The sleek town car pulled to a halt in front of a historic, gilded-age stone building on Fifth Avenue.
The uniformed doorman immediately recognized Winnie's vehicle and rushed forward to open the heavy glass doors.
The "Cloud Top" restaurant was situated on the upper floors of a luxury Manhattan high-rise, featuring massive floor-to-ceiling windows that offered panoramic, vertiginous views of the city skyline. The interior was aggressively opulent, dripping with crystal chandeliers and mahogany paneling. The air literally smelled like old money and expensive perfume.
When Anthony and Winnie arrived at the entrance, Leon Wentworth's blindingly bright yellow sports car was already parked illegally by the curb.
Leon was leaning against the hood, wearing a tailored suit featuring an obscenely loud floral print. He looked like a peacock trying to aggressively expand its territory, currently posing for a selfie with an exaggerated duck-face.
Seeing Winnie and Anthony approach, Leon immediately pocketed his phone, broke into a massive grin, and threw his arms wide.
"My two leading ladies have arrived!" Leon cheered, pulling Winnie into a dramatic hug.
He then turned and slapped Anthony forcefully on the shoulder.
"Anthony, my friend! Are you mentally prepared to face your romantic rival? I cannot wait to see your defensive maneuvers today."
"Leon, tone it down," Winnie sighed, rubbing her temples.
"Do not worry, Winnie, I am a master of subtlety," Leon winked egregiously, turning to lead the way inside.
He marched them through the gleaming marble lobby with the confidence of a man who owned the building, navigating straight to the VIP private dining rooms.
Seven or eight young men and women were already seated around a massive, polished oak table inside the private room. Anthony recognized a few faces from the disastrous Pritzker family dinner at the Plaza Hotel.
Sitting dead center at the head of the table was Royce Howard.
Royce was wearing a bespoke, immaculate dark blue suit. His hair was styled with geometric precision, and a low-key but impossibly expensive Patek Philippe watch rested on his left wrist.
There was a single empty chair to his immediate right.
As Anthony walked in, the young man sitting to Royce's left quickly leaned over and whispered something into Royce's ear.
Royce's gaze swept coldly past Anthony and locked onto Winnie. "This was meant to be an intimate gathering of close friends, Winnie. Why did you bring an outsider?"
Before Winnie could formulate a polite, corporate introduction, Anthony stepped forward with a lazy, charming smile.
"I am Winnie's boyfriend. How could I possibly be an outsider?"
Royce took a sharp breath, his jaw tightening. He pointed an accusatory finger at Leon, who was currently stealing a bread roll from a neighboring plate. "And Leon. I certainly do not recall inviting you to this luncheon."
"He's my boyfriend," Anthony interjected smoothly without missing a beat. "I figured if Winnie could bring her boyfriend, I was allowed to bring mine as well."
Leon froze mid-chew, his eyes widening. Then he burst into a booming, genuine laugh. "Fuck it. I agree to these terms."
Winnie stared at Anthony, a complicated mix of sheer exasperation and genuine amusement crossing her face. She was shocked that Anthony was still just as obnoxiously glib as he had been in high school.
Royce seemed to physically glitch for a moment as his brain tried to process the geometry of that statement. After a brief internal reboot, he decided to ignore the madness entirely.
He pointed to the empty chair to his right and looked at Winnie. "I saved this seat for you."
Winnie opened her mouth to politely decline, but Anthony had already moved.
"Anthony, what are you doing?" she hissed under her breath, suddenly terrified Anthony was going to pull a knife.
Anthony completely ignored her. He strode forward and sat down directly in the empty chair next to Royce.
"You saved this for me? How incredibly thoughtful of you, Royce."
The entire table fell dead silent. Everyone understood exactly what Anthony was doing; he was violently asserting dominance over the alpha of the room.
Whispers began to break out among the other trust-fund heirs.
"I don't understand, where does this Russian thug get his confidence?"
"He's just trying to provoke Royce. He doesn't realize he's nothing but a clown."
Winnie blushed slightly, feeling the weight of the disdainful glances aimed at Anthony.
"Don't worry," Leon whispered to her, crossing his arms and grinning. "He isn't going to embarrass you. He's going to embarrass them."
