Page 73 of Take Me Darkly

Anton stepped through the threshold first, his broad shoulders taut with tension, his dark eyes scanning the apartment before he stepped aside. Behind him stood two women.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat.

Madeleine Toussaint stood in the doorway, clad in a rich, wine-colored coat that practically screamed Parisian haute couture. Her silver hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant knot, and her signature oversized leather tote hung from her arm with dramatic flair. Beside her was Caterina Bianchi, wearing dark denim, a simple cream top, and her dark hair cut into the sharp, jaw-length bob she’d favored since our university days in Rome, when she’d decided long hair was a tyranny.

They were here. Really, truly here.

After weeks of no communication and indescribable grief over my mother’s death, my friends stood in the doorway of Anton’s clandestine apartment as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Rena.” Caterina’s voice broke clean down the middle on the first syllable.

That single word broke through my frozen shock. I crossed the expanse of the room in three strides and threw my arms around her neck, squeezing her so hard the air rushed from both our lungs. She let out a half-sob, half-laugh, her hands fisting frantically into the fabric of my shirt. The comforting, familiar scent of vanilla that she’d worn since we were teenagers wrapped around me, and I buried my face in her shoulder, letting the familiarity wash over my raw nerves.

“You’re here,” I whispered, my voice thick.

“I am,” she sobbed against my neck. “God, Rena, I’ve been going out of my mind.”

Madeleine cleared her throat with that unmistakable, theatrical French poise, and Caterina and I pulled back just enough for me to draw Madeleine into the embrace. She felt slightly frailer than when I’d last seen her, her cheekbones sharper, but her grip was surprisingly fierce. She kissed both my cheeks in slow, deliberate succession—the same way she had when I was a little girl.

“Ma chérie,” she murmured, her dark eyes glistening as she fought for composure. “Why have you not called?”

I pulled back, blinking hard against the tears that were very close to spilling.

Across the room, Anton leaned against the marble kitchen island, his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, watching the reunion. His jaw was set like granite, his onyx eyes continuously scanning the room. I knew that expression. I’d seen it many times since arriving in New York. He was cataloging everything and running risk assessments.

His eyes found mine, and I felt the weight of what it must have cost him to walk through that door with these two women at his back. He had spent every day since Italy narrowing the number of people who knew where I was. Now he had widened the circle by two. I didn’t know how Madeleine and Caterina had come to be in New York, but I knew they only stood before me because Anton had allowed it.

He did this for me. Always for me.

The thought arrived quietly, settling in my sternum, and refused to move.

The realization settled deep into my bones, warm and undeniable. My eyes held his for a lingering beat, and he offered a single, imperceptible nod before looking away.

“Please, sit,” I said, gesturing toward the plush velvet sofa. “I’ll get us something to drink. Wine or coffee... I honestly don’t even know what time zone you’re operating on.”

“Wine,” Madeleine and Caterina said in perfect unison, and I laughed.

I turned toward the bar cart, but before I could take two steps, Anton’s long fingers wrapped around my wrist. His grip was feather-light, his thumb tracing a slow, intoxicating circle over my pulse point before he bent his head to whisper against my ear.

“A word, princess. In the bedroom.”

A tiny spark of annoyance flickered—I hated being pulled away when I’d barely hugged them—but the dark, serious intensity in his eyes told me this wasn’t open for debate.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back in two minutes,” I called over my shoulder toward the sofa, where Madeleine had already arranged herself on a cushion.

I followed Anton down the short hallway. The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind us, he turned, drawing me in until there was no space between us. I felt the heat of his body as his free hand rose to cup my jaw with a gentleness that made my pulse stutter at the base of my throat.

“Thank you. I don’t know what you did to bring them here but—” I began.

His thumb dragged across my lower lip, effectively silencing me.

“Shhh… I need you to listen to me, Serena,” he said, his voice low. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t invite them. They just showed up in New York—at Cornerstone Tower, demanding answers. Your friends were quite persistent about seeing you, and I had little choice but to bring them here. But they know nothing beyond what’s been reported in the media. As far as they are concerned, I’m keeping you safe while the authorities investigate the fire and the shooting. They don’t know about the Serpent’s Disciples, Cade’s connection, or your father’s research. It must stay that way. We don’t know who we can trust right now.”

I blinked, trying to figure out how Madeleine and Caterina had followed me to New York, while also trying to process the ramifications.

“I hear you,” I said, placing my hand flat over his where it rested against my jaw. “And I understand the risk. But Cat is my family. Madeleine was my mother’s oldest friend. There is no universe where either of them is involved in this madness.”

His jaw flexed. “The people you love can be used to destroy you, Serena.”