A/N: So I finally bought Heist Society yesterday, and I just couldn't stop reading it. It was soo good! Though, I haven't compared it to the Gallagher Girl books, but both are definitely at the top of my list of faves. While reading Chapter 36, I couldn't help but wonder: What did Arturo Taccone think when he stepped into the apartment, only to be ambushed by Interpol? Anyways, enjoy :)


The apartment greeted Arturo Taccone with a musky smell and a cloud of dust as he strode in, five priceless masterpieces awaiting him. He chuckled softly as he took a good look at the Degas, The Raphael, the Renoir, and the Vermeer. He always knew he liked Katarina Bishop. The girl had style.

But one was missing - the Monet. In its place was an unfamiliar statue he had never set his eyes on before in his life. He should have known then, that perhaps Katarina Bishop was a bit more clever than he originally thought.

Or maybe he should have known eleven days ago, when she had stood, sopping wet in his private study, and offered to steal his paintings back. Or maybe two weeks ago, when they had first encountered each other in Paris. Even the ominous rainstorm should have given him the slightest inkling that something was going to go wrong.

But Katarina Bishop tricked him. She beat him, fair and square. Arturo Taccone knew that when he heard the uneven footsteps of two dozen Interpol officers rushing in to make an arrest.

The dumbfounded man turned his back away from the paintings that he would never own. He stood and watched the door. This would be the last time he underestimated Katarina - he knew that well.

"Put your hands where I can see them!" A hundred deep voices seemed to boom at once. Taccone, dazed and amazed, did not hesitate to comply. He scarcely registered that he was going to jail until a pair of handcuffs was slapped onto his wrists. He did not even snap at the two officers who wrinkled his suit as they led him away from the apartment and out on to the street.

His eyes quickly scanned the crowd in a frenzied search for the small, dark-haired girl who had singlehandedly ruined his reputation.

Like mother, like daughter, he thought to himself miserably as he was unceremoniously dumped in a nearby police car. He had been thinking a lot about the talented woman he often heard about over the years. Ever since he had the pleasure of meeting her spawn.

He should have known better than to tangle with a thief, that thief in particular.

Watching the rest of Paris go by, he hardly listened as the officer in the passenger seat read him his rights. He would argue his way out of this somehow. For once, he actually considered telling the truth. But who believe that he had been deceived by a group of children? There were only a few things life never prepared him for, and this was one of them.

People watched them drive by with an intensified amount of curiosity. Who was that wealthy Italian in the backseat and why was he being detained?

Irritated by the Parisians' prying eyes, the wealthy Italian pressed his back further into the cool, dark leather. It was no use. In a few hours, the entire world will know who he was and connect his name to the crime he did not commit. Not directly, at least. But they would never know the full story, and he doubted they would buy it.

He had never felt so much like a victim in his life. And failure did not sit well with him.

Thinking back to Katarina Bishop's family and how they managed to delude him, the man in the police car sighed in defeat.

Arturo Taccone had just been conned.