Page 8 of The One-Night Heist

Franz sighed. “The market isn’t what it was when your mother purchased most of her more valuable pieces. Between shifting tastes, influencer culture, and the current state of the economy thanks to…”

“Billionaires like me,” I finished for him, which earned me a chuckle.

“Not like you, Giano, but yes.” Another sigh. “I would actually advise you to hold onto the collection until⁠—”

“I can’t,” I interrupted, setting down my phone and putting it on speaker before opening my laptop to check on the property I’d been monitoring almost as obsessively as I’d been staring at Rowen’s card. “I need to sell this collection at the next auction.”

Franz was silent for a good thirty seconds, and although I could tell he wanted to ask why it was so time-sensitive, he wouldn’t. He may have known more about me than my parents ever had, but he was far too respectful of my privacy to pry.

Good.

Because this is one thing I can’t tell him.

He cleared his throat. “We could nudge the starting bids up a smidge without scaring anyone off, and the estimated hammer prices I sent are on the conservative side… Perhaps we’ll get lucky with a bidding war?”

I can’t rely on luck.

“Is there nothing we can actively do to increase interest?” I asked, knowing I sounded desperate, but muscling through the discomfort for the sake of my goals.

“Well…” I heard him tapping his pen on the desk on the other end of the line. “I know this is the last thing you’ll want to do, but hosting a viewing party while the art is still hung in your family’s historic apartment could do the trick.”

That was, in fact, the last thing I wanted to do, but I grudgingly understood the strategy.

“I assume it won’t be difficult to fill the guest list,” I sighed. “Since no one’s been here in years.”

Franz laughed sadly. “I didn’t want to be the one to say it but… you’re correct. Angelica became a bit of a recluse toward the end of her life and, well, morbid curiosity is a motivator.”

Like vultures picking at a kill.

There was one more factor—aside from the art and the shadow of death—that would lure in this rubbernecking crowd. The building my family’s three-story corner unit was located in was a historic landmark that held an almost mythical reputation in the city’s real estate market. It was from the Art Deco era and notoriously impossible to buy your way into, because everyone who lived here was old money, just like we were on my father’s side. The chance to be surrounded by such a timeless display of wealth would be too tempting an invitation for most to pass up.

Let the smoke and mirrors work their magic one last time.

“It also shouldn’t be difficult to acquire the funds for this soirée from Mother's trustee.” I gritted out, rubbing my temples against the beginnings of a migraine. “Since unnecessarily lavish parties are on the list of ‘approved’ expenses.”

Unlike how I’d rather be spending these inherited assets.

And that was the crux of the problem. Mother had left me an obscene amount of money upon her passing, but it was currently held in a trust, handled by an independent lawyer she’d appointed prior to her death. Someone who didn’t have any connection to me.

Entirely by design, I’m sure.

I wasn’t exaggerating about the restrictions. Aside from forbidding the sale of this apartment until ten years from now, Mother had meticulously listed everything she felt was an “appropriate” expense for me—as the only heir to the Luxford family estate. While most of it was designated to the ongoing upkeep of my carefully crafted—by her—image, there were stipulations that made resentment lodge in my throat. That only certain charities could be supported with the funds was infuriating, but the large sum earmarked for my future wedding cut the deepest.

Specifically the requirement of a bride at the altar.

It had been no secret I was gay, at least not within these walls. Franz was the first to know—first to guess, although he’d waited for me to tell him myself when I was sixteen. A handful of years later, after hearing about yet another painful date with the daughter of one of Mother’s society friends, he’d encouraged me to simply tell her the truth.

What a mistake that had been…

Franz had wholeheartedly believed if my mother knew how uncomfortable I was with her matchmaking, she’d no longer expect me to perform so publicly. Unfortunately, while his intentions were good, Mother was rarely anything other than self-serving.

And I was the perfect puppet.

“I am well-aware of your proclivities, darling,” she’d absently replied when I came out, while most of her attention remained on her own reflection in the vanity mirror. “And you can enjoy anyone your heart desires once you’ve established your place in the company and in society… with a wife and children of your own.”

I could still remember the feeling of weightlessness, the white noise that buzzed through my head as I attempted to make sense of what she was saying.

“B-but I don’t want a wife,” I’d managed to reply, even as I nearly fainted from nerves. “That’s what I’m saying⁠—”