Page 43 of Tarnished Reign

I prefer the version of him Russian Nonna told.

Sometimes lies are better than the truth. Sometimes a lie can be beautiful.

I can see the note as if it’s in front of me right now. My father’s sloped, elegant hand saying awful things, purging his soul onto the thick, yellowing paper.

My son is a curse. My wife is a curse. They are evil. They are here to torment me. I must end them. Remove them. Forever.

Shit, I suck in air and try to blank it out.

Adriana lets out a small whimper under her breath, then she throws her arm out, hitting me on the side.

There’s a panicky feeling breathing under my skin, the same one I always get when I think about my father and what he did. The awful truth of the blood that flows in me.

I stare at Adriana and feel the violence too close to the surface. Too dangerous and transformative. An energy that could become something else entirely if I let it.

If I don't get out of this bed, I'm going to end up doing something that will break my promise. I'm a man of my word, so I push the covers back and slide out of the bed. I pad quietly into the adjoining bathroom. After a long, cold shower, I dry my hair, and spritz aftershave around the base of my throat. The long gold chain holding the cross is nestled between my pecs. I hold it up and watch as the gold reflects the light.

Russian Nonna gave me this, but before then it belonged to my father. There were many times I was tempted to rip it from my throat and throw it into the trash. Something always stopped me. It’s all I have left of him. He may have been deeply flawed, and he may not have loved me, but he was still my father. This and the family crest are the remains of the Baranov legacy.

I look over my shoulder, turning so my back is in the mirror, at the large tattoo between my shoulder blades. It's the Baranov crest. It's a beautiful work of art, and it took more than one visit to the tattoo parlor to complete. It's the only ink on my body. The rest of the men who work for our organization are covered in ink. For some of them it denotes their place within the organization. For others, they have elements of Russian or Ukrainian history marked on their skin. It's my lack of those markings which helps me stand out from the brigadiers like Virgil and the others. This ink, though, is my penance.

My phone buzzes on the stand below the mirror, and I pick it up. Speak of the devil. It's a message from Virgil.

Morning, beautiful.

I roll my eyes at that but smile a little.

I hope you slept well on the boat. Jacob says I should supply a few girls from one of the dance clubs for the yacht party. Let me know if you would like that. He says you didn't keep any of the girls from Dorian’s little harem.

The dance clubs aren't strip clubs. They are regular night clubs, but we found that having sexily dressed men and women dancing helps bring in the ravers.

My clubs don't have dancers. They are seen as being cool, or hot, or whatever it is the kids call it these days. We have some of the best DJs and up and coming groups playing our venues. I don't have a clue about that side of things, which is why my manager, Sadie, is a godsend. She has her finger on the pulse of new acts. She knows what people twenty years younger than her are into.

Our clientele ranges from college kids to baristas at the trendiest coffee shops, artists, and bohemian types, to Silicon Valley millionaires. They all want to partake of the vibe.

I send a reply to Virgil. That sounds good. I’ll let you know when. Three or four girls will be enough. I'm going to ask Sadie to create a guest list for the party. Perhaps you and Jacob can circulate some invites to the kind of people who need to be there. After all, there's no point even holding a party on the yacht if the right people aren’t there. We want everyone within our world to see that we've requisitioned it and taken everything that Dorian had. Did you send some guys to his house? Yuri should have given you the keys.

The reply comes quickly. Already been. He has dreadful taste in deco. I trashed some of the rooms just for fun, and two of our men are living there now, partying. As we take over his empire, we’ll take more of his territory. Ari has gone to ground. I have feelers out everywhere. One of our cops is meeting with your father today. He has informants who allegedly have an ear into these guys and their operation.

I type back. Okay. Sounds good. Speak later.

Then I delete all the messages.

I take the card out of the back of the phone and flush it down the toilet. I take a new card out of my toiletry bag and insert it into the phone. I text Jacob and Virgil the number, so they know this is the new contact.

We live by a never-ending stream of burners and disposable cards. I have a personal phone. The one I messaged Janice with, but I only ever message innocuous things on there. I’d never refer to work.

Of course, messages can be retrieved even after phones and memory cards are destroyed. We have good relationships with the cops, though, and Jacob is very careful not to do shit that would cause the feds to come sniffing around. The arms he moves are borderline illegal, but close enough to legal as to make a case against him hard.

Dancing on the line without crossing it is a skill Jacob has in droves.

Stepping into the bedroom, I pause and stare at Adriana.

Her hair is fanned out, a dark pool of shining tresses. Her face is turned toward me. Like this, with her eyes closed, she looks even more striking. Even more innocent. Christ, she’s utterly beguiling.

I can’t stay in this bedroom any longer. I need to move. Do something so I don’t slide back into the sheets with Adriana and wrap myself around her body.

I can’t wait until the clothes get here, and I can see her dressed in the finery she deserves.

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