Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Serena
W hen I entered the lobby of Anton’s hotel in Lucca, my shoes echoed on the marble floors as I made my way to the concierge desk. I adjusted the purse slung over my shoulder, noting that it was dusted with specks of glass from my day in the studio. I absently brushed them away, distracted by the turn of events from the day, as well as what had happened over the weekend with Anton in Florence.
It had been a productive day in my workshop. The piece I had been working on for the gallery was coming together, the delicate curves finally taking form to my satisfaction. So lost in the craft, I’d worked straight through dinner and hadn’t even noticed. If it hadn’t been for my mother bringing me a porchetta panini, I would have skipped the meal altogether.
Just as I finished eating, my phone pinged with an email notification. It was from General Directorate of Archaeology informing me that there was another delay with the permits for the excavation in Rome. From that point on, any happiness I’d felt over the progress I’d made with the swan fell to the wayside.
At first, the bureaucratic red tape had seemed typical. There always seemed to be another obstacle to navigate. But now? Now, it felt intentional. The excuse for the delay didn’t make sense. They were taking issue with the budget plan, citing logistical errors and reevaluations of excavation boundaries. However, nothing had changed. All we needed was a renewal for something that had already been approved. I knew what I was dealing with when it came to Italian institutions, but this felt like sabotage.
The thought left a sour taste in my mouth as I stepped up to the concierge desk. The man behind it recognized me and offered me a polite smile. Leading me to the private elevator, he pressed the button that would grant access to the penthouse.
“ Buonasera, Signorina ,” he said smoothly, moving aside as the sleek doors slid open.
I nodded my thanks and stepped into the elevator. The moment the doors sealed shut, I leaned against the wall and sighed, my thoughts shifting away from problems in Rome and back to Anton. I thought about our time at the club, and then to the sexy interlude at the hotel. It was the most erotic experience I’d ever had. But mostly, I thought about the way things had shifted after his nightmare.
I recalled the way he had sat on the edge of the bed with his head and his hands. At that moment, I’d just wanted to take away his pain. I had put up a strong front, knowing he just needed me to listen and understand. But the reality was, his actions had terrified me.
The raw terror of waking up to Anton’s arm pressing against my neck wasn’t something I’d soon forget. The sheer weight of him had rendered me immobile, and for a split second, I couldn’t breathe. But it wasn’t just the pressure on my neck that had shaken me—it was the look in his eyes. He was wild. Unseeing. It was as if he wasn’t even in the room with me but trapped somewhere else.
Even after he let me go and realization dawned in his features, the fear of what had happened lingered in his expression. I’d seen fear before, but not like that. This was deep-seeded fear, clawing its way out of his past and into the present.
PTSD, maybe.
But he had brushed it off as if it were nothing. It was possible he had childhood trauma buried so deep he couldn’t acknowledge it.
However, his actions afterward proved that it hadn’t been nothing. He’d shut down, putting up walls that I’d never before seen from him. Our last night in Florence had been tense, filled with unspoken words and unanswered questions. We’d had sex, but it was far from the mind-blowing experience I’d had with him the night before. The act felt more like something we had to do rather than wanted to do.
Now that we were back in Lucca, and I was given a bit of time alone to think things through, I hoped that I could get him to open up a little more. We had planned to go for drinks at a neighborhood bar just down the street from his hotel, but I was beginning to think it was better for us to stay in. It would be more private. I didn’t want this tension between us, but I wasn’t sure if Anton was ready to be pushed.
The elevator opened, and I crossed the narrow hallway to knock on the door to Anton’s penthouse suite. My pulse thrummed against my ribs, the emotions from the weekend pressing down on me as the questions I’d been holding in threatened to spill out before I even saw him.
The door swung open, and there he stood, looking slightly disheveled in the most devastating way. His slacks hung low on his hips, and his black dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top. He’d rolled his sleeves to his forearms, revealing ridges of toned muscles. Five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw, adding to the rugged edge that made him impossibly handsome. His hair was mussed, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. And those onyx eyes, piercing and assessing, seemed to look straight through to my soul.
“Serena,” he said, his voice low and unreadable. He was always so composed and in control.
