Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Serena
A sleek, black Volvo SUV pulled up to the curb, its dark windows reflecting the setting sun and city lights. I smoothed down the red skirt and black satin tank top I’d purchased that afternoon from the consignment shop. Nerves and anticipation tingled in my stomach as I stepped out of the hotel lobby, the cool evening air brushing my bare shoulders.
I had expected Anton to emerge from the vehicle, his usual confidence on full display, but when the door opened, it wasn’t his face I saw. A driver I didn’t recognize came around the car.
He stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, the sharp lines of his suit doing nothing to hide the solid frame beneath. His hair was dark but just beginning to gray at the temples, a subtle sign of experience rather than age. Broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and eyes that missed nothing made him look like a man who had spent years standing between danger and the people who paid him .
He offered me a stiff nod.
“Serena Martinelli?” he asked, his expression carefully neutral.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“My name is Zeke Kristof. I’m here to take you to Mr. Romano. Right this way, please.”
Disappointment flickered through me, sharper than I wanted to admit. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted Anton’s onyx gaze on me. I loved the way his eyes lingered just long enough, even if it made me feel ambiguous in a maddening sort of way.
Zeke opened the back door, and I climbed into the car. Settling back against the buttery leather seats, I absently stared out at the buildings as Zeke merged into the traffic. The quiet purr of the engine and the smooth glide of the SUV should have been calming, but my pulse only quickened as I began thinking about the whole purpose of this dinner tonight.
Anton said he wanted a month with me, but he’d also hinted at an alternative option. I didn’t know what it might be, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a game to him—keeping me waiting, letting the anticipation build until I didn’t know whether I was more frustrated or turned on by his machinations.
So lost in thought, I hadn’t realized we’d arrived at our destination until Zeke climbed out of the Volvo. He rounded the vehicle to open my door, his movements crisp and professional.
“Ma’am,” he said politely, offering a hand to help me out. I accepted it, letting him guide me to the curb.
I looked up as Zeke escorted me to the main entrance of the restaurant. Krystina’s Place arched in an elegant font over the door. I took a deep breath, my nerves tightening with every step. I didn’t know what to expect once inside.
Would Anton be there to greet me?
Or would I sit alone at a table waiting for him to appear?
A little voice in my head whispered that this was stupid, and I shouldn’t be here. I wasn’t even sure why I’d agreed to this night in the first place. When I thought back, I was pretty sure I hadn’t. Yet, somehow, here I was. This was more than just dinner with an insanely handsome and wealthy man—it was the dance, the chase, the electric tension that had me craving more, even when I knew I should be guarding everything that I was.
Once I was inside, Zeke retreated to the vehicle and I was left alone. Looking around, I took stock of my surroundings. The restaurant was all polished mahogany wood with low, amber lighting. The only sounds were the murmur of voices blending with subtle piano music and the soft clink of glassware. The air was thick with the rich scent of truffle oil, garlic, and fresh bread. The vibe was luxury layered with just a hint of intimacy.
“May I help you?”
I refocused my attention on the attractive man standing before me. He had olive skin and thick dark hair. His smile was easy, but there was mischief in his eyes that added to his devilishly handsome appearance.
“Um, yes. My name is Serena Martinelli. I’m here to meet?—”
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted. “I am Matteo Donati, the restaurant owner. Pleased to meet you. Your dining partner is expecting you. Please follow me.”
I frowned.
Dining partner?
Matteo didn’t elaborate and I wasn’t given the chance to ask for clarification since he’d already turned away. I had little choice but to follow him.
His broad frame cut a path through the warmly lit room as he offered a charming smile to everyone he passed. When he came to a stop at a doorway, he extended his arm to me.
“ Mia signora ,” he said, his voice smooth. I took his arm, and he led me deeper into the restaurant, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor as we moved away from the bustle of the main dining area and toward the back of the building. My heart pounded a little faster with each step, anticipation winding tight inside me.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy velvet curtain separated the dining room from beyond. Matteo paused, his hand on the thick fabric, glancing down at me with a knowing smile before he pulled it aside. Behind the curtain was a private dining area meant only for the privileged few, deliberately created to avoid prying eyes.
