All Chapters of Too Late, Mr. Billionaire : Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Anyta POVThe study door clicked shut behind me softly. Clay sat hunched at the desk, the laptop’s cold glow carving sharp shadows across his face. His shoulders were rigid, one hand still gripping the edge of the printed photograph like it might vanish if he let go. I crossed the small room and eased myself onto the desk beside him, our shoulders brushing. Close enough to feel the faint tremor running through him.Outside the study, the team’s low voices filtered through the wall. The grey pre-dawn light was just beginning to seep through the narrow window, turning everything into muted silhouettes. I’ve learnt to give him space when he’s like this.Minutes stretched into what felt like an hour. Clay’s breathing was the only sound I focused on, deep as if he were fighting a war inside his chest. I kept my eyes on the photograph in his hands. A younger woman with warm brown eyes and a smile that reached straight into you, holding a chubby toddler version of Clay like he was her entire

CLAY’S POVThe silence after Philip’s speakerphone announcement lasted maybe three seconds before the war room exploded into controlled chaos.“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, my arm still locked around Anyta’s waist. I held on like it was the only steady thing left in my life.Victor was in the wind because he was tipped off two hours ahead of a federal warrant. The bastard had probably been watching us watch him.Philip was already barking orders to the agents. “Kill the decoy feeds. I want every private airstrip within three hundred miles pinged.”I forced myself back into operational mode, the shift automatic after years of training. But this time I didn’t let go of Anyta’s hand. She stayed right beside me at the main table, her shoulder brushing mine. Her presence was a quiet anchor while the rest of the room moved at double speed.“FBI’s taking point on the manhunt,” Philip told me, his phone still pressed to his ear. “They want everything we have, which includes you, Clay. Owen Gr

ANYTA’S POV“I know exactly where he’ll be,” I said.The words left my lips with a calm I hadn’t expected. The side room fell into a thoughtful hush as the team absorbed them. Clay’s hand remained firm around mine, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against my skin. Marcus Webb had already been escorted out.I stood, heightening up. “Victor won’t stay in Rome long because it’s too exposed. He’ll head north to Venice. It’s very likely that that’s where someone like him will go to disappear while still feeling in control.”Philip nodded once, already moving. “We’ll adjust the flight plan and coordinates. The wheels will be up in three hours.”The meeting broke quickly after that. I slipped upstairs to my bedroom for privacy. Packing had always been a ritual for me. At eighteen, I had done it in tears, shoving clothes into a suitcase hurriedly. This time, it was different. My hands moved with quiet efficiency choosing my clothes carefully.The suitcase lay open on my bed, as I fol

ANYTA’S POVThe next morning came too fast. I woke up before the sun was fully up, my heart already beating hard. Clay was still asleep beside me, one arm draped loosely over my waist. I slipped out of bed quietly, showered, and dressed in simple dark clothes, and waited, fidgeting with my phone. When he woke up, we ate breakfast quietly in the room without saying much to each other.By ten o’clock I was ready. Marco had quietly confirmed that the man at the address was indeed Victor Crane, and he was there at the bar again. I told Clay I needed to handle that part myself.“I’ll be in the bar the whole time,” he said, checking his watch. “One signal from you and I’m there.”“I know. I’ll be fine.” I said, squeezing his hands.Clay and I walked into the bar, and picked a seat far off from Victor. I walked the short distance from there to him alone. Victor Crane was already sitting at a corner table and he looked up as I approached.His new look wasn’t what I expected.Victor was older

Clay’s POVThe room felt too small after the meeting with Victor. I needed air, and so did Anyta. We stepped out of the hotel just as the sun began to dip lower, painting the canals in soft gold. For one night, we wanted to leave all of it behind.We walked slowly through the narrow streets. Anyta’s hand laced in mine, her fingers slender and warm. We walked without direction, letting Venice pull us along its narrow streets and over small bridges. I took in the moment, and for the first time in months, I wasn’t thinking about the next move.After a while, Anyta squeezed my hand. “You hungry?” she asked.“Starving.”She smiled and pulled me down a quiet calle. “I know a place.”The small restaurant was tucked away behind a tiny bridge. There were only six mini tables. Anyta greeted the owner like an old friend, speaking quick Italian. We sat outside under strings of lights. She ordered for us without looking at the menu; pasta with clams, fresh bread, salad, and a bottle of white wine.