Page 25 of The Incubus and the Bodyguard

Whoever lives here isn’t just wealthy. They’re either paranoid as hell or have good reason for this level of security.

She already had an inkling about her client’s day job. Time would tell if her instincts proved to be correct.

They usually were.

The trees finally parted, revealing what they’d been hiding. Delphine’s hands tightened fractionally on the steering wheel.

The mansion rising ahead of her wasn’t just a home. It was a statement of power. The buildings formed several wings that crowned a shallow elevation, their glass and white concrete facades gleaming in the morning sun. Extensive terraced gardens surrounded the property, leading down to a private marina and a helicopter landing pad.

It was obvious why someone had gone to considerable trouble to keep this place off the radar.

A garage complex came into view. It housed an impressive collection of vehicles, including a fleet of black SUVs similar to hers.

Delphine was now pretty certain she was dealing with a mobster. What kind of job required her specific skill set in a place like this, she still wasn’t sure. After all, crime lords could afford bodyguards like nobody’s business. Someone seeking a super soldier for the role had to either have some seriously nasty enemies or the kind of problem normal people couldn’t handle.

Vlad’s face danced before her eyes as she parked the Range Rover next to a midnight-blue Bentley convertible.

There had been a moment last night when she’d wondered if he belonged to the criminal underworld. He was too suave. Too smooth. Too…good lookingto hold down any other kind of job.

Delphine berated herself at that random thought.

Focus.

She stepped out of the Range Rover, conscious of at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching her movements. The front steps of the mansion were white marble. Delphine climbed them, noting the discreet security panels beside the bronze doors.

They opened before she could knock. A man in his fifties stood in the entrance, his charcoal suit hiding the gun under his left armpit and the knife strapped to his right ankle.

“Miss Dubois.” The stranger’s face gave nothing away. “Welcome to the Vissarion residence. I’m Gustav Luchok, Mr. Vissarion’s secretary.” He dipped his head and beckoned her inside with a dignified movement.

Delphine’s scalp prickled as she crossed the threshold.

The name Vissarion had featured prominently in a briefing Gideon had recently given them on the latest developments in New York’s criminal underworld. Serena had also referenced the name when they’d spoken a few months ago.

They are the leadingBratvaon the East Coast.

She masked her wariness and concentrated on her surroundings.

The entrance hall was cavernous, all clean lines and pale stone. A grand staircase dominated the space, bifurcating at a main landing before rising to the upper floors.

A woman appeared silently behind Gustav. Though well past retirement age, she moved with the grace of someone much younger. Her gray hair was pinned in an austere bun and her dark dress whispered against the marble floor.

“This is Lena Dubravac,” Gustav said. “She runs the household.”

Delphine nodded politely. Lena dipped her chin gracefully.

The way the pair carried themselves made it clear they were more than just staff.

“This way, please.” Gustav indicated the interior of the house.

Delphine followed him through the modern interior as they headed into the east wing, her gaze categorizing escape routes and defensive positions out of habit. The decor was ultramodern and minimalistic, everything expensive but chosen with care. Like the security measures outside, nothing was what it initially appeared to be.

Gustav stopped before a door and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice called out.

The secretary opened the door and led the way inside.

The study Delphine entered was decorated along the same clinical lines as the rest of the mansion. The only splash of color was a vibrant red Diaspro marble wall framing the fireplace, its surface rich with black and cream veins.

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