Page 9 of The One-Night Heist

She’d turned to fully face me at that point, pinning me in place with her infamously assessing stare. “Oh, I understand what you’re saying, Giancarlo, but you are not understanding me. All of this…” Mother had paused to gesture at the opulence of her master suite. “All the privileges that you enjoy as a Luxford… must stay within the family. How do you suppose that will happen if there are no future generations to sustain our legacy?”

I’d been only twenty-two years old at the time, freshly graduated from the Harvard Business School’s MBA program with a family business all lined up for me—whether I wanted it or not. The last thing I was thinking about was a marriage and kids on top of the life path I didn’t ask for. If I hadn’t been so young, or so blindsided by what I was hearing, I might have been better equipped to present my case. Then again, I already knew better than to argue with the very person who held my future—held my legacy—in her hands.

Her legacy.

“Just… toe the line, darling,” she’d added, sounding uncharacteristically tired as she returned her attention to applying the layers of cosmetic armor she wore for her evenings out. “For the family.”

She’d practically spat that last vitriolic remark, but I was already halfway out the door, headed to my private quarters on the top floor to scream where no one could hear me.

That occurred over a decade ago, and for all intents and purposes, I’d outwardly “toed the line” ever since. Even when my life tipped on its axis for a second time, l’d played my part for appearance’s sake. Whenever Mother reminded me it had been too long since I’d been seen out and about, I made the rounds, ensuring I was photographed with a supermodel or socialite to keep the rumor mill happy.

The only thing I was still proud of was how I hadn’t verbally promised to meet my mother’s unreasonable demands. I still visited a high-end gay sex club where the staff were discreet, and I took great pleasure in fucking whichever escorts I wanted in comped rooms at my family’s hotel. These tiny rebellions kept me going while I waited for things to change.

What a fool I was.

Mother had the last laugh in the end. Even after death, she’d still figured out how to back me into a corner.

“Very well,” I replied to Franz, resigned to my fate as the gracious host. “Let’s arrange this… viewing party.”

“I’ll make some calls, Giano.” Franz’s tone was sympathetic, although he blessedly kept the conversation moving. “With the auction being less than two months from now, you’ll need to host this party as soon as possible. An event planner I know owes me a favor… She’s in fairly high demand, but if I can tell her to ‘spare no expense⁠—’”

“Spare no expense,” I growled, because I wouldn’t have to.

Per the terms of the trust.

“You got it,” he smoothly continued. “She can also arrange for a press release. Get Page Six and Sunday Styles to send reporters to cover the event.”

I closed my eyes and rested my elbows on the desk, exhausted despite not being the one doing any work. “I wish I wasn’t so useless…”

Why would I say that out loud?!

“You’re not useless.” he interjected sternly. “You’re just no longer fulfilling the use you were previously used for.”

Humiliating tears pricked my eyelids, and I had never been more thankful to not be on a video call in all my life.

“Thank you, Franz,” I managed to choke out in a semi-steady tone. “I owe you one.”

He chuckled warmly. “My retainer fee is more than enough to cover friendship services.”

Now I wished he could see me, if only to witness my eye roll. “Yes, well, please continue offering your expertise in that area.”

Thank you.

“Always,” he replied before pausing. “And on that note, feel free to invite whoever you want. This is your party after all.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but I appreciated the sentiment regardless. It wasn’t until after we’d said our goodbyes and my gaze fell on Rowen’s business card again that I realized I now had the perfect excuse to contact the object of my obsession.

Another tiny rebellion.

Just for me.

Four

Rowen

Squinting up at the towering building blocking out the moonlight, I took another drag of my cigarette and counted the floors, trying to determine if I was headed to the penthouse tonight or not.

Do these older buildings skip the 13th floor?