Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Anton
T he bright afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of my penthouse, casting beams of light across the sleek furniture. The space felt cavernous and silent without Serena’s presence. She’d left hours ago, Zeke driving her to the airport late in the morning, but I could still feel her here. The sound of her voice lingered, and her scent clung to the bed sheets.
I stared at my computer screen, trying to shake the restlessness that gnawed at me. It was why I opted to work from home rather than go into the office. Work at Cornerstone Tower could wait, as well as the meeting I was supposed to have with Kent Leahy, a portfolio manager at Fourth Bank Market Equities. I didn’t have the patience for stock tickers, trends, and spreadsheets today. Thankfully, my assistant had been quick to respond when I’d emailed her earlier.
To: Myla McKinno n
Subject: Out of Office
Myla,
I won’t be in the office today. I need you to push my meeting with Kent Leahy to tomorrow. If that doesn’t work for him, it will have to wait until next month since I’m leaving for Italy next week. I’ll also need you to look at my schedule for the next 30 days. I’ll be out of the country for much, if not all, of that time. My scheduled meetings will have to shift to video conference. Please arrange accordingly. If something urgent comes up, handle it as you see fit.
Anton
Her reply had been immediate, a curt acknowledgment that she’d take care of things. I trusted her implicitly, but the heaviness in my chest had nothing to do with work.
It was Serena.
I could have gone to the airport with her and Zeke, but I told her I had work to do. It wasn’t a lie, per se. I truly did have to go to Club O to check on a few things before beginning work at my day job, but it felt dishonest all the same.
I wished I could tell Serena about the club, but I couldn’t take the risk—and it wasn’t just because I was afraid of being outed publicly. Even if I could trust her with the secret, the more she talked about her Catholic mother, the more I was convinced that she wouldn’t understand. It didn’t matter if, last night, she’d said some of the dirtiest things I’d ever heard—words that made my dick hard just thinking about them. When she told me that some lessons were ingrained in people, I knew keeping the club’s existence from her was the right thing to do. At least for now.
My instincts about people were rarely wrong, and something about her had rung true from the moment we met. She wasn’t hiding who she was or pretending to be someone else. If she was, she deserved an Oscar. No, Serena was genuine—raw, complicated, and utterly unguarded in ways that disarmed me.
Still, the mysteries surrounding her consumed me. The motel break in might have been random, but there was something about it that didn’t sit right with me. Especially now that I knew a staff member had been murdered. I wanted to shake it off as happenstance, but I couldn’t.
I opened my laptop and began sifting through news articles until I found the one that mentioned the death at the Midtown Hotel. Clicking on it, I began to read.
“A man was found dead behind The Midtown Motel late this afternoon. He was the victim of a stabbing. The man, whose identity has not yet been released, was reported missing after the day shift employee discovered he was absent from his usual post at the front desk. Police later located his body near a dumpster behind the building. Authorities are investigating the circumstances surrounding the death and are asking anyone with information to come forward.”
I skimmed the rest of the article, and it appeared as though the police didn’t have any leads. When I thought about the motel break-in, the murder only raised more questions than it answered.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my hand over my chin. Things had to be related, but I struggled to connect the dots. I considered what Serena had said about her father’s death and wondered how that might fit in. It might not be related to the situation at the Midtown at all, but there seemed to be too many mysteries surrounding Serena to ignore it. The symptoms she’d described had been too specific.
I changed my internet search to try to identify a possible cause for his passing. This proved to be more difficult. Italian death certificates weren’t easy to access, especially for someone with no familial ties. Still, money and connections could open most doors, even in Europe. A few emails and some discreet inquiries later, and I was confident I’d have a copy of Carlo Martinelli’s records within a day or two.
While waiting for responses, I shifted my focus to something more immediate. Serena had been vague about the doctors’ inability to diagnose her father’s illness, so I typed the symptoms into the search bar, refining the terms until a pattern emerged.
“Poison?” I murmured.
Every search result described chronic arsenic poisoning as fatigue, nausea, weight loss, red and swollen skin, organ failure, and several other horrific symptoms.
The dark and unsettling possibility that he might have been murdered flashed in my mind.
If it had been arsenic poisoning, I wasn’t sure how any competent doctor could have missed something so obvious. My pulse quickened as I scanned the many articles on the topic, searching for more details. It was unnerving how closely the description mirrored what Serena had told me. I wondered if the doctors had ordered a heavy metal test.
If her father had been poisoned, it could have been accidental. But I wasn’t ready to dismiss the symptoms as random. And when I considered the break-in at her motel—the calculated way someone had appeared to be searching for something—the pieces just didn’t fit. Once I had a copy of the death certificate, I would assign Zeke the task of tracking down medical records.
I was halfway through a detailed article about heavy metals in the bloodstream when my phone rang, breaking my concentration. I glanced at the screen. Alexander Stone was calling.
“Alexander,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“Anton,” he replied, his tone as smooth and self-assured as always. “How are things?”
“Busy,” I said, though it wasn’t entirely true. My schedule was only as busy as I allowed. It was one of the perks of being a self-made billionaire that I thoroughly enjoyed. “And you?”
“Never a dull moment,” he said with a chuckle. “I wanted to discuss the waterfront property we talked about last month. We’ve got an opening to move on it, but the timing is tight.”
