Page 92 of The One-Night Heist

I opened my mouth to continue arguing like an asshole, but then realized Mick’s attention was on something behind me.

“Turn it up! Hey Dante…” he snapped at the bartender to get his attention before launching into a babble of Italian I couldn’t understand.

I turned in my stool to see what the fuss was about, my chest growing tight when I found an achingly familiar face on CNN’s breaking news report, alongside the TV volume bars being steadily turned up to the max.

Malicious compliance, everywhere.

“...reporting live from Questura di Firenze, where American billionaire Giancarlo Luxford is facing unspecified charges allegedly related to his recently stolen art collection. Correspondents from news outlets around the world have been camped out on Via Zara awaiting a statement, and it looks like Luxford is about to deliver just that.”

WHERE THE HELL ARE HIS LAWYERS?!

I gripped my spritz glass so tightly, it nearly shattered when all I saw was a hatless Franz standing behind Giano, glaring at his “little brother” so disgruntledly, any still lingering jealousy immediately evaporated.

Yeah.

That’s family right there.

It was clear Daddy Pinstripes didn’t approve of what Giano was up to, and while I was equally concerned—not that I would admit that out loud—I had to assume my billionaire knew what he was doing.

I hope…

“It has come to my attention that I’m facing some fairly serious accusations.” Giano cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, despite every stitch of his clothing being immaculate, as always. “Unfortunately, my lawyers have advised me not to address anything related to that until they arrive from New York.”

The uproar from the surrounding reporters was instantaneous, but Giano simply held up his hand, his recently-serviced Calatrava catching the light, instantly quieting the crowd.

Hot.

“While I will say I have nothing to hide when it comes to the location of my mother’s missing art collection, there is an entirely separate area of my life where I have not been completely honest with the public, and I would like to address that now.”

No.

Is he…

Is he about to come out on CNN?!

If I wasn’t already sitting in my barstool, with a death-grip on my spritz, I may have ended up on the floor, but then Mick’s enormous hand was gripping my shoulder, holding me steady.

Just like family⁠—

“Ooh, carrots. Maybe your boyfriend’s about to propose…”

“Back the fuck off, jackass!” I elbowed my idiot foster brother, so he’d stop breathing in my ear. “Nobody’s proposing to anyone.”

I really fucking hope not.

“There are those who have questioned why someone of my… considerable means would want, or need, to sell an entire collection of art painstakingly curated for decades by my late mother.” Giano lifted his chin, and I could practically feel the defiance exuding from him, even through the screen. “The truth is, I was hoping to use the funds from the Sotheby’s auction to purchase a property in upstate New York. It’s an orphanage facing foreclosure—St. Anthony’s Home for Lost Children—and although I was ardently opposed to Luxford Holdings buying it and turning the property into luxury condos, I was outvoted by my fellow shareholders.”

OooOOOooo… someone’s spilling the tea!

Unsurprisingly, the gathered reporters erupted in a flurry of new questions and my heart swelled with a weird sort of pride. Giano had clearly been raised with manners, and I assumed it would be considered fairly “uncouth” to put your company partners on blast on an international stage. So it went without saying that I was loving this little rebellion of his, although I had no idea where he was going with it.

What is his endgame here…?

Again, Giano effortlessly commanded silence with a single gesture, before gripping both sides of the podium he was standing in front of, as if steadying himself, making me sit up straighter in my stool.

“I’m sure you may be wondering why someone like me, whose entire legacy was built on such real estate maneuvers, would care to stop this deal.” He paused, looking genuinely nervous this time, and I wished I was there—even just in the crowd where he could see me.

See me supporting my billionaire fuckboy boyfriend.