Page 5 of Knot a Thief

Ava

Two years later

This place is disgustingly rich.

I adjust my oversized sunglasses, pushing them higher on my nose as I pretend to read the glossy magazine spread across the wrought-iron table.

I absently trace my fingers around the rim of my cappuccino cup—not really—I’m doing it while I glance around at what I can steal.

“Looking good, sweetheart.” Seb’s voice crackles through the nearly invisible earpiece nestled in my ear. “How’s your view?”

I resist the urge to smile, keeping my face carefully neutral as I murmur, “Crystal clear. The birds are tweeting.”

Just in case someone intercepts our very secure line, we talk in code. ‘Birds’ is our code for the wealthy marks who are dripping in jewels or ‘tweeting.’ Jewelry we’ve come here to liberate.

Around me, the bustling streets of Monaco pulse with pre-race excitement: the chatter of spectators and the distant roar of engines.

The air crackles with anticipation.

A Bugatti Chiron, its sleek black body gleaming in the Mediterranean sun, pulls up outside the hotel opposite. The purr of its engine draws the attention of everyone nearby.

As the butterfly doors swing open, I can’t help but lean forward slightly, curiosity piqued.

A tall, elegant woman emerges first, her stilettos clicking against the pavement. She’s draped in Versace. I saw the same dress on the Paris catwalk. But it’s not the dress but the necklace adorning her neck that really catches my eye. The string of diamonds that glitter around her throat is a stunning piece, and it looks like it could easily fund our life for the next year.

“Seb,” I murmur, knowing he’ll pick it up through the comm, “we’ve got a songbird wearing quite the tweet.”

“Roger that,” his voice crackles in my ear. “Any sign of a nest?”

“The hotel I’m staring at.” I glance up, letting him see the name of the hotel via the camera on the arm of my glasses.

“Okay, give me five minutes,” he says.

Seb will now hack into the hotel camera and get the number of the nest.

A man steps out from the driver’s side of the Bugatti. Despite being older, silver-haired, he has the confident air of someone used to having his way.

His suit probably costs more than most people make in a year, but it’s the watch on his wrist that draws my attention. A Rolex that I know will cost a fortune. Not as much as the car he drives–but enough to know there’s a lot more in his nest.

“Oh and Seb,” I breathe, a smile tugging at my lips. “The nest is looking very cozy. Full to the brim, I expect. We need that room number.”

“I’m on it.”

I watch as the couple makes their way into the hotel, already mentally cataloging their valuables and potential security measures.

This is the reason we’re here, after all.

The thrill of the hunt, the challenge of outsmarting those who think their wealth makes them untouchable.

I can feel the vibrations through the soles of my feet before I hear the roar of engines being warmed up. The sounds echoing off the buildings, and punctuated by the enthusiastic chatter of tourists and locals alike.

I turn a page in my magazine, using the motion to scan the crowd again.

That’s when I see him.

A newspaper is folded under his armpit as he strides into the café like he owns it—and for all I know, he might.

His hair is dark, almost black. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and has a jawline that could cut glass.

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