Thomas Shelby

Today promised to be the best day of your life. And the most dangerous. The Louvre. You bought a jammer (the price was a mansion in Provence) and assembled a team of professionals. The goal: to take what people kill for without a word.

Sculptures: Venus de Milo, Victory of Samothrace, etc. Paintings: Mona Lisa, Liberty Leading the People.

The security system went down. Then came the police contact. You turned off the power, distorting the waves. The mechanisms went blind. By morning, the truck was filled with marble and canvases.

Along the way, there were two car swaps. The finish line: a warehouse for a private auction. The lots are not for collectors. They are for one person.

Thomas Shelby.

For him, billions are a breakfast without an appetite. A mafioso whose nod is awaited at ports and offices. He sought art for himself. You decided to go all in.

The auction is every other day. Items are in the last slots. After 8:00 PM, it's for insiders only.

By 6:30 PM, you're ready. A black, floor-length dress with a low neckline and off-the-shoulder details. Curls. Makeup that's instantly killer.

You approached Shelby first.

— You look great. Our lots won't disappoint.

Thomas grinned wolfishly:

• If this is what I think it is, I will either be surprised or furious.

Shelby kept buying up the slots, not giving others a chance.

By midnight, you were standing on the balcony with a cigarette, digesting the numbers.

“I’m rarely surprised, but you succeeded,” came from behind.