7. Adriana
7
ADRIANA
I’m shocked when Dimitri tells me we’re leaving the yacht for a while. I’m over the moon, though. It’s not as if I’ve enjoyed being on this floating hellscape.
Something has happened since yesterday, but I don’t know what. There’s a change in the atmosphere. In him . He’s more serious. Quieter. I want to know but won’t ask yet. Maybe later, when things feel less tense. Nerves pinch at me. What if the tensions are about me? I’m so vulnerable, relying on these men.
Those thoughts won’t help me, so I push them away.
“Are my clothes suitable for where we’re going?” I ask.
He nods. “Of course.”
“ Where are we going?”
“To my place on the mainland to collect my car and then for a drive.”
“ So just a trip out? Are we going to stay on the mainland?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m thinking about what we will do next. We need to talk. I want to ask you some questions, and a drive and a change of scenery will do you good.”
“Is it safe?” I ask.
“We’ll have armed guards.” He runs his hands through his hair and glances at the men gathering their weapons.
God, is this really my life now?
“You ever been to wine country?”
I shake my head.
“Well, that’s where we’re going.”
I nod numbly. I have no money. No phone. Nothing a grown human should have for a drive into wine country. All I possess now is my physical body, the clothes on my back, and my name. And the clothes on my back are more of a hire situation.
“I’ll just nip to the cabin,” I say.
I slip inside and head to the room I’ve been given. I’m going to be in a car with Dimitri. Up close and personal with the man who makes me shiver with one look, even though I should hate him.
Betraying my inner feminist, I spritz on some perfume. There are makeup items in the bathroom. I look at the sealed products. Many of them are for skin darker than mine. The foundation is an olive shade, but there’s a blush and a bronzer, so I just apply a light dusting of the bronzer to make me look a little less exhausted. I open and swipe on some mascara and finally apply a little pale nude-pink gloss and a touch of the pink blush on the apples of my cheeks. I’m not doing this for any of those pigs out there. I’m doing this for me, so I can reclaim a tiny speck of dignity and feel like myself.
Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself. I tell myself I don’t care if Dimitri finds me attractive, and that’s a lie as well.
I look more alive. I also feel fresher with the light scent wrapped around me.
Stepping into the room, I automatically reach for my bag. A bag that isn’t there. A bag which would contain my phone, keys, and cards.
I have nothing.
It’s such a strange feeling. The things that give me personhood are gone.
Father must know by now that something awful has happened, surely. Is he frantic? Or is he knee-deep in his whiskey, staring morosely at the fireplace as he drowns his sorrows?
I examine myself in the full-length mirror. This dress is not flattering. I chose it on purpose because I feared being amongst all those men looking as if I was vying for their attention.
Somehow, I still managed to garner it.
Sticky gazes watched me. They undressed me and ate me up. God, I wish sometimes that I found women sexually attractive because men really are pigs. Even Dimitri looks at me with that hunger, but in him it’s different somehow.
Perhaps it’s purely because I find him attractive too, so the interest is returned.
My gut tells me it’s more than that. He looks at me with desire but also something else. There’s a depth to his gaze that both entices and deeply alarms me.
We’d be dangerous together even if we’d met, say, in a bar or a club.
Closing my eyes, I imagine a different life for a moment. One where my father didn’t become an alcoholic and my stepmother didn’t sell me. I’m in a bar, and I glance to my right, as I nurse my drink and see him .
Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, impeccably fitted suit. He’s gorgeous. His gaze lifts slowly, and as our eyes lock, there it is.
That incredible, indefatigable moment when two worlds collide and life changes.
I’ve never experienced it, but I’ve seen it happen to others. I’ve read about it and watched movies about it. People wrote sonatas to romantic love and painted some of the world’s best art because of it.
It is the driving force of human life. That and the opposite side of the coin—hate.
I step onto the deck, eyes down, avoiding those heavy gazes; except, when I glance up briefly to look for Dimitri, the men are all ignoring me.
Dimitri walks around a corner of the deck, and as he nears me, his gaze roams over my face and takes in every plane and valley.
His eyes are intense and fiery despite their cool color. His focus is all consuming, and I could imagine it being addicting, like the most tempting but illicit drug. He radiates power and control, and to have that laser beam of his attention on me is an ego boost despite the crazy circumstances.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod and check for my purse for the second time. It’s as automatic as checking for my keys and wallet, two other things I don’t have.