And there he was—Anton.
He stood when he saw me, backlit by the soft flicker of candlelight. My breath caught. He was dressed in a dark suit that was tailored to perfection, the crisp lines a stark contrast to the raw power he always carried around with him. His onyx eyes found mine immediately, sharp and intense, sending a rush of heat to the apex of my thighs.
A slow, familiar smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the kind of smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing to me—how he could make my pulse jump with a single look.
“Serena,” he said, his voice low. It was like warm whiskey sliding through me until my knees felt weak. He stepped forward, reaching for me. When his fingers found mine, the touch sparked an electric jolt. Savage, carnal thoughts filled my mind.
“Anton,” I managed, my voice a little unsteady. My heart hammered in my chest. It didn’t matter what game he was playing—I’d lost the moment I’d laid eyes him. I would agree to any bargain he dared to strike, and he knew it.
“Thank you, Matteo,” Anton said after Matteo released my arm. “I appreciate you arranging the private room on short notice for me. As you can imagine, discretion is hard to come by.”
“It was no trouble at all. While I trust my staff, I’ll be your server tonight. I just received a shipment of your favorite Cabernet Sauvignon from Ornellaia. Shall I bring a bottle?”
Anton looked to me. “Is red wine okay with you? ”
“Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.”
Giving us both a short nod, Matteo rushed out, leaving me alone with Anton.
Anton came around the table set for two and pulled a chair out for me. I smiled and moved to sit down, taking in the private space around us.
The room was small and intimate, all dark wood and soft leather. Wine bottles were lined up in a glass case on the far wall, and a fire crackled in the corner. It was a world apart from the bustling city outside. Seductive and intimate, it was the kind of setting that left no room for secrets.
After Anton pushed my chair in, his hand brushed over my arm, lingering momentarily before he took his seat across from me. I wanted to seem unaffected by his touch—to match his calm and collected gaze. But I couldn’t stop the way my breath quickened or the flush that warmed my skin. That small touch was a collision of everything I’d been craving and everything I’d tried to ignore since last night.
“I apologize for not picking you up myself,” Anton said. “I figured you’d prefer it that way.”
I raised a curious eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”
“The press has begun to take an interest in me, and I’m still learning how to navigate it. While Matteo does a good job of protecting his patrons’ privacy, there’s always someone quick with a camera phone. I didn’t think you’d appreciate being featured in tabloid headlines.”
“Is that why he referred to you as my dining partner when I walked in?”
“Exactly. If the wrong person heard my name, it could bring problems later.”
As I unfolded my napkin, I caught the glint of his cufflinks—polished gold, each one set with a deep green emerald. I remembered the collection I had seen in his bedroom, neatly arranged in the velvet-lined cases .
“You collect cufflinks,” I said, angling my chin toward his wrist and watching for his reaction. “I don’t mean to pry. I just happened to notice the collection in your bedroom.”
For the briefest moment, he hesitated. Then, as if deciding not to point out my snooping, he simply nodded. “Yes. But it’s more than just an ordinary collection. Each pair has history.”
I shifted my gaze back to the jewelry on his cuffs. “Those are beautiful.”
His lips curved slightly.
“These belonged to a Hungarian count in the 1800s—legend says he lost them in a card game. The ones I wore to the Met Gala were platinum set with black diamonds.” He glanced up, meeting my gaze with quiet amusement. “They used to belong to Al Capone.”
Anton leaned back in his chair, as if waiting for my reaction to his mention of the notorious gangster. When I said nothing, his sharp and unwavering gaze landed on the ruby necklace resting below my collarbone. I reached up instinctively and glanced down to look at it. The low light of the room glinted off the deep red stone, making it sparkle even more than usual.
“That’s quite a remarkable piece. Where did you get it?” Anton asked, his voice a velvet caress that sent a shiver down my spine. It occurred to me then that I could easily listen to him talk for the rest of the night and never feel more content. It was hypnotic, unapologetic, and alluring.
My fingers brushed over the smooth, cool surface of the ruby.
“It’s on loan,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “From Madeleine, the fashion designer I introduced you to at the Gala.”
