moment that felt like karma itself.

Just inject it straight into my petty veins.

Having a billionaire with a “don’t fuck with me” family name in my corner was another ace in my pocket, even if our partnership looked foolish on the surface.

With me being the fool.

Giano could easily throw me under the bus at any point, and with no contract between us, it would be his—incredibly powerful—word against mine. That should have freaked me out, but it didn’t, because I now knew the type of person I was in business with.

And I think I might… trust him.

Maybe.

The main reason Giancarlo Luxford wouldn’t turn on me was the same reason he didn’t fit in with his peers: He was a legitimately good person with actual morals.

I wonder what that feels like…