Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Rowen
It was such a big-dick-energy power move for Giano to insist that the Sotheby’s representatives meet at our suite instead of their local offices.
And such a hot demand coming from my sweet, subby little billionaire.
At this point, I realized Giano was mostly masking in public—playing the game he’d been born and raised on while internally cringing the entire time.
It reminded me of how I adopted a “fake it ‘til ya make it” persona back when my foster brother, Mick, first introduced me to the organized crime underworld. The difference was that I took to it just fine, while I doubted Giano would ever fit in with the rich asshole crowd, no matter how much he “belonged.” If I was being honest—which apparently, I was lately—I kind of liked that he didn’t fit in with these assholes.
It’s fine.
He can hang with me.
Mr. Vincenzo, the managing director for Sotheby’s Italy, cleared his throat from across the full-sized board room table this ridiculous suite came equipped with.
“We have employed the help of la polizia to identify what region of Italia the photos of your missing artwork may have come from, Mr. Luxford… and expect to have an answer shortly.”
Giano immediately glanced at where I leaned against the wall to the right of his leather chair, which could have looked suspicious in different circumstances, but I belonged here just as much as anyone else.
Because I’m the FBI Art Crime Team liaison, bitches!
I took my time replying to Vincenzo, mostly to look like I hadn’t already covered my bases.
Which I have.
“How certain are la polizia that those photos weren’t taken in one location before the artwork was moved to another location?”
Because that’s exactly what happened.
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…
The truth was, I would never know. After I returned Giano’s art, he’d fill my shady off-shore bank account with the agreed upon funds, and my life would finally be my own again, to do with as I pleased. Even with all that freedom, however, I couldn’t see myself suddenly going “straight.”
I’m here for a good time, not a long time.
Which gives me an idea…
“Agent Lowry?” I cleared my throat and put on my best deferential demeanor.
“I believe an investigation this, uh, delicate may require unorthodox methods. With your permission, I would like to reach out to an old connection of mine here in Italy, to see if they’ve heard anything about Mr. Luxford’s art through their… network.”
Aka, the black market.
My boss was deadly silent, and I knew I would get a talking to later for making my request with an audience instead of presenting it privately.
I probably would have gone about it the correct way under different circumstances, but the idea to give Giano a fucking break while catching up with my old partner in crime had only just occurred to me, and who was I to deny the spark of genius when it arose?
“Permission granted, Rowen,” Lowry sighed, knowing it wasn’t worth the fight. “You will email me more information, I assume?”
I grinned, flashing the gap in my teeth Giano apparently thought was “perfect.”
He’s such a cute little weirdo.
“I will send you as much information as possible, while still respecting the privacy of my contact,” was how I replied, little shit that I was.
My boss pursed her lips together while someone—not Mr. Samuel—loudly scoffed from the Sotheby’s New York feed.
Yeah, they were definitely discussing little ol’ me.
The Sotheby’s Italy reps mostly seemed confused by our antics, but Giano insisted they stay for a bit after New York left the meeting, graciously handing out glasses of limoncello and conversing in fluent Italian—with periodic interpretations for my sake—until everyone said their goodbyes.
Then, we were alone again.
It had been well after midnight when we initially checked in, and after making sure I was all set on my side of the massive suite, Giano had disappeared. While I would have preferred we’d fucked before parting ways, he’d no doubt done it to give me space.
Space I may no longer want…
It wasn’t like I wanted him all up in my business, but every time his attention turned my way, I felt this weird tightness in my chest, and when his attention was elsewhere the tightness only got worse.
So I guess this is happening.
What else was happening was I was about to veer into dangerously “coupley” territory by suggesting we travel together—by choice, as opposed to coerced kidnapping.
I barely recognize myself right now.
“Rowen, would you like to see any sights of Rome before we travel to…”
“Florence,” I answered Giano’s unspoken question because there was no point in keeping secrets from him at this point.