I follow Alexis as he leads us from the yacht, Dimitri’s hand ghosting over my lower back. He’s not quite touching me, but his hand is close enough to impart heat.
It’s heady, his warmth and build behind me. Like having my own protector. My very own bodyguard. If only I’d had one before Dorian plucked me from my life.
We reach the ramp down off the boat to the smaller vessel waiting to take us to shore, and Dimitri walks in front of me and offers his hand.
I take it, and the moment his warm skin closes over mine, something sure and safe wraps around me. Like a cashmere blanket, his touch protects me from the elements, and I revel in it.
We step onto the small motorboat, and soon we’re speeding over the water toward the bay. Once we land, Dimitri helps me from the boat, and then we’re in a car that appeared as if by magic the minute we docked.
Dimitri isn’t merely a powerful man; he’s a damned magician. It’s as if people simply know where to be and when. His men seem to run a well-oiled machine, each one an important cog in the whole.
I slide into the back of the car and stare out the window as we move through the city. I wonder if he lives in a smart neighborhood similar to the one my stepmother lives in. Her house borders Russian Hill and is beautiful. A gorgeous four bedroom, four bathroom Victorian.
We approach the area, and my stomach tenses, as familiar streets slide by, and I wonder if that bitch is feeling remotely guilty about what she’s done. Soon the streets turn wider. Palm trees line the gates and walls that huge homes hide behind.
Glancing at Dimitri, I decide to speak. He hasn’t hurt me yet. He’s promised he won’t, and right now he’s about the only thing approaching an advocate I have. “This is where I lived with my stepmother,” I say quietly.
He turns to me. “Do you know why she sold you?”
I shake my head and then blow out a breath. “I think she’s related to Dorian. Ari too. I think they’re her cousins. They had an argument. Well, she and Ari did, and he said something to her that keeps playing over in my mind.”
“What’s that?”
I’m scared to say it because I still don’t truly know if I can trust this man, but hell, I have to do something to try to make my situation better. “He looked at me one day when I was leaving and said to Hana something like, ‘you said you had nothing of value.’”
He deliberates on this. “You think he saw you and thought you were worth something to them?”
“Maybe?”
“How many times have you met them?”
“Ari twice; that’s it. I did once hear my father mention that he didn’t want Hana mixing with Dorian, but I had no clue why.”
“You don’t think your father was in on this then?”
I visibly flinch at the thought. “God, no. He’s not perfect by any means. He drinks a lot, but he’s not a nasty drunk or abusive. He’s a sad drunk. It started when my mother died.”
He nods. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I have men looking into all of this. Men who can find out almost anything, but they can’t give me the information you can. The things you heard and saw while you were with Hana could be important.”
“I can’t think of anything.” Other than what I’ve told him, there’s nothing I can think of that would help him and his men.
“Not immediately, perhaps, but something might come to you. If it does, tell me. Every little thing helps. I’m keeping you safe, and that means our fates are entwined now, Littleblue.”
I swallow and nod. I guess they are. Going back to staring morosely out the window, I try not to let the melancholy overtake me. I will try really hard to live in the moment and take each minute as it comes. It’s the only way to stay sane right now when I have very little agency to do much else.
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. Na?ve too. Soft, whereas he’s hard.
I’m like a hermit crab without its shell, all soft underbelly and no hard protection.
Dimitri is all shell, or he seems to be, at least.
I reach the bar and look around. There are drinks lined up on the shelves along the back wall but also on the steel counter behind the bar top. The ice bucket sits there too. It’s full, half ice and half water, which makes me think it was filled a while ago.
I haven’t heard anyone else walking around or talking since we arrived. Is Dimitri like a modern-day male Cinderella who has an army of tiny animals helping him?
I laugh at the thought.
Looking at the drinks in cans along the metal bar, I pick a diet cola and fill a glass with ice, cola, and add a slice of lemon just to be fancy.
Then I take the drink and walk to the large, double doors that lead from this room to a set of steps and beyond them the lawn.
The scent of flowers invades my senses, roses, I think, and I glance around but see none. The room is as plain as the other. Beautiful flooring, gorgeous furniture, but no real personal touches.
My gaze roams back to the other properties, and I stare at them for a long time.
The amount of wealth behind a veritable compound like this is staggering. A plot of houses like this in Pacific Heights is mind bending. A ten-bedroom home with barely any land can set you back twenty-million dollars here. This is prime real estate, and these guys own at least two acres of it.
