Page 30 of Take Me Under

Banca Intesa Sanpaolo: checking account balance: 1731,42 €

No savings found

No U.S. bank accounts found

Credit Debt: 39,393 €

Loan Debt: 226,569 €

VEHICLE MAKE AND MODEL:Fiat Panda

I read through the document once more, although I already knew there wasn’t anything hiding in the text. Dr. Serena Amara Martinelli lived a very normal—very boring—life. She had little money and high debt. Based on the way she’d jumped schools, it looked like she’d moved around a lot too. But since she was a minor, it was most likely due to her parents.

I didn’t know what kind of skeletons I’d been expecting, but I’d thought there might be a clue that would explain why her hotel room had been tossed. Perhaps it really was just a random break in.

I leaned over the side of the chair, reaching into my messenger bag to retrieve the leather-bound journal that I’d swiped from Serena’s motel room. Placing it in front of me, I ran my hand over the soft cover, worn from years of use. I opened it, the pages crackling softly under my fingers.

The first few pages were filled with neat handwriting with tight loops and sharp angles. I wasn’t sure if it was Serena’s or someone else’s. The more I flipped, the stranger it got. Folded maps lay between the pages, old and frayed, sketched with symbols I couldn’t make sense of. Some were detailed, with tiny notations in the margins, while others looked like half-finished rough outlines of places I didn’t recognize.

My eyes caught on a particular symbol sketched within the journal. It seemed to carry significant meaning, as the pattern was repeated on several pages. It reminded me of a coiled snake with loops spiraling unevenly. The snake’s eye was out of proportion, its oversized pupil irregular.

While not quite exact, it was eerily similar to the spray-painted design on the back of the Midtown motel room door. The more I looked at it, the more I was convinced there was a connection—another riddle without a key.

There were references to Cleopatra and Mark Antony throughout the book as well. I was vaguely familiar with the stories, or at least the version everyone else knew about their tumultuous love affair. But my knowledge was limited. Whoever had written in this journal wrote about them as if they’d known them personally. They seemed to be chasing something deeper, in search of more than just history.

I flipped back to a map page that had one corner folded down. There were small marks drawn across the map connectingcities and ruins. It was like a treasure hunt—except it provided no clues to what I was looking for.

Seeing so many ancient references was like viewing a time warp to another place. It reminded me of my coin collection. My eyes settled on the framed watercolor painting across the room. Behind the canvas, a hidden safe was nestled in the wall. It held my collection of ancient coins. I didn’t have to leave my chair to picture the glass case and empty velvet slot where the Brutus Denarius should have been. But the coin was out of my reach, much like the answers I sought to find about Serena.

I sat back in the chair and breathed deeply, allowing her face to fill my mind. The lack of information in the background check and the journal was nothing short of irritating. Neither told me where to find her. Even her current address was unknown. If she was living in Rome as suspected, trying to locate her in the densely populated city would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Frustrated to have learned almost nothing of substance, I returned the leather journal to my bag, slipping Serena’s background check in alongside it. Needing a distraction, I opened the manilla envelope Myla had given me with the new hire information.

I began to sign in the required spots, trusting that Zeke had fully vetted each and every person. Once that was done, I shot off an email to Josh at J&D requesting a call time, and then began reading and sorting the invoices that needed my attention.

The rest of the day was spent analyzing market trends and making portfolio adjustments where necessary. Before I knew it, over ten hours had passed. The only break I’d taken was to meet Alexander Stone for a working lunch. The real estate tycoon had presented several investment opportunities to me, ones I was eager to look more into. Crypto had made my fortune, but I had concerns about its environmental impact. The sooner I got out of the digital currency market, the better.

The idea made me think about a meeting I’d had last week with a potential club member. He had also made his fortune through digital assets on the blockchain, making him a very recognizable member of society. He’d wanted my personal assurances that his membership at Club O would remain a secret. Of course, that was never a guarantee, but we had plenty of safeguards in place. I gave him the rundown of the ways we protect our members and explained the vested interest every member had in maintaining privacy. Satisfied, he readily wrote me a hefty check for an annual membership.

Club O’s fees weren’t cheap, and his membership alone paid the salary of every service employee in the place. I may have made my fortune on crypto, but club revenue was a sizable source of my income. I could sell my crypto portfolio tomorrow and have more than enough money to last a lifetime.

So why don’t I?

I pressed my lips in a tight line, knowing the answer. I needed security before I sold—a guarantee that I would never again be without money. That’s where Alexander Stone came in. He understood my situation better than most and knew ways I could diversify my income.

Leaning back, I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck, massaging the tight muscles. I was exhausted, but my workday was far from over. Club O needed my attention. With all the recent hiring, I wanted to see for myself how the staff changes were working out.

Pulling out my phone, I sent Zeke a text.

Today 3:31 PM: Me

7:31 PM, Me: I’m headed to the club. Are you there?

His reply came almost instantly.

7:31 PM: Zeke

Yep. I’ll come get you.

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