Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Rowen
I’d only been half-joking when I said we shouldn’t arrive at Mick’s after dark, but I hadn’t expected my foster brother to be cheerfully waiting for us on the sidewalk when we pulled up at his Florence studio.
“Well, look what the mangy cat dragged in…” his goofy grin filled my rolled-down window, the diamond inlay of his gold tooth catching the light. “What have you been up to, carrots? Collecting sugar daddies?”
Just one, thank you very much.
“How ‘bout you get the fuck out of the way so we can exit the vehicle,” I grumbled, annoyed he’d brought up my childhood nickname. “Then you can meet everyone.”
The “everyone” included Franz at this point, who we’d picked up at the airport after his boring old commercial flight got in.
Along with the other peasants.
Giano looked like he was having the time of his life as he emerged from the car after me, but Daddy Pinstripes made sure to shoot me yet another glare as he followed close behind.
Right back atcha.
I wasn’t sure what Franz’s problem was—besides the obvious—but he’d refused to address me directly since he landed, which was fine by me.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re pretty!” Mick shouted as the car drove off, and I growled, ready to tell him to back the hell off from my billionaire.
Until I realized he was talking about Franz.
Oh.
Oh, this is hilarious.
“Have you ever sat for an artist before?” he continued, stalking around the other man like a much larger predator circling its prey. “You know… art modeling?”
“I…” Daddy Pinstripes flinched as Mick flicked his fedora away from his face for a closer look. “My… mother was an art model, but I—”
“That settles it.” Mick nodded and stepped back, crossing his arms and continuing to look him up and down appraisingly. “You’ll sit for me and I’ll let ya keep one of the paintings. Maybe even one of the nude ones.”
I am living for this.
“Franz here is a fine art appraiser for Sotheby’s New York.” Giano smiled politely as he offered his hand to my foster brother. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mick. I’m Giancarlo Luxford.”
“Ohhh, so this is Luxford.” Mick winked lecherously in my direction as they shook hands, just to piss me off. “Well done, carrots.”
Franz was back to glaring at me, but Giano just seemed amused by the commentary, which made sense.
He puts up with my bullshit after all.
“Is that nickname an Anne of Green Gables reference?” Giano asked, surprising the hell out of me.
“Sure is!” Mick cackled, his gray eyes sparkling.
“My little sister Lucy rewatched that show so many times, the VCR caught on fire.” He cocked his head, his shaggy brown hair falling into his eye.
“Did you have an Avonlea-obsessed sister too? Or were you watching for that hot slab of Canadian bacon, Gilbert Blythe?”
Franz turned his glare in Mick’s direction, no doubt ready to defend his “little brother” against homophobia, or whatever he thought was about to come out of the gold-toothed mouth of the meathead before us.
Guess what, Daddy Pinstripes.
There is nothing heterosexual about Mick in the least.
“No siblings, and it was the books, mostly.” Giano blushed prettily, confirming his answer to Mick’s second question. “I enjoyed the… whimsy.”
Just when I thought you couldn’t get any cuter.
The terrible urge to kiss Giano reared its ugly head again, but then Mick threw his head back and guffawed loudly, saving me from doing something stupid.
“Okay, Luxford, you’re approved. Carrots could use some fucking whimsy in his life.” He violently slapped me on the back with one of his huge mitts. “You work too hard, bro.”
I sighed, already regretting this family reunion. “A man’s gotta eat, bro, and not all of us are unfairly blessed with God-given talent.”
Hence, why we’re here.
Mick snorted. “You’re good at what you do, Rowen…” His shifty eyes drifted to the others. “Finding stolen art and shit.”
Nice save, bro.
“Yes, that’s why we’re here,” Franz urgently segued, as the only one present not in the know about the job. “Mr. Luxford’s collection has been stolen and we have it under good authority that the art is here in Italy.”
We sure do.
Mick smirked, eye-fucking our clueless companion for a good ten seconds before glancing at me. When I subtly nodded, confirming we were good to continue with the plan I’d texted him earlier today, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“All right. Let’s head upstairs for an aperitivo before we go get some dinner. You buyin’, Luxford?” Giano nodded, his lips twisting with a smile and The Mick Show continued with signature chaos. “Whose bag is this?”
