Page 94 of The One-Night Heist

Because they wouldn’t dare.

What the Italian authorities also hadn’t attempted was any sort of interrogation, despite Lowry’s courtesy warning. This may have been because Franz demanded my “letter of rights” the instant we walked into the building—which still hadn’t been delivered—but I also suspected my family name had something to do with it.

The “family” name that may no longer protect me.

I knew confessing my origins to the press today would be risky, especially as it might call into question my right to sell my mother’s collection, but if there was one thing I’d learned from the late Angelica Luxford, it was to always control the narrative.

“You are the closest thing I have to family, Franz,” I calmly replied to the man I was still lying to. “But this secret was… complicated.”

To say the least.

Franz reached up, as if to adjust his nonexistent fedora, before letting his hand fall limply at his side. “I assume your mother was to blame?” he sighed heavily, collapsing into the chair across the desk I was seated at, and I had to laugh at how well he knew exactly what, and who, I’d always been up against.

As much as he could know…

“Actually, my paternal grandparents were,” I replied, relieved to finally talk about it, despite the circumstances and despite me initially hoping to tell Rowen first. “They decreed that if my mother couldn’t produce an heir to carry on the family name, my father would be expected to find a more suitable wife.”

Franz’s mouth fell open in shock. “I’m sorry? What… what world did they think they were living in?!”

“Theirs.” I laughed sadly. “They fully believed being a Luxford meant they could orchestrate whatever reality they wanted. Unfortunately for them, my father inherited that same mindset, and so he figured out a way to beat them at their own game.”

“With a secret adoption…” Franz murmured, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands and giving me his undivided attention. “And they never found out while they were alive?”

“No.” I shook my head. “St. Anthony’s doubled as a home for unwed teen mothers at the time, and as soon as my parents were informed they had a baby on reserve, so to speak, a pregnancy was staged to line up with the birth.”

Pausing, I vaguely wondered if Rowen was the product of similar circumstances before realizing it didn’t matter either way.

It doesn’t change how I feel about him.

I’d hoped my bold confession might show him how similar we were, despite our differences in luck and circumstances, but I hadn’t received a single call or message—not even via our encrypted app—since the news broke.

What did you expect, Giano?

You pushed Rowen away after he trusted you enough to⁠—

I closed my eyes and blew out a steadying breath, willing myself to refocus on telling Franz what he deserved to know.

One relationship repair at a time.

“My grandparents never found out,” I continued, determined to tell him everything I could. “And when my father died before them, my mother held on to her secret even tighter, knowing discovery could mean losing everything.”

Franz nodded grimly. “I know first-hand how unyielding your mother was when expected to do anything other than what she’d already decided to do.” Then he huffed a laugh. “And I often wondered how someone like you ended up as a Luxford…”

We simply stared at each other for a moment. “Well,” I replied. “Now you know.”

Now everyone knows.

It remained to be seen how this revelation would affect New York society’s acceptance of me, but—aside from my unyielding determination to sell Mother’s art—I found the pressure to “fit in” no longer mattered to me.

Not nearly as much as getting Rowen back by my side where he belongs.

“Well, if your goal was to distract the masses from these bullshit allegations, I’d say you succeeded.” Franz sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Personally, I can’t imagine how it felt carrying this secret all this time.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, bracing myself for what I knew his reaction would be. “It wasn’t that long actually… I only found out a year or so ago⁠—”

“EXCUSE ME?!” Franz shouted, leaping from his chair so suddenly, it nearly toppled to the floor. “Your mother didn’t tell you that you were adopted until you were in your thirties?”

I grimaced, knowing what I was about to share would enrage him even more. “My mother didn’t tell me so much as admit to it when confronted. I found out entirely by accident when I went to the doctor to look into becoming a bone marrow donor for her lymphoma…”