Page 127 of The Ecstasy of Sin
Dominic leans out the window, eyeing the camera. “Use your eyes. I installed this camera system myself, so I know it works.”
“Ah, fuck. Sorry, boss.” The voice is sheepish, and a moment later, the electronic lock clicks and the gates begin to slide open.
Dominic doesn’t respond, he just waits patiently until the gate is open, then eases the car through. Behind us, the gates shut with a solid, mechanical snap.
As we pass, I spot a sleek, newly built security outpost to the left of the gate.
A heavily tattooed man is slouched behind a shiny new pane of bulletproof glass, lit blue by the flicker of camera feeds. He slides the window open just enough to lean out and shoot us a lazy two-finger wave as we pass.
It takes almost a full minute to reach the house, and when it comes into view, my jaw literally drops.
I wouldn’t call it a house, it’s more like a mansion—all sprawling stone and glass, set atop a flawless green lawn and framed by towering evergreens.
The scale of it is surreal. It’s the kind of place that belongs in glossy magazines or hosting billionaires at extravagant charity galas.
In the back seat, Hunter’s tail thumps excitedly against the leather.
“That’s right, my man. All of this is yours.”
My heart melts. Not only does Dominic not care about Hunter’s perfectly manicured paws on his expensive leather interior, but part of his excitement about this home—this fortress—is about Hunter. About the space he’ll have, and the life he’ll live.
This place is definitely a dog’s dream come true. If I’m being honest, it’s mine too. I have never been anywhere near a house this big. It must’ve cost a fortune.
“You’ve gotta be a secret billionaire to afford this,” I mutter, still staring at the massive home like I’m mesmerized.
He pulls up to the front door, lowering the back window and giving Hunter a release command. I turn just in time to see him leap gracefully through the open window, landing like an athlete on the pavement before trotting into the sprawling front yard, his tail wagging and that long tongue lolling with joy.
“Money doesn’t motivate me, but I’ve got a ridiculous amount of it. My bank account just keeps growing thanks to Ghost’s expertise,” he explains, half amused. “Aside from this car and my motorcycle, I don’t exactly look as filthy rich as I actually am.”
I shake my head slowly, my eyes still fixed on him, stunned. “I had no idea. I mean, after yesterday, I figured that might be the case. Seeing it in person just makes it more real.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “One of Ghost’s side hobbies is hacking billionaire funds and redistributing the wealth between the four of us. I don’t know what my brothers do with theirs, but I donate most of mine to charities.”
I think my jaw is about to unhinge at this point with how wide my mouth is. “You… donate to charity?”
He nods, completely serious. “I like feeding the homeless. I also fund the building of hospitals in third world countries, and animal shelters here in Canada.”
Just when I think Dominic cannot possibly be anymore complex of a human being, he proves me wrong. “You…” I say, barely forming words. “You are a serial killer who donates money to charity. I’m literally—I don’t even know what to say.”
Dominic laughs, the sound rich and low.
He shrugs again, like he doesn’t know how to explain himself either. “Billionaires are assholes by default, unless they’re giving their money back to society. I try to aim my darker urges at the ones who deserve it.”
“Have you ever killed someone innocent?” I ask, genuinely wanting to understand him better. He’s the most complicated man I’ve ever known, and I can’t wrap my head around how someone like him exists.
He looks at me, and just like that, the warmth vanishes from his expression. “Yes, I have. Don’t let my philanthropicefforts fool you, I’m still a killer. I’m both of those things at once, and one does not redeem the other.”
I watch him for a moment, our gazes locked, and then I nod.
“Sometimes when you talk, you make me think of a philosophy professor… or some genius poet.”
His smile is devastating, as usual. “I’m glad you think I’m intelligent and well-spoken.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I reach for the door handle. “Well, let’s check out your new house.”
Before I can open the door, his hand wraps around mine. “Ournew house,” he corrects.
He crowds into my space, his face hovering close, gaze narrowed and locked on mine. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and nod again. “Ournew house,” I repeat.
