Page 22 of Queen Of Diamonds
And with that in mind, my thoughts centered again. The closer I got to my destination the tighter my grip grew on the steering wheel.
Not for the first time since getting dressed I wondered what the hell I was doing.
I’d repeatedly told myself this was a terrible idea. I had no idea what Mateo’s true intentions were. I was willingly going into this but I worried I wasn’t ruthless enough for it. I could be a petty psychotic bitch, but I also cried during ASPCA commercials. How immoral would I have to be for a kingpin to fall in love with me?
I rounded a slight bend and coasted towards a pair of large black iron gates sitting between two stone pillared guard shacks.
Slowing down, something beeped on the dash and they simultaneously swung inward, allowing me entry.
“What the hell?” I muttered, trying to figure out what had happened as I rolled forward. It was impossible not to notice the two men who watched closely as I drove past, large guns at the ready if I happened to be a threat.
Slowly inhaling a few breaths and then letting them all back out, I continued my trek up the winding tarmac.
Trees––an abundance of them––had been planted on either side to add an extra layer of privacy.
Finally reaching the circular drive at the top, I parked and took a second to bundle my nerves, unclenching my fingers from the steering wheel.
Peeking through the windshield, my jaw slackened as I took in the stunning Mediterranian style villa before my wide eyes.
The design was superb.
There were large picture windows and a beige stucco exterior. The Mediterranean theme was evident even in the immaculate landscaping.
If I thought my dad would be shitting himself before, he was probably doing figure eights trying to dig his way out of his grave right about now. I could imagine my mother doing backflips of excitement.
This was the last place on earth I should have been.
He definitely wouldn’t approve of me sitting in the driveway of a notorious kingpin.
With a sigh, I looked my reflection over in the mirror. My dark brown eyes stared back at me. I’d gone for a simple look–minimal on the make-up so it didn’t look as if I was trying too hard, and pinned my hair back in a simple half-up-up-half-down style.
“Now or never,” I told myself, looping the chain of my clutch across my shoulders before getting out of the car.
It was just as hot as it had been the previous day, if not hotter, but being up so high made the air seem cooler.
Seeing no one else was around, I began walking towards the front double-doors. Stepping through a stone archway, I raised a fist to knock. Before it could fully connect with the stained glass panel the right door swung inward, revealing an older man with dark blonde hair dressed in simple formal wear.
“Miss Rias,” he greeted politely, gesturing for me to come inside.
I stepped into the air-conditioned foyer and took a quick glance around. His home had distinct old money grandeur. The warm, dark-tones gave off a comforting vibe when I was expecting cold and sterile.
“Right this way, Miss Rias.” The man gave me a wide berth and beckoned for me to follow him. “Just call me Elena, please. When you say my name like that it makes me feel old.”
Garnering no response, I silently trailed behind him, taking note of the gun holstered on the back of his slacks. My heels click-clacked on the shiny wooden floor.
I looked around again, feeling as if I were being watched, but I didn’t see anything or anyone else. He led me down a hall and paused outside a pair of dark oval doors. “Please have a seat.”
After pointing to a set of upholstered chairs, he disappeared into the room beyond, opening one door just wide enough for him to squeeze through. I got a brief eyeful of four men in dark suits before it was closed again.
Rolling my neck to the ceiling to loosen some of the knotted tension, I went to sit. A man’s shrill cry of pain had me standing right back up. Before I could take a single step away from whatever was going on in the next room, both doors swung open and the man in question was shoved into the hall.
He landed on his knees in a state of disorientation. His suit was wrinkled, one cufflink torn. I stared at his hand cupping a bleeding nose; the bones were at an unatural angle beneath the skin.
“Get him out of my house.”
Mateo calmly demanded, looking down at the guy with a neutral expression on his face.
Two of the men I’d just seen each grabbed an arm and began dragging the man down the hall.
