Page 56 of The One-Night Heist

I trust him.

Despite everything, including common sense, I trusted this longtime art thief and self-proclaimed con man. I knew exactly how foolish that sounded on paper, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe the worst of Rowen, especially as I had the feeling it was what most people who encountered him did.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as Scott pulled away from the curb, suddenly incredibly aware of the butt plug I’d obediently kept in place, just like he’d told me to.

While knowing full well that a bombshell was about to drop…

By the time the car stopped in front of my building, I’d messaged Rowen via Signal at least a dozen times, with no reply. While this wasn’t surprising, it was incredibly frustrating given the current circumstances. It also meant I needed to resort to actions he’d get annoyed with in turn.

Too bad.

More desperate measures.

I barely acknowledged Robert’s greeting as I strode through the lobby, clenching my jaw as Rowen’s generic voicemail tauntingly played in my ear. It took three times of me calling back before he finally picked up, and by then my self-control was hanging on by a frayed thread.

“Why exactly are you calling me, Giancarlo?”

The use of my full name—more so than his detached tone and how he’d made me chase him for the barest of acknowledgments—was what finally made me snap.

“What the hell happened back there?” I hissed as the penthouse elevator let me off at the 29th floor.

There was no reply from the other end of the line, and I wished I could see his face—for many reasons, but mostly to determine whether the silence was because of shock over my tone or because he was closing himself off as usual.

Not this time.

I won’t allow it.

“Oh, is that what you’re upset about?” he asked with what sounded like a relieved laugh. “I take it you’re not home yet…”

“I am now,” I huffed, stomping into my apartment and up to the second floor to hang up my coat. “Franz sent me home so he could handle the aftermath while I rested⁠—”

“Maybe you should,” he abruptly interrupted, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “Rest, I mean. In your bedroom. On the 31st floor.”

What is he going on about?

“Rest is the last thing I would be capable of right now,” I muttered, heading for my study next. “I think you should come over so we can talk.”

I need you here.

Silence again, followed by a shaky exhale. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Giancarlo⁠—”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I snapped, flinging open the door and continuing my march across the room before collapsing in my desk chair with an aggravated sigh. “Why are you behaving like this is just business?”

I knew it was a foolish thing to say, especially to someone as notoriously skittish as him, but I was also tired of pretending I didn’t feel Rowen’s absence when he wasn’t around—or when he disappeared behind the seemingly unscalable walls he’d built around himself.

Please, let me in.

“Why are you pretending it isn’t exactly that?” he barked, the way his voice hitched with emotion sending an illicit thrill down my spine. “Business generally involves one party hiring another to complete a job. That’s what we’re doing. That’s what’s going on here. That’s. All.”

That’s a lie and you know it.

It may have seemed delusional for me to believe this man felt what I did, especially when he’d promised me nothing from the start. Yet, I instinctively knew it was true, in the same way I once knew Poppy #5—and now Rowen—were destined to be mine.

Hoping to lower my rising blood pressure, I glanced at the far wall, only to have the rug ripped out from under me for the second time in one day.

Poppy #5 was gone.

Both the canvas and the simple gold frame I’d had custom made for my most prized possession had been removed from its place of honor, with only the mounting hardware left gleaming in the fading sunlight pouring through my window. And I knew exactly who was responsible.