Page 56 of Take Me Darkly

I stood, moving back to dresser to place the coin inside the cedar box, unsure what to do.

Not yet.

I would know the right moment when it came.

Chapter Seventeen

Serena

* * *

The masquerade had Anton’s idea, and even I had to admit, the strategy was brilliant. A themed event gave members a reason to hide their faces, ensuring my presence beside Anton wouldn’t draw the eyes of anyone who might recognize me from the media storm.

I’d spent the late afternoon preparing, aided by a garment bag that had arrived in my room after breakfast without a note. It was an indulgence I was fast growing accustomed to; since coming to New York, Anton had ensured I wanted for nothing.

The gown was liquid black, catching the ambient light and throwing it back in shimmering waves. The neckline plunged drastically to my sternum, while the back dipped lower still. A floor-length skirt fell from my hips, cut with high splits up both thighs that barely concealed a microscopic lace thong—a shameless upgrade, considering I had learned my lesson about waxing kits.

The entire dress hung from a single, delicate strap around my neck. The fit wasn’t just precise—it was custom. I chose not to dwell on how Anton had obtained my exact measurements.

I left my dark hair down, styled in loose waves draped over one shoulder. Among the personal items Zeke had salvaged from my car in Lucca, I found a pair of gold drop earrings tipped with smoky quartz. Paired with the amethyst panic pendant resting at the hollow of my throat, the look was complete.

The Venetian mask added the final layer of dangerous elegance. Black lacquer inlaid with intricate gold leaf spiraled outward over my brow and cheekbones. Tying the silk ribbons at the nape of my neck, I studied my reflection in the full-length mirror.

I barely recognized the woman staring back. Polished, provocative, and striking, she looked like she belonged on Anton’s arm.

Was this who I was becoming?

The thought sent a subtle shiver through me. The transformation was disorienting, yet I couldn’t deny the intoxicating freedom blooming in my chest. Shedding my quiet academic skin felt less like losing myself and more like breaking out of a shell.

A firm knock echoed from the doorway.

Anton stood on the threshold, framed in a bespoke black tuxedo. His mask was minimalist—matte black edged in gold, secured with satin ribbon. While it concealed his eyes, it left the sharp, ruthless line of his jaw completely bare. The jacket was tailored so immaculately to his broad shoulders that it looked less like formal wear and more like custom armor.

His dark gaze swept down my body, slow and possessive, before he extended a hand.

“Ready, princess?” he asked, his voice thick and smooth.

“You look—” I began.

“Not nearly as breathtaking as you,” he cut in, his quiet intensity sending a wave of electric heat straight to my core.

He interlaced his fingers with mine as we left the apartment, guiding me toward the club below. The low, thumping bass echoed through the ancient stone walls—a slow, sinuous pulse that felt less like music and more like raw hunger. A sultry female vocal drifted over the beat, singing of liquid desire and dark surrender.

Stepping onto the main floor of Club O, the energy was intoxicating. Couples leaned close in shadowed alcoves, their soft, wicked laughter blending with the clink of crystal. It was my first time seeing the venue at peak hours, and the atmosphere was a heady, decadent cocktail.

Anton’s palm pressed flush against the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd.

Gothic arches, stained glass, and velvet seating gave the main nave a theatrical, hedonistic atmosphere. Hurricane lamps flickered on every surface, dragging long shadows across the floor under the slow sweep of overhead spotlights. Black iron chandeliers were draped in clusters of dried dark roses, striking a balance between a Venetian palace and an elite underworld.

The guests were a study in opulence and intrigue. The women wore masks paired with daring gowns—from corseted bustiers with sweeping trains to sheer, shimmering silks that left nothing to the imagination. The men wore uniform black tie, creating a striking contrast against the elaborate attire of their partners.

I clung to Anton’s arm, drinking in the sight. It was still early, and for now, the room carried the illusion of an unusually decadent dinner party. Whatever primal play awaited in the private suites had yet to unfold.

Anton gestured toward a secluded corner booth. “Alex and Krystina are waiting.”

In a deep recess off the main floor, a table sat far enough from the DJ booth to allow effortless conversation. A bottle of decanted Barolo rested at the center.

The man who rose to greet us was tall, dark-haired, and carried a dangerous, contained composure that mirrored Anton’s own. He wore a black tuxedo paired with a midnight-blue pocket square and a simple half-mask that did nothing to dull the piercing intelligence in his cobalt gaze.