I stepped inside, suddenly feeling unsteady now that I was here, but I pushed through it.
“I know we’re supposed to go out,” I began. “But I thought we could stay in and talk for a bit first. Maybe grab a drink a little later. I want to discuss what happened this past weekend.”
I turned to face him as he shut the door, my throat tightening at the way his unmoving gaze locked on me. He appeared to be waiting, yet his expression gave nothing away.
“What’s there to talk about?” he finally asked.
“I need to understand, Anton.” My voice was softer now, but still firm. “You pinned me down, choking me in your sleep. And when I looked up at you, I saw something I’ve never seen before. It was like you weren’t even there. Like you didn’t know it was me. We can’t just pretend that didn’t happen.”
His jaw clenched.
I took a step closer, placing my hand on his arm. “Do you know what it felt like to wake up like that? Unable to move?” My voice wavered, but I steadied it before continuing. “I should have expressed my concerns that night, but I played it off because my instinct was to make sure you were okay. The reality is, I was scared. The next day, I thought we’d talk about it more and my fears would ease. But you shut down and I didn’t want to push you.”
“And now it’s okay to push?” he questioned, his tone cool and detached. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but his breathing was measured and controlled. That only made my frustration grow.
“I had a night alone to think about things.” I bit down on my lower lip, then caught myself. I didn’t want him to know I was nervous. “I can’t continue this way without knowing if there’s an underlying issue that might cause something like that to happen again.”
His eyes softened, and for a moment, I thought he might finally open up—that he might give me the reassurance I needed. But then his expression hardened and his posture shifted, as if he were locking everything away behind an impenetrable wall.
“I already told you, Serena. It was nothing—and it’s certainly nothing worth talking about. There are more important things we need to discuss than a stupid nightmare.” His voice was even, firm, and completely dismissive of everything I had just said.
My heart sank at how easily he could brush it all aside.
“More important than this?” I stepped back, needing to create space. My voice was barely above a whisper, my chest tightening from the distance between us—not physically, but emotionally. His behavior shouldn’t hurt me this badly. After all, we barely knew each other. But at the same time, it also felt like I’d known him all my life.
Again, he didn’t answer me. Instead, he strode across the room to the desk, pulling open a drawer to retrieve a sleek black folder. When he turned back to me, his expression was hard once again. The conversation I had come here to have slipped through my fingers like sand.
And just like that, I knew.
He wasn’t going to give me the answers I needed. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
“You’re concerned about your safety, and so am I,” Anton said, placing the folder on the desk. “However, I’m not whom you have to worry about.”
“What’s this?” I asked, suddenly confused.
Anton’s expression shifted from unreadable to troubled in an instant. The gravity in his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. Whatever was in that folder—whatever he had to say—it wasn’t good.
He took a breath, exhaling slowly before speaking. “I think your father was poisoned.”
I blinked, thinking I hadn’t heard him right. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I had a medical examiner in the States review his records. Every sign and symptom point to arsenic,” he said, his voice tight.
My stomach dropped. His words didn’t make sense, seeming more suited for a twisted thriller rather than anything in real life. My breath hitched, my body tensing involuntarily. I stared at him, my heart hammering. The air in the room suddenly felt thick and suffocating. My head shook automatically, my mind rejecting what he was saying.
“No. That doesn’t—he was sick. It was sudden, and he?—”
“It wasn’t natural,” Anton interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted your father dead?”
Is he suggesting murder?
The idea was absurd. Impossible.
A sharp pain clenched in my chest, like invisible hands crushing me from both sides. I took a step back, shaking my head.
“My father was a good man. He didn’t have enemies.”
Anton’s eyes held steady. “You said yourself that he had jealous peers.”
“Yes, but that’s all it was—petty jealousies and industry critics. That doesn’t mean people wanted to murder him, Anton. The idea is crazy.” My voice cracked, my throat tightening around the last word.
“I don’t think it is,” Anton insisted, handing me a piece of paper. “Or at least, I know enough to say poison is the most likely answer for his death. ”
I looked down at the document he’d given me, skimming quickly through the text. It was a medical report, detailing the symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Everything on here was nearly identical to what my father had experienced.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind racing.