Royce had clearly never encountered someone who refused to play by the polite, passive-aggressive rules of high society. He looked genuinely baffled.
"This seat was reserved exclusively for Winnie," Royce said, his voice tight. "Why are you sitting here?"
Anthony looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Well, where do you want me to sit?"
"Sit literally anywhere else!" Royce snapped, losing his composure. "Just do not sit next to me!"
Then, the entire room witnessed a scene that nearly made their eyeballs pop out of their skulls.
Anthony stood up, took one step to the left, and sat down directly on Royce's lap.
"Oh, so you prefer it this way?" Anthony asked, leaning back against Royce's chest. "I have to admit, I've never really been with other men before, so you're making me a little shy. But tell me, what other fantasies do you have? Just lay them all out for me, even the weird, ambiguous ones. Let's see if I can fulfill them."
Anthony batted his eyelashes.
Royce froze in absolute, unadulterated terror. His entire body went rigid as a board.
He didn't even hear Leon's frantic, high-pitched squealing laughter echoing from the doorway. The other guests either desperately covered their mouths to hide their laughter or stared in absolute, paralyzing shock.
Winnie coughed loudly, quickly covering her face with her hand. She stared intently at her designer shoes, her toes curling inside the leather as she fought a losing battle against a hysterical laugh.
Royce's face cycled through five different shades of red. Anthony's behavior was so utterly deranged it completely shattered Royce's wealthy-aristocrat programming.
"What... what is my fantasy?" Royce stammered, the veins in his forehead throbbing dangerously. "I want a hundred million dollars! Can you grant that wish, you lunatic?"
"Oh!" Anthony gasped, adopting a deeply benevolent, priestly expression as he made the sign of the cross over Royce's chest. "My child! Your heart is entirely insincere! The Lord cannot bless you!"
"You mother—" Royce finally snapped, but his ingrained, country-club manners choked the curse word in his throat.
"Anthony, enough playing around," Winnie finally managed to say, shooting him a warning glare that lacked any real heat.
Anthony immediately hopped off Royce's lap and casually sat down in the chair to Royce's right.
He turned to the terrified socialite sitting to his immediate right. "I really prefer to sit next to my girlfriend. But... if you are also volunteering to be my girlfriend..."
Before Anthony even finished the sentence, the woman practically threw herself out of her chair and sprinted to the other side of the table.
Winnie gritted her teeth and walked over, taking the newly vacated seat next to Anthony. Leon casually intimidated another heir out of their chair with a cheerful, "Unless you want me to be your boyfriend," and sat down next to Winnie.
As the waiters began serving the first course, Royce kept catching glimpses of Anthony out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, the Michelin-star food tasted like ash.
Refusing to be humiliated at his own table, Royce ignored Anthony entirely and spoke across him to Winnie. "Winnie, you are entirely within your rights to reject my advances, but please, do not debase yourself by associating with just anyone."
Anthony paused chewing his steak, swallowed, and turned to Winnie with an incredibly serious expression. "He is absolutely right, Winnie. You should stay far away from Royce. He isn't even sincere to the Lord."
The young man sitting to Royce's left quickly leaned in and whispered, "Pivot the conversation. Talk business. Show her you operate on a higher level."
Royce understood instantly. Fine. If we can't talk about romance, we will talk about corporate strategy. Let's see the Russian thug try to keep up with that.
Royce picked up his crystal tumbler of scotch, attempting to project an aura of effortless authority.
"Winnie, I heard the Pritzker Group is currently experiencing some minor friction regarding your corporate integration on the West Coast. Something regarding the brand repositioning of your boutique hotels? Perhaps we could discuss a collaboration. The Howard Group possesses extensive experience in luxury brand elevation."
Royce shifted his gaze to Anthony, his eyes dripping with calculated superiority.
"Brand repositioning?" Anthony chimed in cheerfully.
He was currently using his silver fork to violently stab the uniquely shaped artisanal bread rolls in the center basket.
"That's like taking a jammed, rusted-out M16 rifle and dipping it in solid gold, right? Sure, it looks incredibly high-end when you put it in a glass case. But when the enemy is breaching the wire, the only thing that actually matters is if the damn thing fires. Right?"
