Page 4 of Cutting Ties
“Jesus Christ,” James muttered on the other end of the phone.
I’d barely gotten the words from my mouth when the estate came into view and I released a low whistle. A majestic house came into sight, surrounded by a twelve-foot-high iron fence with what looked like electrodes at the top. Occasionally I’d see a sign warning of high voltage. Fuccccck. Past the gates however, the house looked like a fucking palace. Living in Malibu I saw my fair share of massive mansions every day, my three-million-dollar house was nothing to sneeze at, but it was a shack compared to the extravagance before me.
“What?”
“The house, man. Never seen anything like it. Look, I gotta go.”
There was a long silence and finally by brother replied, “All right. Call me later. Good luck.”
“Sure.” Ending the call, I continued to eye the house and grounds as the gate and guard house came into view. About one-hundred feet from each side of the gate was a guard tower. Squinting against the slowly lowering sun I caught sight of a couple of guards with what appeared to be automatic weapons in their arms in each of the towers.
As we pulled up to the guard house, the door to the house opened and four guards dressed in entirely black with bullet-proof vests and rifles in their hands came out to greet us. Following the first four guards was a fifth holding a large mirror on a pole, who immediately began checking under the vehicle.
Words were exchanged as the driver lowered all windows, including the privacy panel. “They want us to get out and show our IDs. No sudden moves. Keep your hands up. They’ll pat you down. You don’t have any weapons on you, do you?” the driver asked.
“Of course not.”
“Good. If you did now is the time to declare it.” The driver turned back to speak to the guard at his window in rapid Spanish. Much too quick for me to understand.
This was slightly unnerving, but I nodded as I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and removed my California driver’s license while a guard opened my door and waved me out.
Getting out from the car, I passed him my driver’s license, placed my wallet on the roof of the car and then put my hands in the air as I was given a pat down. Not a quick pat down you’d expect at an airport, but a full, very intrusive search that left me gritting my teeth.
Standing before me, the guard looked directly into my eyes. If I were to go off his expression, I’d have thought he was going to kill me then and there. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here to pick up Valentina.”
“Cual es tu nombre?”
“Anthony Williams. Valentina is expecting me.” That much I did manage to understand at least.
“Anthony Williams,” the guard before me barked to someone in the guard house.
“Cleared,” a voice replied over the speaker mounted to the side of the guard house.
The guard before me nodded, turned back to me, and passed me my license. “Very well. You may proceed.”
“Gracias.” Taking the license, I placed it back into my wallet and then securely back into my back pocket. I hadn’t prepared myself for that. As I slid back into the black leather seat of the back of the car, I released the breath I’d been holding.
Holy fuck…
The massive gates before us slid to the left as the driver got back into the car and brought the engine back to life. “Security is important here,” the driver explained. “I should have warned you.”
Valentina should have warned me, I thought, keeping that opinion strictly to myself.
But being that this level of security was commonplace for her, perhaps she didn’t think to give me the heads-up. I was slightly annoyed, but as we reached the front door of the house and came to a complete stop the annoyance faded because on the front step, wearing a beautiful red dress that dipped low into her cleavage and flared out around her mid-thigh, was the woman I’d gone to bed fantasizing about for the past six months looking like a goddess.
Valentina Rossi.
