The trip back to my apartment is much faster at this time of night. Time is short before Mia needs to have the car returned to the lot, but she parks and comes up just so we can both enjoy the stolen fruit of our labor together.
As soon as we’re behind closed doors, I kick off my shoes and head to the refrigerator to grab us a bottle of wine for our traditional toast, while Mia takes our spoils to the work table where we have a microscope setup. I can’t wait to see the antique gems up close and personal.
I haven’t returned yet when Mia’s short, “Uh… Houston, we have a problem,” shakes my mood.
Part of me had been waiting for this. The job seemed too easy.
“What?” I rush back to her, waiting for her to explain.
Instead of answering, she holds out a small business card with type written words on it to camouflage the author’s penmanship.
V,
I had a feeling this one would interest you. At least you aren’t empty handed.
A
What. The. Fuck. I look up for clarification just as Mia looks up from the microscope, lifting the tiara as she does.
“Total fake. Fucking cubic zirconia and other manufactured shit,” she says.
“How the fuck did he pull this off? I know he wasn’t at the party tonight,” I argue.
“That only means he snatched it before the party. They moved to New York months ago. He could have taken it long ago,” she offers. I hear the anger in her voice.
But I know she’s wrong. Atlas stole the tiara sometime this last week. After I beat him to the painting.
After I left him my note.
Mia practically throws the worthless bauble to the counter as her rage grows.
“This fucking vendetta the two of you have going against each other is getting old. I didn’t sign up to be part of a pissing contest. There are plenty of marks in this city. I don’t need this kind of bullshit competition.”
Her anger is justified, but it is a fraction of what I’m feeling. I’m tired of having to fight for every little scrap I can get with a man who was literally handed the keys to the kingdom when he turned twenty-one. How dare he mess with my livelihood.
“Don’t worry about Atlas,” I offer. “I can handle him.”
“Well, you damn well better or you’ll need to start looking for another business partner. This is the last job I lose to him,” Mia says, stomping off before slamming the door to my apartment closed behind her.
I know she needs to return the car and I’m grateful to be left in peace. I use the silence to plot out my revenge on Atlas Giannopoulos.
Chapter Five
ATLAS
“Your father would have taken this job without hesitation.”
“Well, my father is no longer doing the heavy lifting. I am. And I’m telling you it’s a fool’s mission. There is no way to pull it off without getting caught or killed. The answer is no,” I tell Jar Omar, a collector from Morocco.
This isn’t a man I want to do business with for multiple reasons, one being he’s ruthless and known to kill employees who fuck up without waiting for them to get an excuse out of their mouths. He’s also a super tech billionaire, and I hate men like him. Their high intelligence makes them believe they are better than everyone else and they have no limits. They surround themselves with yes men, and I’m as far from one of those as one could get.
I sip my bourbon as I break eye contact with the man to take in the New York scenery from The Rooftop at The Whitney. I didn’t even want to agree to this meeting to begin with, but he’s staying at The Whitney—the same as me—and there is no way to avoid having contact with him. Plus, my father ran off to do some networking in Greece which leaves me to do the meeting part of the job. This is usually his domain. I much prefer to work behind the scenes and make shit happen than playing nice with rich madmen who want to own the world.
“You’re being too cautious. Anyone can do it,” he says, snapping my attention back to him.
“Then you do it,” I counter with a shrug. “If it’s so easy, you don’t need me.”
“We are all experts in our own field. I’m not asking you to hack into a computer system, or to conduct corporate espionage. I’m trying to contract you to do what you are good at. What you are supposed to be the best at.”
“I am the best. Which is why I am telling you this job is not the one. The security is too much, too complicated, and too dangerous. I know what is smart, and this isn’t it.”
“Word is out that you’re hungry to get your hands on new paintings, and—”