Page 42 of Tarnished Reign

Her reply is swift this time. Okay, thank you. What about heels? Mid or high?

I study the back of Adriana’s silky head. I doubt she’s used to wearing high heels. Mid, I type back. Get some jeans too. Designer trainers. Some jewelry, make it a mix of fashion and fine, and bags.

Three dots appear and disappear a few times. How much are we talking here, Dimitri? Fine jewelry and designer bags aren’t cheap.

I don’t even need to think. Cost is no issue. I want her dressed like a queen. Only the best. Sexy but subtly so. Less mob wife, more Hollywood movie star on the weekend but knowing she’s going to get papped.

Her laughing emoji comes first, and then she writes, That’s incredibly specific.

Yes, isn’t it just. It should concern me how much I know exactly what kind of clothes will suit Adriana and how much I want to see her in them. She’s not my fucking doll. She’s not even my girlfriend. Or my whore. She’s my captive. When all is said and done, Adriana is here against her will. I am protecting her, but she’d be out there doing whatever it is she does if she hadn't been plucked from her life and stolen away by Dorian.

Now, here I am, stealing her away too. I’m dressing it up in justifications. Obeying Jacob. In keeping her safe. But I know, deep down, that I don’t want to let her go. If Dorian and all his men dropped dead of a mystery ailment tomorrow, I wouldn’t tell her. That’s fucked up. That’s dangerous. I should pass her over to my father, or to Virgil, and tell them to keep her safe. But I know I won’t.

I haven't even kissed her, and I’m consumed by desire for her.

I like specific, is what I type back to Janice.

I put my phone away. I know exactly how I want Adriana to look. She’s stunning, and in the right clothes, she’ll be the envy of every single man who sees her with me. I want Dorian to see her dressed like a fucking queen and to know he’s never going to get within an inch of her. I also want Ari and the others to see her with me. Right before I kill them and pluck their eyes out the way I threatened Jinx, for daring to fucking look at her in that trashy underwear they dressed her in.

My plan to not be photographed like some Instagram influencer might have to be revised. As someone who owns and runs two of the hottest nightclubs in this city, if I go out with someone on my arm, to a known hotspot, I’m likely to be photographed for the gossip pages. It doesn’t usually happen because anytime I’m with a woman, which is incredibly rare, I sneak them in the back.

The more I think about things, my mind turns from possessive thoughts about Littleblue to tactical matters.

I need to know who these people who want to auction Adriana are. Damen is working on that, but what’s the best way to flush out prey? Make it reveal itself. If I let them see one of the girls they’re supposed to be receiving in a few weeks is with me, they might show their hand. Perhaps they’ll contact Dorian. Since I have all the gang’s devices, I’ll receive the message.

It’s risky, but I like it. I’ve never been one to sit around and simply wait for things to happen. Much better to force them on one’s own terms.

When Littleblue has her new wardrobe, we’ll go out on the town, and I will take her through the front entrance of my nightclub. I can make sure I have extra security right before we do it. It’s best not to be on the yacht once I’m seen with her, as it’s too vulnerable. I can take her to my club a few nights after the party here, then hunker down at home on the compound and wait.

Jacob wants the party on the yacht; it’s a fixation with him to make the city see what happens when you screw us over. I should do that soon. Move it up the timeline to urgent, and when he’s satisfied that his enemies have been shown what we will do, I can get off this fucking boat.

I’ll move back to the compound with Adriana and take her out on the town. More than once. Ostentatiously show her off. Get those bastards to show themselves.

Better to have them come at us when we’re prepared, rather than at a time when our guard is down. I’ll need to ensure pictures of me with Adriana are taken and distributed far and wide.

I will speak with my stepfather first. I’ll let Jacob know before I take her out, so that he can send my mother and sister away well before these events are put in motion. We can make sure we have extra guards at the house, and then Adriana and I go for our night out. I'll place a few calls to editors of local papers and magazines to ensure that we’re seen.

The pictures will be circulated. And then we’ll wait.

It’s a solid plan. As good as anything else I can think of.

Once I get more information on the stepmother, and the debt she owed to Dorian and his organization, things should become clearer on that score too.

For Adriana, though, her life is forever changed. She might always require permanent protection. Perhaps something like witness protection if Jacob could organize that.

Unless she's with you, a small voice whispers in the back of my mind. I immediately push the idea away.

Even if she could deal with the kind of life I lead, I doubt she'll be happy taking what little I have to offer. I've never fallen in love because I don't really believe in it. I've never fallen in love because I don't believe that I’m loveable in return.

I can't be. If I was, my father wouldn't have done what he did. For a parent to look at their own child and feel the things he did, the things he wrote in that note; I still feel sick when I think of first reading it, even though I found it all those years ago. For a father to look at his child and think, I’d rather be dead than raise this baby, surely it means that there must be something fundamentally wrong with that child. For him to think he’d rather hurt that child and its mother than bring it up; well, that child has to be a burden not a blessing.

Sometimes, I wish I could speak to Russian Nonna and pretend my father was a good man again, even if only for a short while. My paternal grandmother always told me my father was a hero. I believed her and worshipped his memory until I found out the truth. She passed away in her native Russia, alone. She refused to come and live here. She said she would never live in the evil capitalist empire. It's sad because she would have probably lived with us in Italy, before we moved to America, but that wasn't an option because of my piece of shit ex-stepfather. Then, after he died, we came here, and she flat out refused to even consider joining us. We barely saw her after we moved to America.

I miss the stories she would tell. I miss her tales of my papa, even if they were lies.

My mind drifts back to Lombardy and the Christmas she gave me the family crest. The snow on the mountains was so beautiful and looking at those distant, awe-inspiring peaks was one of my favorite things. Until I heard Anton, my stepfather, threaten to take a maid out to those mountains and leave her in the snow to die alone and never be found. Then I feared the mountains, and I feared my stepfather, and so I stopped talking about my Russian papa.

Then, in America, I found the note, and I knew why mother never discussed him and why she didn’t let Anton tell me the truth. The truth was ugly and twisted. He hated me so much when he saw me, he tried to kill my mother and me, and then he killed himself.

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