Especially when he’s about to meet the man who made this international trip possible.
I joined him at the window and peered at the goddamn Pantheon in the square below. “Well, I guess I should see the Colosseum, right? Maybe the Sistine Chapel?”
Maybe eat authentic carbonara off your ass.
As if rightfully assuming my thoughts had turned filthy, Giano smirked. “Would it be terrible if I told you I don’t think you need to see the Sistine Chapel?”
Gasp!
I dramatically pressed a hand to my chest. “Giancarlo Luxford, the great lover of art, doesn’t think the world famous Sistine Chapel is worth it?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t.
Yes, I appreciate the pure talent of Michelangelo, but he considered himself a sculptor, not a painter, and believed sculpture was a higher calling in general.
The Sistine Chapel was nothing but a commission to him—a commission he refused at first—and I believe it shows.
Plus… the panel everyone crowds in there to see—Creation of Adam—is a lot smaller than you’d expect. ”
I scoffed, slightly turned on by him poo-pooing such a famous work of art. “I thought you liked small paintings?”
He stepped closer, crowding me against the window with his larger frame.
“I like art that gives me the sense I’m witnessing the muse at work through their chosen vessel.
I want to be bursting with light and awe when I look at a true masterpiece, as opposed to feeling as if I’m supposed to feel something. ”
Jesus. Christ.
I wished I could either pass through the glass behind me and fall to the cobblestones below or somehow meld my soul with his so I could understand how someone saw the world the way he did.
“I have… never felt that way about anything,” I mumbled, dying for a drink—water, alcohol, battery acid, him—while realizing what I’d just said might be a lie.
“Perhaps you simply haven’t discovered what inspires you yet,” he murmured, lowering his head and brushing his lips over the skin behind my ear, making me shudder.
“Giano…” I warned, although exactly who the warning was for was unclear.
Luckily—or unluckily—his phone rang, causing him to sigh and step backward while retrieving it from his pocket. His frown deepened as he looked at the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello, Franz…”
Of course.
I wasn’t too upset about the interruption, since it gave me a moment to think and stuff down the fight-or-flight instincts I could feel wanting to come out.
Mostly flight.
Don’t run, don’t run, don’t run.
“What?” Giano snapped, clearly annoyed by whatever Daddy Pinstripes was saying. “No, you don’t need to—I’m… I’m not alone here. Rowen is with me…”
Except I don’t count.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We are headed elsewhere tomorrow to speak to Rowen’s contact and I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to—”
“Franz can come,” I interrupted loudly, deciding to throw another wrench into things, because that’s how I rolled. “Tell him to meet us in Florence.”
Giano’s thick eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Um… Rowen says it’s fine for you to join us in Florence.” Another sigh as he turned his back to me and added, quietly, “Because he’s in charge.”
Damn right, I am.
My “contact” might not be too pleased about the additional guest, but he would just have to deal with it. If Franz wanted to poke his nose into my—our—business, then he was going to learn things that would make him question his entire art appraiser career.
I can’t wait to ruin his life.
Giano sighed again once he hung up, but his smile was soft. “Be nice to Franz, please. He’s like an older brother to me.”
I sniffed. “I will if he starts being nice to me first.”
Compromise.
The wannabe peacemaker observed me for another moment before his smile grew. “I know exactly where to take you. St. Peter’s Basilica.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why? You think I’ll get inspired by religion.”
Giano threw his head back and laughed, making that concerning tightness show up in my chest again. “Not at all, but you will like how everything is dripping in gold.”
Sigh.
He really gets me.
“And the Colosseum?” I teased. “I wanna get inspired by the thought of hot, half-naked men fighting for their lives.”
He chuckled. “Whatever you want, Ro.”
I let the random nickname go, because we were in this shit together at this point. And when he reached for my hand, I obeyed with minimal fuss, because it meant I got to touch him without looking needy.
And if he wants to let me eat his ass again, I won’t say no.
Whatever I want.