Page 115 of Cozen

The guy’s gaze darted to hers in the rearview. “That’s what I said, is it not?”

Apparently, all kinds of new things were going on today. Including allowing Cozen inside the Astor mansion.

Maybe she should have felt unsafe—the Astors were not known for their kindness when it came to people they felt overstepped their boundaries, or otherwise. They were known for their punishments, and violence to make a point.

And yet, she wasn’t all that worried.

After all, she was in. She was their current hope at getting a piece of Astor history—their treasured property—back without causing an entire uproar in the world of the criminal underground. She was their way of showing their power, status, and ability without going to more violent means first.

Essentially, the Astors hiring Cozen to steal from another powerful crime figure was their family saying, “See what we can take from you, and watch how we can do it.”

Should they remove Cozen from the equation, then that meant they would need to start over. Entirely. From ground zero. A new thief—a new plan. More time separated from their precious thing before they would get it back. That was, if they ever did get it returned.

Why would they bother?

She was already in.

The job was almost done.

“You shouldn’t sit there for too long,” the man in the driver’s seat muttered. “Fourth does not like to be left waiting.”

“Sure,” Cozen replied dryly.

She made a move to grab her messenger bag, but the man said, “Leave it.”

Cozen laughed. “Why, for you to dispose of it after?”

She was joking.

Kind of.

The man only smirked before glancing out the driver’s window.

Asshole.

She stepped out of the Mercedes, and shrugged off the thin cardigan. Miami was already hot in late May where New York was bearable, and comfortable. For a few seconds, she simply stared at the marble pillars greeting the guests to the entrance of the large Astor mansion.

The place really was amazing.

And a bit scary.

Or maybe intimidating was the word she was looking for.

Cozen’s thoughts continued to ramble inside her brain as she headed up the steps of the grand entrance. She didn’t even get the chance to reach and knock on the door as someone opened it for her before she could.

A maid, it seemed.

The woman—dressed in gray and white—gave Cozen a polite nod, and tight smile. She took Cozen’s cardigan without as much as a single word, and then disappeared into a connecting room.

Turning, Cozen faced the entry.

Grand was an apt description. The space was the size of a normal home. A crystal chandelier hung from a vaulted ceiling and nearly touched the floor between two winding marble staircases on either side of the entry. The floor—buffed and polished enough to gleam and reflect her staring back at it—was also made up of marble tiles.

Money.

The place reeked of money.

In front of the chandelier stood a man Cozen recognized. Fourth Astor.