Page 6 of The Picasso Heist

ANTON NIKOLOV KEEPS me waiting in his den for over a half hour. I really do have to pee now.

Also, I’m not sure if this room qualifies as a den.

Doesn’t a den need to have a television?

This room doesn’t, although it does have some couches and armchairs.

It’s too small to be a living room, especially in a mansion like this, and it can’t be an office or a library because there’s no desk and not a single book in sight.

The American dream, it occurs to me, is having more rooms in your house than there are names for.

Finally, I hear a different voice in the hall. Everything about it—the tone, the pitch, even the pacing—tells me that it’s the boss. The only thing I can’t tell is what Anton Nikolov is actually saying to his right-hand man, Blaggy.

Maybe it’s that he wants to talk to me alone. Two sets of footsteps get louder and louder, but only one pair of feet comes into the room.

“You’re a girl,” says Nikolov, taking a seat in the armchair opposite me on the couch. “And you’re young.”

I’m immediately thinking of Blaggy’s one piece of advice, that I should shut up until spoken to, and I’m wondering if this qualifies as being spoken to. Nikolov might simply be talking to himself—not that he’s mumbling. It’s that same strong, deep, and deliberate voice I heard out in the hall.

I err on the side of caution and remain silent. It’s the right call. “Good,” he says, nodding. “No smart-ass comeback.”

At some point during the day Nikolov might have been wearing a suit, but the jacket’s off now, as is the tie; the button-down collar of his blue dress shirt is open, exposing a gold chain with a cross and the outer edge of a large chest tattoo that looks to be the Bulgarian equivalent of Japanese irezumi, given the attention to detail.

It all makes sense in a contradictory sort of way.

Nikolov is a rich man with a hard past, one he makes no attempt to conceal and yet doesn’t dwell on, if you believe the few interviews he’s given over the years.

He likes his privacy but is a regular on the charity-gala circuit.

He also likes to challenge those in his orbit, whether it’s the people on his payroll or those who wish to do business with him.

So it’s no surprise that he’s testing me.

Now comes the difficult part: convincing him that my plan is viable and something he wants a piece of.

Nikolov extends his hand toward me, palm open. I’ve officially been spoken to, and now I have the floor.

You’ll only get one shot at this, Halston.

Don’t blow it.