I sip my drink and relish the cool bubbles.
Footsteps have me turning toward the door. Dimitri is back. He’s changed into jeans and a polo shirt and looks incredible. Tall, long-legged, broad shouldered, and the top shows off his arms, which are muscled and tan.
He’s fastening a watch around his wrist, and he glances up at me. The light from the window hits him just so, highlighting his blue-green gaze and dark hair. The man looks like he stepped down from Mount Olympus to play with us mere mortals for a day.
I almost say it. I almost blurt out that he looks like a god but manage to bite back the comment.
“Come,” he says again.
“Can I finish my drink?” I ask.
“Bring it with you.”
I follow him, with my glass in hand, and walk into the tiled hallway. Instead of taking me to the front door, he leads me into the kitchen.
It’s a gorgeous kitchen and not what I was expecting. From the hallway, I imagined dark units, all shiny and sterile with steel worktops. Instead, I find pale wooden units, a white marble work surface, and in the center of the room a breakfast bar that is teal and has white marble on top. The breakfast bar houses four metal chairs slotted into it. The room is lovely the same as the others, but there are no finishing touches. A fruit bowl sits atop the breakfast bar, and it’s the room’s entire personality. It’s like a show home. A stunning one, but soulless in some essential way.
There’s a door at the far end, and he leads me through that, and we enter a massive garage attached to the side of the house.
There are six vehicles inside. They’re all sporty, except for an SUV parked at the far end. Some look more built for comfort than others.
He heads to an emerald green car, shining in the spotlights, and clicks a button. He opens the door for me, and I slide into the most luxurious vehicle my ass has ever had the temerity to sit in.
I gulp down some of the drink, not wanting it to spill before I place it in the cup holder. It’s less than half-full now, so even if Dimitri takes the turns like a racing driver, it should be all good.
The interior is tan leather and utterly gorgeous. I’m not a car girl, and as I can’t even drive, I usually don’t pay them much attention, but this is so stylish it makes my mouth water. It’s a mix of futuristic and old school, as if Star Trek set designers from the sixties designed a cool and futuristic car interior.
The seat molds to my body as if made for me. The scent of new leather and carpet fills my nostrils. Who knew that rich people’s lives smelled so damn good! Dimitri’s life is all new leather, wood polish, and roses. It’s olfactory heaven.
The driver’s door opens, and Dimitri slides in next to me. He guns the engine, and it gives a throaty purr before smoothly gliding out of the garage.
We are joined by several SUVs with dark windows creeping along behind us once we hit the driveway. How does it feel to spend your entire life being followed by security? It is as if he’s famous, but without the upside of adoration and all the downside of needing to be on your guard.
The city sparkles under yet another sunny day, and Dimitri hits a button on the dash. Music fills the space, and I glance at him, my lips twitching. He’s listening to some awful heavy metal.
“Do you really like this?”
He glances at me. “You don’t ?”
I shake my head. “It gives me a headache.”
“What do you like?” he asks.
I shrug. “All sorts of music.”
“How about now? What would you like now?”
Thinking, I giggle. “George Ezra.”
“Who?”
“George Ezra.”
He speaks to the car and soon the sounds of Ezra’s gorgeous voice replace the screaming noise.
By the time we hit the Golden Gate Bridge, Shotgun is playing. Something fizzes in me. A bubbling, secret feeling deep in my stomach, and I realize that I’m three parts anxiety, excitement, and something that feels an awful lot like happiness, which can’t be true. I cannot be happy in this car with this man, not after everything that’s happened.
By the time we reach the wine regions, Adele has replaced George Ezra. I stare out the window agog at the utterly stunning scenery. I’ve never been into wine country before, and it’s heavenly. Finally, we turn off the road and park along a graveled driveway.
Dimitri shoots me a narrow-eyed glare. “Your taste in music is dreadful.” There’s a playfulness in the not-quite-smile dancing around the edges of his mouth, and the web of fine lines at the corner of his eyes belies his amusement.
I laugh. “Oh my God, says you. That stuff you listen to will give you tinnitus if you’re not careful.”
Just like that, the playfulness is gone, and the shutters come down. It happens so fast I get whiplash.
“Go on inside, and I’ll join you in a moment.” It’s not a request but an order.
Just like that, we’re back to our usual dynamic. I trudge into the fancy winery feeling deflated and stupid.
What the hell did I say?