Page 72 of The One-Night Heist

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.