Page 78 of Take Me Under

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.

He wasn’t wrong.

I stepped away, moving to adjust the settings on the furnace, giving myself a moment to think. The days and weeks leading up to meeting Anton had been beyond stressful. From worrying about funds running out to the late nights spent poring over old maps and endless theories about Cleopatra and Mark Antony—it had all been too much. It was everything my father had dedicated his life to, and everything I had spent my adult life chasing. But the money to keep going and the answers to the riddles were always just out of reach.

And I was exhausted from it all.

But in my workshop, covered in sweat and glass dust with my muscles aching, I felt alive.

I tightened my grip on the edge of the workbench, my breath coming slower now, deeper.

“This is my last excavation,” I admitted softly. Anton stayed quiet, letting me speak. I swallowed the lump in my throat, my chest tightening. “If we don’t find anything this time, I’m done. I haven’t told my mother yet, but I can’t keep chasing ghosts. This has always been about my father. It was his dream. He spent hiswhole life searching, always believing he was just one step away from finding Cleopatra and Mark Antony. After he died, I just couldn’t let it go. I thought if I found them and finished what he’d started, it would mean something.”

“You need to do what makes you happy, princess.”

I turned back to Anton then, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s your fault I started questioning this—questioning everything. It started the moment you told me to trustfall.”

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

I let out a slow breath.

“You dared me to fall without questioning whether everything would be alright—to blindly jump into an uncomfortable situation and trust that someone or something would catch me—even if the very thing I had to trust was myself. Your words made me realize that I don’t have to keep doing this. I can trust my instincts and follow my own path, no matter how foreign it may be.” I paused and looked around the workshop. “And today…today reminded me what it feels like to create. To make something beautiful with my own hands, instead of digging up the remnants of someone else’s past.”

A long silence stretched between us. Then Anton exhaled, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“And here I worried that I’d be a bad influence on you.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Who said you weren’t?”

His smile widened, but there was something softer in his eyes now.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, stepping closer, “I think you made your decision long before meeting me. You just needed to convince yourself.”

I looked back at the swan, my first real piece in months, and something settled inside me. Maybe he was right. I just hadn’t wanted to face it.

Anton stretched, rolling his shoulders.

“Come on, princess. Let’s get out of here, go into town, anddo something that doesn’t involve talking about glass and old bones.” He pulled out his phone, already dialing before I could respond. He turned away slightly as the call connected. Looking back at me, he held my eyes steady. “Zeke, I need you to come back and pick us up. I have a princess who deserves to be spoiled.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Serena

Lucca came alive in the late afternoon, its narrow cobblestone streets humming with activity. The medieval walls that once protected the city now enclosed a world of old charm, where history lingered in the worn bricks and flower-draped balconies.

The scent of espresso and freshly baked bread drifted from cafés, mingling with the distant notes of a street musician playing an old Italian love song on a violin. It was the kind of place that made you want to slow down, breathe deeply, and get lost in the romance of it all.

Anton walked beside me, his stride easy and confident. He seemed to belong in a place like this, even with his quiet luxury and sophistication. He fit against this backdrop just as easily as he did in a penthouse suite or the halls of a museum. It was as if the world and everything in it had been built to accommodate him.

And yet, despite his polished appearance, there was something undeniably predatory about him. He was like a wolf playing civilized for the afternoon, never forgetting what he truly was beneath the suit and charm. He might travel with a bodyguard, but Anton was an intimidating force all by himself.

I glanced at Zeke following closely behind us. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had the presence of a man who knew he was the most dangerous thing in the room. He was dressed casually enough—a dark shirt and tailored slacks—but there was no mistaking what he was. His sharp eyes never stopped scanning, tracking every person who passed, and assessing every potential threat no matter how harmless they might have seemed.

I wasn’t sure what to think about his looming presence, so I did my best to ignore it.

We turned onto a quieter street lined with boutique shops and art galleries. We wandered with no agenda in mind. I pointed out famous landmarks, telling him the history of Lucca and its well-preserved city walls. I was so familiar with the town that I barely noticed the everyday things like the olive oil displays in the store windows or the hand-stitched Italian leather stands on the streets. But Anton noted everything, and I was enjoying seeing things through the eyes of a newcomer.

When he stopped abruptly, I turned and asked, “What is it?”

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