Page 13 of Mine

He refocuses on the path ahead. “You’ll be playing poker this evening.”

“Let me guess, the winner gets my wife. Well then, whiskey will be needed. Who do you talk to about getting a drink around here?”

“There is a barman at your disposal, sir, as well as every brand of liquor you can imagine. I believe the game is meant to begin the moment you arrive. Here we are. Ballroom 107.”

A tall skinny kid offers his hand. “Good evening, Mr. Stone. My name is Timothy. They are expecting you.”

As the guard disappears down the hall, the ballroom doors open.

I spot him immediately, sitting across the room, Scotch in hand.

Carlos Leone.

Eight

Sabine

I feel a shift in the air the moment Astor Stone walks into the ballroom. Like a hurricane sucking every molecule of energy into its vortex—if the vortex were made of flames, that is.

All eyes turn to the savagely gorgeous man in a navy suit.

The room falls deathly silent.

I am faintly aware of Harold’s whispers of warning, but I cannot tear my focus away from the most darkly handsome man I have ever seen.

The rumors are true—and then some.

His body is tall and lean, his stride commanding and confident. A brooding sense of danger swirls around him like black smoke. Everyone moves out of his way, like Moses parting the Red Sea. The women gape like awestruck tourists viewing a priceless sculpture in an art museum, while the men hold on to them a little tighter.

His face is what strikes me the most—a contrast of razor-sharp jawline and soft, rounded, lush lips that make me lick my own. His eyes are as dark and perilous as night, slitted with a focus and intensity that reminds me of an animal seeking its prey. His hair is pitch-black and mussed just enough to suggest he doesn’t give a damn what you think of him.

In short, Astor Stone is a mesmerizing combination of danger and sex appeal.

The moment my heart begins to beat again, I pull from memory what I know about the man.

Astor Stone, the reclusive founder and CEO of Astor Stone, Inc., is the only son of Evelyn Stone, an infamous New York district attorney who died tragically in a plane accident years earlier. There’s not much about his father, and it’s rumored he didn’t have one present during his childhood.

Astor Stone, Inc. is an internationally renowned private investigation firm that handles cases from society’s most elite and powerful. Rumors are that Astor is a cold, brutally savage businessman. For years, every top magazine and television network has tried to get an interview with him, multiple times. He declined every offer.

Rumors also say he’s a billionaire.

I remember seeing a picture of Astor that went viral years ago after he made a rare public appearance at a charity gala for inner-city single mothers, where he donated five hundred thousand dollars. The mysterious Astor Stone was all the talk for months after that. Facebook groups formed around him, memes, GIFs; he was every woman’s fantasy, and the envy of every man.

Then, like a ghost, he disappeared again.

He’s older now. The sparkle is gone, replaced by a darkness that seems to scream from his soul.

The entire room watches him stride across the red carpet, steadfast and confident.

Across the room, Carlos stands, followed by his men, and I see then that he is the center of Astor Stone’s focus. And also, that both men do not look happy.

A tingle of warning slides up my spine. I don’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is, it’s big.

Astor and Carlos meet on the elevated platform that houses the poker table in the middle of the room. No hands are shaken, no pleasantries exchanged. Only a few hushed words are shared between the men, as tense and rigid as their posture.

I look around at the crowd. Everyone appears to be as clueless as I am.

I turn to Harold and whisper, “What the hell’s going on?”

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