His brows lifted slightly, a hint of intrigue flashing in his eyes. “How do you know Madeleine?”
“She’s an old friend of my mother’s,” I explained, resting my elbows on the table and trying to read his expression. “She’s been very supportive of my family over the years. ”
“Supportive,” he repeated. His gaze flicked back to the necklace. “It must be quite the friendship if she’s loaning out rubies and couture.”
There it was again, that quiet, unrelenting scrutiny that made me feel both exposed and alive all at once. He wasn’t just looking at me; he was dissecting me, peeling back layers with every word.
I took a sip of water, suddenly nervous, although I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was pride. I hated that I was in a position to beg. Or perhaps it was his eyes—his gaze so potent that I sometimes found it hard to form an intelligent thought.
“She supported my father’s work. When my mother mentioned I needed help funding a dig in Rome, Madeleine stepped in. She’s always been loyal to my family.”
He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Loyalty like that doesn’t come cheap.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just a curious observation. Attending the Met Gala isn’t an affordable evening out, especially for someone short on cash as you claim to be.”
Heat rose to my cheeks, but I refused to look away from him.
“Madeleine took care of it,” I said, my voice steady. “She provided the dress, the necklace, and the ticket. She didn’t explain how, and I didn’t ask. I was just grateful for the opportunity.”
Anton’s gaze didn’t waver, his expression unreadable as he leaned forward. “Serena, do you know how much it costs to attend that event?”
I frowned, unsure if he was testing me or genuinely curious. “How much?”
“This year, tickets started at fifty thousand, capping at around seventy-five thousand.”
“Dollars? ”
“Yes.”
My eyes widened as my stomach dropped. That was obscene—a number so far removed from my reality that it might as well have been spoken in another language.
“I had no idea,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “That’s before you factor in the clothing, jewelry, and other expenses. Being that she’s a designer, she may have purchased a table, which would have lowered the ticket cost, but the difference is marginal.”
I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing.
Madeleine had spent all that—just to showcase her work?
And I hadn’t even walked the red carpet. I ran out before the cameras could get a single picture. Although I hadn’t looked, there were undoubtably pictures from the Met Gala all over social media—and most likely, I wasn’t in a single one. If I was, it was by pure accident.
I felt so foolish—and guilty. If only I could go back in time, I’d show Madeliene the depth of my gratitude.
“I can’t believe she spent so much,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. “I was too caught up in my own insecurities. It wasn’t my world. I felt out of place. And then I got sick.”
His brows furrowed and, for a moment, his carefully controlled expression slipped to reveal a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Concern? Or was it curiosity?
“I don’t know why you felt insecure. You looked the part,” he said, his voice low and steady.
He said it like it was an undeniable truth, sending a thrill through me that I quickly tamped down.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I said, forcing a smile.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze intense and probing. “Yes, they can.”
The air between us was heavy, charged with words left unspoken. He was a puzzle, each piece more abstract than the last, and I couldn’t tell if I was any closer to solving him or just getting more confused by the strategy.
“You intrigue me, Serena. You have this aura about you that I can’t explain. It makes me want to know more about you. Tell me about your upbringing. Your family, your childhood.”
The request caught me off guard. But something in the way he asked made me want to share.
“I can’t say my life was very interesting, but it wasn’t boring. My family moved around quite a bit when I was young,” I told him, tracing the rim of my water glass with my fingertip. “My father’s work took us to different countries. I don’t think we ever stayed anywhere for more than a couple of years.”
Before I could delve deeper into my childhood tales, Matteo returned with a bottle of the wine. His timing felt both fortuitous and frustrating.
“Here we are. The Ornellaia Cabernet Sauvignon,” he announced with a theatrical flourish, showcasing the bottle like a prized possession. He proceeded to expertly uncork the wine, filling our glasses with a practiced hand. The rich aroma of blackberries and oak hit my senses.
“Thank you,” I said after he placed a glass in front of me.
“ Prego .” Setting the bottle down, he began to describe the evening's specials. “We have a delightful risotto ai funghi that's been prepared with freshly foraged porcini mushrooms.”