Poison. Someone had done this to him. Someone had wanted him dead. No. That can’t be right.
My chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. My father had always been careful, meticulous in everything he did. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he was honest and good.
Who would want to hurt him? And why?
It didn’t make sense.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, barely able to force out the question.
“Because I worry about your safety. There’s more, princess.”
Dread coiled in my stomach like a viper ready to strike. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated, then exhaled, his jaw tightening. “Your motel room in New York. When you were sick, Zeke and I went to get your things while you slept.”
I nodded stiffly. “Yes, I remember.”
“When we got there, someone had gotten into your room. The place was trashed—ransacked as if someone had been looking for something.”
A chill ran down my spine, the hairs on my arms standing on end.
“What?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
He nodded. “Neither Zeke nor I thought it was random at the time—it was too vicious. They tore the place apart. But more, it felt…I can’t explain it. It just felt personal. And then, after you mentioned seeing a crime scene at the motel, I looked more into it. What you’d heard was correct. Someone was, in fact, murdered. The body was found behind the building. The day Ze ke and I went there, it had been late at night but there was a sign stating that the staff would be back after lunch. It’s safe to assume that the staff member who never returned from lunch is the same staff member who was found dead.”
My heart pounded against my ribs, my thoughts spiraling.
Murder.
And who would break into my room?
What could they possibly have been searching for?
Was it all connected?
I was nobody of importance, and I certainly had nothing of value to take. I shook my head again, unable to believe the insanity of the situation.
“You knew this whole time and you never told me?” The realization cut through my confusion like a blade. When I spoke again, my voice carried a sharp edge, the accusation undeniable. “Did you call the police?”
Anton’s jaw ticked for a moment before he admitted, “No, we didn’t.”
“Why the hell not?” My confusion deepened, frustration rising to the surface.
“I didn’t know you at the time, Serena. You were just a stranger in my bed, and I am a very private person. I wanted to do some digging on my own first. Police involvement would have brought on a public scandal that I didn’t want. I’ve told you enough about my past for you to understand why I wouldn’t want that dragged into the spotlight. Also, I didn’t want to scare you.”
“Well, too late for that,” I snapped. My arms crossed over my chest, my fingers digging into my sides in a desperate attempt to ground myself. My mind spun, everything unraveling too fast. “You had no right to keep this from me.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I was only trying to protect you—to protect both of us. ”
I let out a short, bitter laugh, although there was no humor in it. “By keeping me in the dark? By deciding for me what I should and shouldn’t know? This is serious. A member of the motel staff was murdered, Anton!”
He didn’t reply, and the silence seemed to stretch on, thick and stifling.
“There’s still more, Serena,” he finally said.
I frowned as he reached for the folder on the desk, flipping it open and pulling out a photo. “This symbol. What does it mean?”
I looked down at the image. It was a rough sketch of a twisting, snake emblem.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve seen it before in my father’s journals. He began sketching it in the margins in the months right before he died, but I’m not sure what it means.”
“This symbol was spray-painted on the back of your motel room door.”
A cold dread settled in my bones.
“I don’t—I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“There’s also this.” Anton’s gaze darkened as he spread out a series of photographs, turning them toward me.
My stomach twisted, and my throat tightened.
Cade.
The pictures of him were taken from different angles, clear as day.
“Why do you have pictures of Cade?”
“Look at the back of his neck,” Anton said, ignoring my question.
I swallowed, my pulse hammering in my ears as I studied the photos. The tattoo on Cade’s skin sent ice through my veins. It was the same symbol as the one in my father’s notes—the one Anton said was on my motel door. My breath hitched, the room tilting slightly. The implications clawed at my mind, demanding to be acknowledged, but I couldn’t—I wouldn’t. It had to be a coincidence.
My head jerked up, my voice barely above a whisper. “This tattoo wasn’t there when we dated.”
Anton’s expression was grim. “I think it’s all connected, Serena. I just don’t know how. First there was the symbol at your motel, and then I saw it again in your father’s journal—although I hadn’t made the connection until recently. Now that I see the tattoo, I?—”
“Wait. Stop. What do you mean you saw it in my father’s journal? How would you have seen it there?”
“One of the books was in your motel room. I was looking through it, looking for clues about who you were.”