We all looked down at the lone carry-on suitcase the driver had unloaded from the car before speeding off.
“That’s… mine.” Franz cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “I came directly from the airport and haven’t checked into my hotel yet—”
“Nah, you can just crash here.” Mick lifted the suitcase with one hand mid-turn before unnecessarily kicking open the door to his building. “I hope you pretty boys are in shape. It’s five flights up!”
I snickered openly at Franz’s helpless expression as we all followed the leader through the darkened doorway and up the narrow staircase.
I’d originally insisted we come here first to mildly inconvenience ol’ Daddy Pinstripes, but him getting licked and claimed by my unhinged foster brother was an even better scenario.
He can keep him.
Apparently, the “pretty boys” were both in excellent shape, as I seemed to be the only one winded by the time we got to the top, but I knew the payout was going to be worth it.
Revenge shall be mine.
“Home sweet fucking home!” Mick kicked open his apartment door as well, because why open it like a normal person? “Welcome to my Florenzer paradise.”
For as ridiculous as my foster brother was, he wasn’t lying about the “paradise” part. I couldn’t think of anything better than living in a laid-back European city, doing exactly as I pleased and making bank in the process.
Add in a hot billionaire with a tasty ass and I’d be golden.
Wait…
What am I thinking?!
“I know what you’re thinking…” Mick chuckled, and for a moment, I wondered if he’d gone psychic. “How can a starving artist like me afford a place like this?”
“With such a view…” Franz murmured, forgetting to be salty long enough to approach the window. “Is that Brunelleschi’s Dome?”
“You got it, pretty boy!” Mick crowed, joining Franz at the glass. “I get to gaze upon the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore every freakin’ day. Wait ‘til you see the view from the bedroom upstairs.”
“I’m not…” Daddy Pinstripes weakly protested before trailing off, probably already knowing his fate was sealed. “Have you heard anything about Mr. Luxford’s art? Time is of the essence and we need to know where to find it—”
“Not here, that’s for sure,” Mick replied, which was the truth.
“It’s all right, Franz,” Giano soothed, glancing at me worriedly. “Mick is going to ask around his network to determine if anyone has seen my collection.”
“Oh, I bet I know someone who’s seen it all right,” my idiot foster brother winked at me behind Franz’s back before throwing an arm around the poor man’s shoulders and pulling him close. “But lemme show ya some of my recent work first.”
Here we go.
Mick practically dragged Daddy Pinstripes down the hallway and I moved to follow, but Giano yanked me toward him instead.
“I told you, I didn’t want Franz to find out,” he hissed in my ear, and I’d be lying if I said his angry tone didn’t get me going.
“He won’t, Moneybags, chill.” I patted his cheek, my gaze dropping to his tasty lips for no good goddamn reason. “Mick just likes to play.”
“Like you do?” he snapped, and I dropped my hand, realizing he wasn’t playing anymore.
Ruh-roh.
“Giano!” Franz called out from deeper in Mick’s lair, and my billionaire’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, my God.”
I swear, if Mick started a striptease…
Giano strode down the hallway, leaving me to hustle to catch up. When we reached their location—his art studio—I saw what was making Franz lose his shit.
Mick’s annoying as fuck, God-given talent.
“It’s completely to scale, too.” My foster brother leaned against the wall with a smug expression as Franz gaped at the enormous canvas.
“I couldn’t even tell ya how many hours I’ve spent staring at the Botticellis in the Uffizi.
” He goddamn winked at me again. “Management lets me in for free since I’ve helped them out with a few things over the years. ”
I bet you have.
“It’s Primavera!” Franz exclaimed, apparently Mick’s biggest fan now. “I remember seeing the original with my father when I was younger.”
“Your old man’s an art lover?” Mick cocked his head, zeroing in on his prey once again.
Daddy Pinstripes grinned, and even I had to admit he was kind of pretty when he stopped scowling.
Not as pretty as my man, though.