Anton leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips as he listened to Matteo’s description of the specials. Occasionally his gaze would shift to me, a silent question dancing in the depths of his dark eyes.
“Why don't you surprise us, Matteo?” Anton said finally, his voice smooth and confident. “I’ve never gone wrong with your recommendations. What do you say, Serena? Do you trust Matteo to choose for us?”
Trust.
I seemed to be doing a lot of that when it came to Anton .
I smiled and shrugged before I could overthink it. It was only food, after all.
“Sure.”
Matteo’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and pride at being entrusted with our meal selection. He gave us a quick nod before leaving us alone once more.
I glanced at Anton. He’d said he wanted to know more about me, but I wondered how much he already knew. He was a man who thrived on control, on knowing more than anyone else in the room. And yet, as he raised his glass to mine, there was something in his eyes that told me he was just as curious about me as I was about him. I could see it in the way he watched me, his gaze holding steady as if he were trying to read every thought in my mind.
The air between us crackled with inexplicable anticipation as he studied me with an intensity that made my heart flutter. Light from the flickering fire painted his features with sort of a mesmerizing allure, accentuating the depth of his onyx eyes and the sharp angles of his jawline. The silence between us was pregnant with silent words, each moment stretching taut like a finely tuned string.
“You were telling me about your upbringing. You’d said that you moved around a lot,” Anton finally said, settling back in his chair as he returned to our previous conversation.
A small sigh escaped me as I thought back to my childhood of constant change and disruption.
“Oh, yes. There was always a dig or another great discovery to make,” I replied, my tone both weary and derisive. I didn’t want to talk about the frustration and loneliness that came with always having to start over.
“You didn’t enjoy it?” Anton asked, his dark eyes probing.
I shrugged, trying to brush off the topic.
“Not many kids like being uprooted from their friends time and time again,” I said dryly. I took a sip of the red wine, savoring the velvety richness. “But it was a long time ago. When I look back, I had a good life—even if it wasn’t ideal. What about you? Where did you grow up?”
“Now that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”
A guarded look crossed his features.
“My childhood is not something I choose to discuss,” he said firmly.
“But mine is?” I couldn't help feeling a twinge of annoyance at the double standard.
“I’m just trying to get to know you better, princess. I think it’s only fair to want to know who I’ll be giving money to.”
His words cut through me, reminding me that this wasn’t a game. I realized then that it was time to address the real reason for this dinner.
“About that,” I said, jumping on the chance to cut through the small talk. “Can we just discuss why I’m really here?”
“You don’t waste time,” he replied with amusement. “Are you ready to agree to the thirty days? I promise, one month under me, wearing nothing but that ruby necklace, will be worth your while.”
I pressed my lips tightly together, annoyed that his crude words caused a flutter in my belly.
“The necklace will be returned as soon as I get back to Rome. And no, I’m not agreeing to anything yet. You said you had an alternative.”
Anton’s lips curled into a sly smile, his eyes glinting with satisfaction at my directness. Setting his glass of wine down with deliberate precision, he leaned forward slightly, the firelight casting a warm glow over his features.
“I can’t tell you how much I admire your directness,” he murmured, the timbre of his voice low and velvety.
The air hummed between us, reminding me of the moment right before a storm breaks. His gaze held mine in an unyielding grip as he reached across the table, his fingers lightly tracing the hand wrapped around the delicate stem of my wine glass. The subtle touch sent a shiver down my spine, reminding me of what his hands had felt like on my body. It awakened a cascade of sensations that I shouldn’t be feeling. At least not now—not at a moment when so much was on the line.
“The alternative, Anton.” The words were barely a whisper. I couldn’t think past his heated gaze. “Tell me what my alternative is.”
“So be it. Yes, I want you, but you have something else that I want, too. Either way, you’ll have to give up something—whether it be your body or a possession.”
My breathing quickened at his words, every breath feeling like a dare. A flush crept up my neck despite my efforts to remain composed.
“I don’t have any possessions that you could possible want.”
“On the contrary, I think you do.”
“It’s unlikely. But prey, tell.”
His answer was as simple as it was surprising.
“The Brutus Denarius.”