Page 2 of Take Me Under

“Of course not. I’m just going to give the coin chasing a break for a bit.”

“What if I told you there was another opportunity to get it?” he pushed.

“I’m not going halfway around the world again, Zeke. Unless you have a local connection?—”

“I do.”

My curiosity piqued, I closed the laptop and leveled my eyes with his.

“You have my attention. Go on.”

Rather than answering, he slid a piece of paper across the table to me. It was a computer printout of a news article. It was dated five years ago, but the top was cut off and I couldn’t tell the name of the publication. Picking it up, I began to read.

“Excavations are always ongoing around the Forum. However, for Dr. Martinelli, this particular dig is personal. The Oxford grad was candid when we visited the site, reminding us how heated the debate is about the burial place for Cleopatra and Mark Antony. Martinelli believes their ashes were buried in the Forum, a point of great contention amongst historians, and he was no stranger to receiving ridicule and harsh judgments from his peers. In 1988, the distinguished archeologist was rumored to have found a collection of Roman coins inside an ancient jug in Greece. The Brutus Denarius is said to have been among them. Experts would normally study such findings before sending the rare coins to a museum for historical preservation, but those familiar with the situation say they were never turned over.”

“Other than the mention of the Brutus Denarius, I’m not sure why this is relevant. The article is over five years old.”

“The article also mentions a person of interest, Dr. Martinelli, an Italian archeologist. If the rumors are true, and he actually has a collection of rare coins, it might be easy to find out. He’s supposed to attend this year’s Met Gala.”

“And when is that?”

“Today.”

“Fuck, Zeke. Today? I might be on the Forbes Top 100, but evenI’mnot that good. It’ll be hard to gain entrance at this late hour.”

“As it so happens, I already made a few calls to do exactly that. Alexander Stone had the connection I needed. Consider yourself on the guest list.”

I raised an eyebrow. Alexander was a high-profile club member. He and his wife were darlings of social media, influencers, and tabloids. He was one of the richest men in the country and was heavily involved in real-estate investments. He had offered me advice on ways to diversify my money and, over time, I’d begun to consider him a friend.

“You’ve been a busy guy this morning, haven’t you?”

“It was nothing,” Zeke said mildly.

“Are you going to put on a tux and come with me?”

“No can do, boss. I was only able to secure a single reservation. Besides, I have background checks to run if we hope to increase the security staff as planned.”

I shook my head, annoyed that more hiring was necessary. Rumors about the club’s existence had begun traveling within circles I didn’t like. That was all thanks to a nosy reporter, Mac Owens, who was obsessed with finding every bit of dirt he could on Alexander Stone. So far, the rumors were only whispers. Thankfully, we’d managed to feed Owens false information that led him away from the trail. But the damage had been done. It didn’t matter that Owens had no proof of the club’s existence. He’d insinuated enough in his reporting to perk the ears of anyone familiar with the lifestyle. Increased attempts at falsifying membership credentials had forced us to beef up security for the safety of our existing members.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead at the Met Gala if it weren’t for this coin. You know that, right? Too many fucking cameras.” I paused and shook my head. “God, I hate paparazzi.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said with a hint of arrogance that hadme raising a brow. “That’s why I also arranged it so you can skip the red carpet. A service door will be left open for you. You can slip in and avoid the worst of the pomp and circumstance.”

With a sardonic smile, I leaned back in the booth and crossed my arms.

“I suppose you’ll be asking for a raise soon.”

Zeke tossed me a lopsided grin. “Only if you’re offering.”

CHAPTER TWO

Serena

The sun dipped low on the horizon, bathing the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the streets of New York. The city was alive with people, cars honking, and the occasional dog bark. It was a living force—loud, unapologetic, and always in motion. The concerto of humanity pulsed through my veins.

The twenty-first-century city was a far cry from anything I could see back home in Lucca, Italy. The modernness was just one of the many things I loved about New York, and it made me wish I’d visited more often.

On this particular evening, the streets were bustling with people dressed in their finest. Some were on their way to dinners, Broadway shows, or other forms of entertainment. For me, the Met Gala was my destination. I never imagined myself attending such an event. It was too prestigious, catering to those who lived much differently than I did. They would arrive at thered carpet in expensive cars, while I took a cab until I was close enough to walk.

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