Page 47 of Take Me Under

Matteo didn’t elaborate and I wasn’t given the chance to ask for clarification since he’d already turned away. I had little choice but to follow him.

His broad frame cut a path through the warmly lit room as he offered a charming smile to everyone he passed. When he came to a stop at a doorway, he extended his arm to me.

“Mia signora,” he said, his voice smooth. I took his arm, and he led me deeper into the restaurant, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor as we moved away from the bustle of the main dining area and toward the back of the building. Myheart pounded a little faster with each step, anticipation winding tight inside me.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy velvet curtain separated the dining room from beyond. Matteo paused, his hand on the thick fabric, glancing down at me with a knowing smile before he pulled it aside. Behind the curtain was a private dining area meant only for the privileged few, deliberately created to avoid prying eyes.

And there he was—Anton.

He stood when he saw me, backlit by the soft flicker of candlelight. My breath caught. He was dressed in a dark suit that was tailored to perfection, the crisp lines a stark contrast to the raw power he always carried around with him. His onyx eyes found mine immediately, sharp and intense, sending a rush of heat to the apex of my thighs.

A slow, familiar smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the kind of smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing to me—how he could make my pulse jump with a single look.

“Serena,” he said, his voice low. It was like warm whiskey sliding through me until my knees felt weak. He stepped forward, reaching for me. When his fingers found mine, the touch sparked an electric jolt. Savage, carnal thoughts filled my mind.

“Anton,” I managed, my voice a little unsteady. My heart hammered in my chest. It didn’t matter what game he was playing—I’d lost the moment I’d laid eyes him. I would agree to any bargain he dared to strike, and he knew it.

“Thank you, Matteo,” Anton said after Matteo released my arm. “I appreciate you arranging the private room on short notice for me. As you can imagine, discretion is hard to come by.”

“It was no trouble at all. While I trust my staff, I’ll be your server tonight. I just received a shipment of your favorite Cabernet Sauvignon from Ornellaia. Shall I bring a bottle?”

Anton looked to me. “Is red wine okay with you?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.”

Giving us both a short nod, Matteo rushed out, leaving me alone with Anton.

Anton came around the table set for two and pulled a chair out for me. I smiled and moved to sit down, taking in the private space around us.

The room was small and intimate, all dark wood and soft leather. Wine bottles were lined up in a glass case on the far wall, and a fire crackled in the corner. It was a world apart from the bustling city outside. Seductive and intimate, it was the kind of setting that left no room for secrets.

After Anton pushed my chair in, his hand brushed over my arm, lingering momentarily before he took his seat across from me. I wanted to seem unaffected by his touch—to match his calm and collected gaze. But I couldn’t stop the way my breath quickened or the flush that warmed my skin. That small touch was a collision of everything I’d been craving and everything I’d tried to ignore since last night.

“I apologize for not picking you up myself,” Anton said. “I figured you’d prefer it that way.”

I raised a curious eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“The press has begun to take an interest in me, and I’m still learning how to navigate it. While Matteo does a good job of protecting his patrons’ privacy, there’s always someone quick with a camera phone. I didn’t think you’d appreciate being featured in tabloid headlines.”

“Is that why he referred to you as my dining partner when I walked in?”

“Exactly. If the wrong person heard my name, it could bring problems later.”

As I unfolded my napkin, I caught the glint of his cufflinks—polished gold, each one set with a deep green emerald. I remembered the collection I had seen in his bedroom, neatly arranged in the velvet-lined cases.

“You collect cufflinks,” I said, angling my chin toward his wrist and watching for his reaction. “I don’t mean to pry. I just happened to notice the collection in your bedroom.”

For the briefest moment, he hesitated. Then, as if deciding not to point out my snooping, he simply nodded. “Yes. But it’s more than just an ordinary collection. Each pair has history.”

I shifted my gaze back to the jewelry on his cuffs. “Those are beautiful.”

His lips curved slightly.

“These belonged to a Hungarian count in the 1800s—legend says he lost them in a card game. The ones I wore to the Met Gala were platinum set with black diamonds.” He glanced up, meeting my gaze with quiet amusement. “They used to belong to Al Capone.”

Anton leaned back in his chair, as if waiting for my reaction to his mention of the notorious gangster. When I said nothing, his sharp and unwavering gaze landed on the ruby necklace resting below my collarbone. I reached up instinctively and glanced down to look at it. The low light of the room glinted off the deep red stone, making it sparkle even more than usual.

“That’s quite a remarkable piece. Where did you get it?” Anton asked, his voice a velvet caress that sent a shiver down my spine. It occurred to me then that I could easily listen to him talk for the rest of the night and never feel more content. It was hypnotic, unapologetic, and alluring.

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