Page 68 of Take Me Under

He frowned, his displeasure evident in every line of his face. “Why aren’t you staying in Rome? I’ve booked the penthouse suite at the St. Regis.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t pre-pay for that fancy hotel,” I said, still irritated over his seven days of radio silence to care much about his inconvenience. If he’d called or texted, he would have been aware of the situation. “I can’t stay. My apartment lease is up, too. That’s why I’m going back to Lucca.”

For a moment, surprise flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by something more measured. “You’re moving that quickly?”

I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance even though his attention was suffocating.

“I’m used to not keeping roots anywhere for very long. The apartment was a fully furnished rental. All I had to pack were my personal belongings, and I did that this morning. My car is already loaded. My mother is expecting me tonight.”

Anton straightened, his posture shifting from casual to full-blown alpha male in a way that made my heart stumble.

“Your mother? No. I’ll book a new hotel in Lucca. You’ll stay with me.”

He wasn’t asking. I was quickly learning that Anton never asked.

He commanded.

I nearly laughed out loud. “I can’t stay with you. Not only would my mother never forgive me for living in sin, but I have a lot to figure out. Until I have a concrete plan for what comes next, I’m just going to stay at my mother’s house. No sense in starting a new lease when I’m not sure where I’ll be in a few weeks.”

“But our agreement?—”

“Did not include sleepovers.”

“You’re a grown woman who doesn’t need to ask permission from a parent.”

“It’s not about asking permission. It’s about showing respect for my mother and her beliefs. I don’t agree with her, but I don’t need to flaunt it.” I paused, sighing. “Don’t worry. I’ll still keep my end of the deal—assuming we still have a deal.”

“Of course we have a deal. I promised you five hundred thousand, and I’m a man of my word.” He held my gaze, unyielding, as he seemed to come to a decision. “Give me your mother’s address.”

My pulse quickened, but I didn’t know why. Perhaps it was his commanding tone. Or maybe it was his furious expression—as if he wanted nothing more than to take me over his knee. Surprisingly, I would have welcomed it. I’d rather enjoyed the sting of his palm on the one and only night we’d shared.

I rattled off the address like it didn’t matter—like he didn’t matter—despite my racing heart.

“I’ll be in touch later once I have a hotel,” he said, his voice low and edgy. “I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain. Plan on seeing me tonight, princess.”

And with that, he turned, walking away with that infuriating confidence. Zeke trailed after him like the silent shadow he was. I watched them go with my arms crossed, my body locked in place as my mind churned with a mix of frustration and the desire I didn’t want to acknowledge.

He walked like he owned the world. Maybe he did.

Or maybe he just owned me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Serena

The sun-bleached facade of my mother’s house came into view as I turned onto the cobblestone street. It was modest, with weathered terracotta tiles on the roof and pale-yellow stucco walls adorned with climbing vines that bloomed with pink and white flowers in the summer. A wrought-iron gate framed the tiny front garden, where herbs and potted plants lined the walkway.

I killed the engine of my Fiat Panda. Stepping out of the car, I slung my purse over my shoulder and retrieved one of the large duffle bags with my belongings from the back seat. I inhaled deeply, letting the familiar scent of basil and lemongrass soothe the nerves that had been tightening since that morning. This house was home—at least as close to one as I’d had since before my father passed.

The door swung open before I reached it. My mother stood there, her smile bright and her arms outstretched.

“Serena!Amore mio, sei a casa finalmente!”

Her voice was like music, lilting and warm, full of the kind of love only a mother could express. She looked as she always did—effortlessly put-together despite her simple attire. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, was swept into a loose chignon. She wore a fitted cardigan over a floral dress that swayed at her knees. The apron tied around her waist was dusted with flour.

“Ciao, Mamma,” I said, stepping into her embrace.

She kissed both my cheeks before pulling back to look at me, her hands framing my face. Her deep blue eyes—so much like my own—scanned me as if trying to assess any changes in me.

---