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Jeremy threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Stone Arena is only the first Major League Soccer complex to hit New York!” He muttered something about women and sports, but I didn’t quite catch it. “Stone’s been pushing for this for years. It was finally just approved, and he earned the naming rights.”

Was everything in this city named after him?

“Yep, sounds like the same Alexander,” I said. Thankful Jeremy had distracted Allyson from her questioning, I walked to the front door, hoping I could just slip out. “I don’t really know much about soccer. However, I do know my ride is probably here.”

“Wait! Where are you going to eat? And are you taking a cab?” Allyson asked, quickly returning to her interrogation.

“I don’t know where we’re going, mom. He didn’t tell me,” I said sarcastically, pausing by the door. “And, no—I’m not taking a cab. Alexander sent a car for me.”

“A car? Now that’s impressive,” she said, her voice awestruck, completely ignoring the derisive comment I threw at her. “Promise me we’ll talk later? I want a full report.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. You’ll get the specifics. Oh, and I shouldn’t be out too late,” I added and raised an eyebrow at Allyson to make sure she caught the silent meaning behind my words. Telling her that I would be home early was code from our college days—signaling that I didn’t want to come home to find her bare-assed on the couch with Jeremy.

“Gotcha,” she said with a knowing wink. “We’re probably going to catch a movie later, so I might not be here when you get back.”

“No problem. You guys have a good night.”

“You, too. Have fun and be careful,” she warned as worry lines spread over her face.

“I always am. Bye!” I yelled over my shoulder and closed the door behind me.

Chapter Twelve

Krystina

When I exited my apartment complex, Alexander’s driver stood waiting for me outside of a black Porsche Cayenne. I approached him, and I attempted to introduce myself, but he just gave me a curt nod as a way of greeting and motioned for me to get inside the car.

He was intimidating in an ex-military kind of way and didn’t strike me as much of a talker. He wore a fancy earpiece, reminding me of the Secret Service, and I was afraid to even talk, much less ask him where we were going.

So instead, I sat in silence while we wove in and out of the New York City traffic, having no idea where he was taking me.

When we arrived at our destination, the driver still didn’t speak but merely opened the car’s door for me. I stepped out onto the pavement, and he walked me to the entrance of a no-named building. I might have been worried about the nondescript place, but I saw lights on in the windows and a polished bar gleaming under muted lighting. For some reason, I found these little signs of life comforting.

The building’s front door opened suddenly, and a stocky man with curly dark hair stepped out.

“Ah, finally! You are here! Come in, come in, please!” the man said with a slight Italian accent. His hands were waving in the air, motioning for me to get inside. His gestures seemed panicked almost, yet he wore a friendly smile on his handsome face. I could only raise my eyebrows in surprise at his overexcited presence. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.

I looked behind me, but the silent driver had disappeared back inside the SUV, leaving me little choice but to follow the animated Italian through the front doors.

“My name is Matteo Donati. I will be serving you tonight,” he called over his shoulder, walking briskly ahead of me. He was moving quickly, and I struggled to keep up with him, barely managing to stay vertical in my strappy little four-inch heels. I was already beginning to regret the risk I’d taken by wearing them.

“Hi, Matteo. I’m Krys–”

“Hurry along. Mr. Stone is waiting,” he said, completely cutting me off.

Heaven forbid we keep Stone waiting.

I followed the practically running Matteo through the vacant restaurant as if I were late for some monumental event. I truly felt like Alice must have on her adventure into Wonderland, except I was chasing an Italian rather than a white rabbit into an unfamiliar place.

The restaurant was eerily quiet and obviously not open for business. I found myself wishing Alexander’s driver were still here. Ironically, I began to feel nervous over the absence of the brooding man. It was almost like he should have been my protection in this deserted place. Chairs were flipped up on the tables, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. The lighting from the pendant fixtures was dim, revealing half-finished decorations and empty curtain rods. The shelves behind the bar looked like they had only been partially stocked. The only clue I would be eating dinner here came from the delicious smell wafting out of the kitchen, a mouth-watering aroma of garlic and sage.

Matteo paused in an open doorway off the main dining area, giving me a moment to catch up to him. When I reached his side, he took hold of my elbow and escorted me into an intimately furnished room with soft guitar music playing overhead. At first glance, the room appeared to be set up for small banquets. But upon closer inspection, I realized this wasn’t your typical run-of-the-mill banquet room. The furnishings reeked of exclusiveness, the setting more appropriate for high-ticketed private gatherings.

Alexander Stone sat alone at a candlelit table set for two. As I made my way to him, I was suddenly overcome with anxious jitters, and my palms began to sweat. I couldn’t fathom why I was suddenly so nervous.

He’s just a man sitting at a table.