Page 25 of Tarnished Reign

I recognize Pacific Heights as we drive through it and toward Presidio Heights, stopping right on the border between the two ridiculously expensive communities.

We park outside a huge gate, with high stone walls securing the property. The home is located at the end of the street in a secluded cul-de-sac as if all the other homes are too simple and dull for its stately grandeur.

There is a small hut behind the gate, and the man sitting in it is armed. Other men patrol the grounds behind the huge iron bars. Holy hell, I thought my stepmother was rich. I now realize she was merely comfortable. This is some Dynasty shit right here.

The man in the little booth comes out and pushes an intercom. His voice sounds in the car, and Alexis replies, “Me, Dimitri, and a guest.”

“Yes, sir.”

The gates open, and the car slides through. Alexis winds the windows down, and the man looks in. He nods and picks up the phone on the wall as we smoothly roll up the long drive.

I quickly realize this isn’t one house but a collection of them. There’s a large—huge, in fact—building to my right, and a much smaller one to my left. Then a second smaller one, and finally at the end of the drive is a mansion which reminds me of a palace.

Is that mansion Dimitri’s home? No, the car turns and takes the road to the right, to the smaller but still humongous house situated there.

The vehicle slides to a halt, and Dimitri steps out and holds the door open for me. I climb out, and he leads me to the front door. I expect a key, but of course that would be far too basic. He holds his palm up to a pad situated by the door and presses his hand against it. A camera scans his face, then finally, the door clicks and unlocks.

Jesus Christ, only Dimitri is getting in here. Wow. I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternative world. It’s like I’ve gone through the looking glass.

“We will be ten minutes.” Dimitri points to the two smaller buildings. “Make sure our security detail is more than adequately armed, and tell them to take two cars instead of one.”

“Of course,” Alexis says. “Do you want me with you too?”

“No. I want you to dig into Adriana’s stepmother. I want to know who she is, where she goes, what she loves, if anything. I want to know what she ate for fucking breakfast this morning.”

“They do have friends they have cocktails with,” I volunteer. “I can give you their names.”

“That helps,” Dimitri says. “Write it down for Alexis.”

There’s an underlying savagery to his tone, and I wonder if he’s going to make Hana pay the same way he seems to be making Dorian and his men pay.

“Understood.” Alexis nods and walks off briskly toward the smaller houses.

“Come,” Dimitri says, holding the door open for me.

I step inside and turn around, taking in the entrance hall. The area is stunning. Black and white tiles pattern the floor, and they lead to a sweeping light wood staircase. The tiles are polished to a brilliant shine. A plinth holds a huge earthenware vase, and a bold painting provides the only splash of color. A lacquered wood table sits to one side with a bowl resting atop it, which Dimitri tosses his wallet into.

It’s modern and simple but luxurious. It’s also intensely masculine. If this were my home, that table would house a vase of flowers for sure. The smell of wood and furniture polish tickles my senses at once, rich and sharp.

“Do you mind waiting in the sitting room for five minutes while I make a call and change?” Dimitri asks.

I shake my head, happy to be given an actual choice instead of being issued an order. “Of course; I don’t mind.”

“I won’t be long.”

He ushers me into a large room. “Make yourself at home. There’s a bar at the far end, with ice and a variety of drinks. Help yourself.”

He leaves me alone, in his home, and heads up the stairs at a jog. Does he trust me? Or does he think I could never be a threat to him? The latter, I imagine. It’s an arrogant assumption but not surprising. He’s wealthy, dangerous, and connected, and I’m a nobody who is accident prone and makes bad decisions; frankly, I find it hard to decide what I want for lunch, never mind anything more important.

My dad always said my scattiness was because my mind was occupied with books. He said I spent my life with my head in the clouds, thinking about what I had read, analyzing it, daydreaming about it. He wasn’t wrong. I love most literary genres, but I have a soft spot for the more romantic texts, and I adore a touch of the gothic too.

Does Dimitri read? If so, what are his favorite books? What were they when he was a child? I almost laugh at the thought of Dimitri as a child. He’s so intensely masculine and adult that it’s as if he came into the world fully formed as a thirty-something man.

Is that his age? I don’t know, but he looks around thirty, to maybe mid-thirties at the latest.

I’m so much younger than him. Naïve too. Soft, whereas he’s hard.

I’m like a hermit crab without its shell, all soft underbelly and no hard protection.

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