Page 34 of Take Me Darkly

But Tony didn’t need to know any of that.

“The studio is for me,” I lied smoothly, the deception sliding off my tongue without a ripple. “I’m taking up glassblowing as a hobby.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and a brave, fleeting smirk tugged at his mouth. “You? Shaping glass? No disrespect, boss, but I’ve never pegged you as the artistic type.”

“I’m always looking for a new challenge.” My tone left no room for follow-up questions. “And Tony, this project is private. I don’t want it showing up in contractor portfolios or marketing reels. Am I clear?”

Tony’s expression sobered. “Crystal clear. Our non-disclosure stands. Besides, I don’t see myself posting a job site caption that reads: Custom Glory Hole for Wealthy Client.”

I let out a short laugh. “No, I can’t imagine you would.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the space. “It’s going to be something spectacular when we’re done. I’m looking at three to four weeks minimum given all the safety protocols.”

“You have three,” I commanded flatly. “Run double shifts. Pay whatever premium overtime is required to pull the trade specialists in overnight.”

Tony whistled low, making a notation on his pad.

“Aggressive. But for triple rates, my boys will sleep on the concrete. We start tomorrow.” He gathered his blueprints, rolling them with practiced efficiency. “I’ll have my crew here at six AM to start the electrical work. That’s the longest lead time. Once that’s done, work will progress quicker.”

My phone buzzed against my thigh. Alexander Stone’s name flashed on the screen. Giving a final nod to Tony, I excused myself and then stepped into the hallway to answer.

“Alex,” I greeted.

“Anton,” Alexander’s voice came through the line, rich with the effortless, ironclad confidence of a billionaire who commanded his own corporate empire. “Glad we were able to connect earlier and finalize the deed transfers. Diversification was overdue.”

Earlier that afternoon, we had sat in my executive suite, finalizing a multi-million-dollar commercial real estate acquisition. It was a strategic maneuver designed to pivot a massive portion of my liquid capital out of volatile cryptocurrency markets and lock it into something tangible. Brick and steel were far more stable than algorithms and volatility—and better for the environment.

“Yes, and it was a clean deal,” I agreed.

“It was, but that’s not why I’m calling.” There was a pause, the sound of a car door closing in the background. “Your assistant, Myla, caught me on my way out. She asked if Krystina and I would be interested in joining you this weekend for drinks. She mentioned you’d have a date with you and thought it might be good for all of us to connect.”

My grip tightened around the phone. Every survival instinct I had flared to life, but not at Alexander—at the glaring security vulnerability Myla had just opened.

It wasn’t unusual for Myla to encourage attendance of our wealthiest clients. Club O thrived on curated proximity—right people, right timing. But the moment she mentioned I would have a date, she had brought Serena into the equation.

Up until now, Serena existed in the luxury apartment above the club, occupying the safest square footage I owned. She had only ventured down to the club floor once, during off-peak morning hours when the space was empty. But bringing her down during operational hours was an entirely different beast.

Club O was dimly lit, yes—but it was not invisible. And Serena’s face was currently viral. The international press hadn’t just reported on the arson and shooting in Lucca. The media circus had metastasized. Every tabloid from London to New York was wildly speculating about the reclusive, enigmatic billionaire who had swept the beautiful Italian scholar off the blood-soaked pavement. Parading her through a crowded VIP floor was a security risk I didn’t want to take.

“It would be good to see you and Krystina,” I said, my voice carefully neutral, hiding the dangerous edge beneath. “However, Myla overstepped. She should have cleared it with me first.”

“I gathered as much,” Alexander replied smoothly. “Which is precisely why I’m calling you directly. She was quite insistent, but if it’s inconvenient, just say so. We can plan another time.”

I closed my eyes, my mind working through the angles. Part of me wanted to tear Myla apart for this. But the rational part of me knew her motives. She was trying to anchor Serena, and she knew I trusted Alexander. He understood the heavy burden of absolute power and the dark demands of protecting the women we loved.

Besides, Myla had been careful. She hadn’t uttered Serena’s name. She had just merely referred to her as my date.

Contingencies.

Should Serena use an alias?

A visual disguise? She could dye her hair. Perhaps red.

No. I rejected the thought instantly. I wouldn’t alter a single strand of her head to appease a threat.

Masks.

Masks were already woven into the decadent fabric of Club O. A masquerade. A sleek, Venetian mask covering her eyes and cheekbones would work without diminishing her breathtaking presence.