I hadn’t even realized it was missing, but now that I thought about it, it wasn’t with my belongings that Anton had retrieved from the motel room.
“Where is the journal now?” I demanded.
“At my place in New York.” He said it so flippantly, as if having a piece of my personal property was no big deal.
I thought about the journal, the intimate pieces of my father’s mind recorded on those pages. A deep, burning anger surged inside me. My father’s thoughts, his research, his private words—all violated. Knowing Anton had read through it without my permission felt like a betrayal.
“You had no right to read through my father’s private notes—and you had no right to keep the journal. It doesn’t belong to you.”
“I hadn’t planned on keeping it. I was going to give it back. I simply forgot to bring it to Italy with me.”
“That doesn’t make it better!” I snapped. My voice grew louder, my frustration boiling over. “And this conspiracy about my father being poisoned is just that—a conspiracy. I don’t know what you’re playing at. Nobody wanted to kill him. ”
But even as I said the words, doubt clawed at my mind, giving voice to a terrifying possibility.
What if Anton is right?
I glanced down, flipping through the remaining contents of the folder, stopping only when I saw a printout with my name at the top. I scanned down the page. Personal details about my life were everywhere—where I lived, where I went to school, how much money I had in my bank account.
It was a background check—conducted without my permission.
“What is this?” I whispered.
Anton’s eyes flitted to the paper in my shaky hand.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
I could only look at him, waiting for him to say more, but he remained silent with regret written all over his face.
“All that bullshit about wanting to get to know me was exactly that—bullshit. You already had everything you needed, didn’t you? I don’t care if you’re some mega rich billionaire. You had no right to invade my privacy like this!”
The walls of the hotel suite felt like they were closing in around me as my pulse pounded in my ears. Anton was still watching me, his sharp gaze waiting for my next move, but I couldn’t stay here. Not now. Not with all of this—poison, break-ins, murder, symbols, Cade, the assault on my privacy. Too much was swirling in my head like a hurricane I would never be able to outrun.
I stepped back from the desk so fast, I bumped into a chair. It made a loud scrape against the floor, but the sound barely registered as I turned and strode for the door.
“Serena, stop!” Anton’s voice was tight, commanding.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. If I stayed, I would scream or cry or say something I couldn’t take back. I needed to think. I needed space. I needed to find some rational explanation for all of this.
The moment I stepped into the hallway, I quickened my pace. I barely heard Anton behind me, calling my name again. I didn’t slow down. I reached the elevator, jabbing at the button repeatedly as if that would make it come faster. My chest was too tight, my thoughts spinning out of control.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I stepped inside, pressing the button for the lobby. Just before the doors shut, I caught a glimpse of Anton stepping into the hall, pain and frustration etched across his face. He didn’t try to stop me, and for that, I was grateful. He had no right to investigate my life like I was some puzzle he needed to solve. I had no idea what to do with the things he’d told me, but I knew I couldn’t deal with them while under his watchful eye.
When I stepped outside, the crisp air bit at my arms. The temperature had dropped, making the evening cooler than normal for this time of year. I hadn’t thought to grab a jacket, but I didn’t care. I needed the walk to clear my mind. The streets of my neighborhood were familiar, giving me something to focus on besides the chaos Anton had just thrown into my lap.
However, the moment of peace was short-lived when the distant wail of sirens shattered the quiet. A fleet of fire trucks barreled down the street, their lights flashing against the darkening sky.
Then I saw it just up ahead. Thick plumes of smoke billowed into the sky, a dark stain against the horizon. My breath caught. It was coming from my mother’s neighborhood. My stomach clenched, a deep, instinctual dread curling in my gut.
My feet moved before my brain could catch up, my heart hammering against my ribs as I increased my pace until I was in a full jog. The closer I got, the heavier the smoke became, the acrid scent burning my nose. People were gathering, murmuring, pointing.
And then I saw the house.
No.
Flames licked at the roof, curling around the windows like a hungry beast. Firefighters swarmed the scene, shouting orders, battling the inferno with powerful streams of water. But it wasn’t enough. A strangled sound clawed its way out of my throat as I took off running.
My mother’s house was burning.