We talked briefly about the logistics, including acquiring the land and navigating the red tape, but my mind wasn’t fully in the conversation. As Alexander outlined potential profit margins, I quickly realized it was a no-lose opportunity.
“All of it sounds great. And you’re right. We’d be foolish not to move now,” I said.
“Great. I’ll get Stephen to draft a good faith contract. He should have it ready for us to sign within a day or two.”
Alexander and I shared the same law firm, and Stephen Kinsley was one of the best. He was also a member of Club O. I trusted that he would ensure the best deal possible.
“Sounds good, Alex. I’ll be on the lookout for it.”
As Alexander spoke about potential contract concerns, I typed a quick email to Myla, making her aware of the incoming documents.
“How’s the family, Alex?” I asked once it was clear we were past the business portion of the call.
“Good,” he said, his tone softening. “Really good.”
“I haven’t seen you at the club recently.”
“Krystina’s got her hands full with Eva and Turning Stone Advertising. She thrives on chaos,” he said with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s been a while. We should stop by soon.”
“Yes, you should. I’m glad to hear things are going well for you,” I said, meaning it. Alexander and Krystina had a relationship I admired. The couple had been through a lot yet had come out stronger for it. I had no intention of settling down, but if I did, I imagined my future would look something like theirs.
We wrapped up the call after a few more minutes of small talk, and I returned to my research.
The more I read, the more I realized my arsenic theory wasn’t just plausible—it was probable. The symptoms Serena described matched too perfectly to ignore.
I picked up my phone again and dialed Zeke.
“Boss,” he answered on the second ring.
“Where are you?”
“Just about to leave for the club.”
“I need to run something by you. Are you able to come to the penthouse?”
“On my way.”
Zeke arrived a short while later. He stepped into the office and frowned what he saw my concerned expression. Closing the door behind him, he waited for me to speak.
“Sit,” I said, gesturing to the chair across from me.
He did as instructed, his sharp eyes scanning my face. “What’s going on?”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “I need your take on something.”
I outlined what Serena had told me about her father’s death, then walked Zeke through what I’d found on arsenic poisoning and the latest news about the murder at The Midtown. He listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable.
When I finished, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think someone poisoned her old man?”
“It’s possible,” I said. “But if that’s the case, why? And is it connected to the motel?”
“Connecting them is a stretch. I mean, we’re talking about a crime stretching across two continents.” Zeke paused and frowned. I could see the wheels turning in his head. “Unless whoever broke into her room was looking for something related to her father.”
“It’s a theory,” I said.
He shook his head slowly, his gaze narrowing. “If someone wanted him dead, they had to have a reason. Money? Revenge? He didn’t exactly have the kind of job that makes enemies.”
“Unless he found something he wasn’t supposed to,” I countered.
Zeke raised his eyebrows, appearing skeptical. “You aren’t the type to entertain conspiracies.”
“No, I’m not. There’s just something about this that isn’t sitting right. I feel like it’s all connected somehow. Call it a hunch.”
Zeke frowned again, considering the possibility. “You think Serena knows more than she’s letting on?”
“No,” I said firmly. “If she did, she wouldn’t have described his symptoms so openly or casually mention the murder at The Midtown. I don’t think she’s hiding anything.”
Zeke studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Alright. What’s the next step?”
“I want you to get with Hale. Expand the background check you did on Serena to include anyone she’s had significant contact with over the past decade,” I said. “And see what you can dig up on her father’s work—specifically, anything he was working on right before he died. His medical records would be helpful, too. Also, some guy named Cade. He’s Serena’s ex. I don’t have a last name.”
Zeke stood, his expression resolute. “You got it. Anything else?”
“If I think of something, I’ll call.”
“Boss, are you that serious about this girl?”
I hesitated, not sure how to answer him. I was serious about everything when it came to Serena, but there wasn’t a commitment like Zeke was implying.
“Serious in a way, but not like you think. We have a financial arrangement, and I will be spending a month with her in Italy—which brings me to the other reason I called you here. Since I have no other security that I trust as much as you, I’ll need you to come with me. We’ll have to work out who is going to run Club O while I’m gone.”
Zeke reached up and rubbed his hand over his jaw. If he had any thoughts about this impromptu trip to Italy, he didn’t let on. Instead, he asked, “Does she have the Brutus Denarius?”
I shook my head. “That’s not the reason for this trip. But to answer your question, no. She said she doesn’t have it.”
“Okay, then. You’re the boss,” he added with a shrug. “I’ll start packing for Italy. The recent hires at Club O are solid, and Myla knows the business as well as we do. I think she can handle things while we’re away.”
“Perfect,” I said. Pausing, I recalled the worry I had about the press while leaving the restaurant the previous night. Add in the concern about Serena being mixed up in some sort of criminal plot, and the need to amp up security suddenly felt more real. “One more thing, Zeke. You’re right about the need for more security.”
He didn’t bother to hide his sigh of relief. “I’ve already been working on a team. Just waiting for you to give me the green light.”
I considered the time I would be spending with Serena in Italy. I wanted just a few more weeks of peace—without the presence of watchful eyes. Call it intuition, but somehow, I knew that when I returned to New York, a twenty-four-hour security detail would no longer be an option. It would be a necessity.
“Have them in place after when we get back.”