Anthony picked up a heavily mangled piece of bread, held it up like a pistol, and aimed it directly between Royce's eyes.
"Bang."
Winnie swiftly kicked Anthony in the shin under the table.
Royce forced a tight, patronizing smile. The vein in his forehead was pulsing rhythmically.
"Mr. Tarasov... your analogy is certainly unique. However, the modern luxury hotel industry is entirely predicated on service quality, immersive customer experiences, and brand premiums."
"Customer experience?" Anthony nodded sagely. "I completely understand."
"It's like constructing a fortified checkpoint in the middle of the Afghan desert. If you provide the convoys with ice-cold water and a canvas sunshade—that is a seven-star experience. It is simple, practical, and highly effective."
Anthony leaned back, gesturing with his fork. "All these 'immersive art spaces' and 'olfactory sensory journeys' you corporate guys talk about? That sounds like giving a deep-tissue mud massage to a camel that's dying of thirst. It sounds expensive, but it's fundamentally useless."
Anthony turned to Winnie.
"Winnie, does your hotel franchise issue compasses to guests who get lost on their way to the bathroom? Because I think that would be a highly practical service."
Leon finally broke. He slammed his hand against the table, tears of laughter streaming down his face.
"Hahaha! Anthony! A concierge compass service! You are a fucking visionary! That is absolute market differentiation right there!"
"We could launch a joint venture," Leon gasped for air. "We'll manufacture diamond-encrusted compasses and sell them for a hundred grand a pop to billionaires who get lost looking for the lobby in Manhattan!"
Royce's face had gone completely pale. The sheer, aggressive absurdity of the conversation was short-circuiting his brain.
He took a deep breath, deciding to completely ignore the two lunatics and make one final, desperate play for Winnie's attention.
"Winnie. My father has always deeply admired your forward-thinking vision regarding global hospitality operations. He firmly believes that a young, highly capable female executive like yourself requires an equally capable, sophisticated partner to build an empire alongside..."
"Partner?" Anthony interrupted Royce's heartfelt monologue, his tone implying he had just discovered a fascinating new concept.
"Oh! You mean like a tactical teammate who covers your blind spots during a live-fire breach? Yes, that is absolutely critical for survival."
Anthony picked up his heavy, serrated steak knife. He habitually ran his thumb along the edge of the steel to test its sharpness, then expertly flipped the blade over his knuckles.
His movements were entirely subconscious, as natural as a soldier checking the action of his sidearm.
Royce stared at the gleaming, spinning blade in Anthony's hand. His Adam's apple bobbed heavily. A sudden, visceral chill ran down his spine.
He suddenly realized that he wasn't sitting next to a clown. He was sitting next to a killer.
Royce stood up so fast his heavy oak chair shrieked loudly against the marble floor.
"Winnie," Royce stammered, adjusting his cuffs with trembling hands. "It appears today is not an optimal time for this discussion. We will reschedule. The bill has already been settled."
Without waiting for a reply, Royce practically sprinted for the exit, leaving his entourage behind. His back was stiff, but his retreat was undeniably a rout.
The other heirs at the table stared at Anthony with inscrutable expressions—a mix of deep curiosity and genuine fear.
"Flawless victory, brother!" Leon cheered, giving Anthony a massive thumbs-up as the last of Royce's friends scrambled out of the private room. "I officially declare that Royce Howard's offense has completely shattered against Anthony Tarasov's absolute defense!"
Winnie finally lost the battle. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently as she dissolved into helpless laughter.
She let out a long, exhausted sigh, wiping a tear from her eye, and looked at Anthony. He was sitting there looking entirely innocent.
"Anthony..."
"Hmm?" Anthony looked up, his eyes clear and confused. "Did they all leave? There's no way the three of us can finish all this food."
Leon leaned over, excitedly pointing at the most expensive Wagyu tomahawk set meal on the menu.
"We celebrate! The rest of the afternoon is on me! Mad Dog Leon and the Russian Prince are wrecking high society today!"
Winnie's smile faltered, her face darkening slightly as she realized she was now trapped with both of them.
"Fine," she muttered, pouring herself a massive glass of wine. "I brought this upon myself."
Read ahead with 70+ chapters now with daily updates!
@patreon.com/Authorizz