Ugh, Rowen, stop…
“My father owns a famous gallery in New York City…” Franz mused, examining the artwork from inches away. “Inspired after this very painting, coincidentally.” He glanced at Mick over his shoulder. “Do you show anywhere?”
My foster brother shrugged, that smug-as-shit expression still fixed on his face. “I don’t need to. My patrons keep me busy, like with Primavera here—my most recent commission. Just need to get it framed to match the one in the Uffizi and poof, it’ll be gone.”
Franz turned to face him, back to his signature frown. “You were commissioned to reproduce Primavera?” His gaze wandered around the chaotic room, taking in the full scope of Mick’s suspiciously familiar work. “You… only create reproductions?”
Mick pushed off the wall. “You could say that.”
I watched with immense pleasure as realization washed over Franz’s sometimes pretty face.
That’s right, Daddy Pinstripes.
You’re in the presence of a master.
By the time I’d joined Mick and Lucy’s household when I was pre-teen, our foster parents had already figured out he had talent. This meant art classes and competitions, and once Mick realized he could make money with nothing but a paintbrush, our little shell game was left in the dust.
It hadn’t taken long after that for Mick to figure out the real money was in forgeries, so the next logical thing was to bring me on board to lift the art in the first place.
Quickest fingers in the business.
With Lucy’s ability to hack into nearly any security system, we were a sought after team, but over the years, we’d each forged our own path—pun intended.
I stayed in New York, Lucy landed in Tokyo, and Mick settled down in Florence where he had no shortage of wealthy patrons who sometimes doubled as fuck buddies.
“You’re an art forger…” Franz murmured, the emotions on his face a delightful cocktail of devastation and fascination.
“Okay!” I clapped my hands together, eager to get this show on the road. “Who’s ready for a drink? Then we can discuss where we’re—”
“We’re leaving,” Giano growled, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, making me freeze in a way I’d never experienced before.
Well, shit.
I normally didn’t allow others to manhandle me—or truly top me—because that meant giving up control to someone else.
There had never been anyone I trusted enough for that, which was why even the slightest show of dominance coming from someone else usually had me going into fight or flight mode real quick.
Mostly fight.
But this…
“Franz, you can stay with us,” Giano continued, tightening his grip, and it was all I could do not to moan. “I reserved two adjoining suites, so Rowen can simply—”
“I’ll be fine staying here,” Franz replied, his gaze still locked on Mick and his expression leaning more toward fascination than before. “Let’s all catch up tomorrow for brunch.”
Mick licked his lips and grinned like the devil himself. “Sounds good to me. I’ll text ya where to meet us, carrots. Now, scram.”
Uhhh…
I didn’t get the chance to reply before Giano was dragging me back through the apartment, down the stairs, and out onto the street below.
All without saying a single word.
Fuck.
I fucked up.
The lust bled out of me—well, most of it did—leaving unfamiliar regret in its wake. I’d been so single-mindedly focused on making Franz angry, I hadn’t considered that Giano might catch some strays during the big reveal.
“Be nice to Franz, please.”
Be nice to Franz… for him.
Old Rowen wouldn’t have given a shit about any of that.
To Old Rowen, Giancarlo Luxford was nothing but a job, and once I’d returned his precious art and collected my cut, I could leave this bazillionaire and his hurt feelings far behind me.
Unfortunately, that was no longer good enough for who I now was.
I didn’t want to leave Giano behind after the job was done, and I definitely didn’t want to see him hurting because of something I did.
I need to make this right.
The uncomfortable—slightly horny—silence continued in the cab back to the hotel, in the elevator headed up to our adjoining suites, long enough that I couldn’t take it anymore. When Giano turned away to open his door, I grabbed his forearm, forcing him to stop and look at me.
“I’m…” I swallowed thickly, muscling the words out through sheer will. “I’m sorry, Giano.”
Please forgive me.
He stared at me for a long, tense moment, his perfect face that impenetrable mask I hated.
“Very well.” He swung the door wide and gestured for me to enter. “Let’s talk about what you did. Then you can show me how sorry you are.”