Chapter Four
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J ordan kept his eyes on the lines of musical notes in front of him, letting them guide his hands as his fingers floated over the glossy keys of his cherished Fazioli. It was his pride and joy, the first significant purchase he’d made when he’d earned enough money early on in the business.
Ironically, he’d hated piano lessons as a kid. Hated his parents for making him take them at his far better-off pastor’s house across town on Saturdays, for forcing him to take that opportunity because they’d never had it. And for making him take the bus over there after school to practice an hour every day.
Now, he understood. Playing the piano was his joy. His escape. And these days, he needed that escape more than ever.
The music flowed through him. Around him. He was so deep in the zone that he wasn’t even aware of his fingers moving over the keys or his feet working the pedals. They were merely a conduit for the gorgeous swell of the crescendo building as the concerto came to a climax.
The rest of the world ceased to exist. There was only this. Only now. Him alone with the hauntingly beautiful notes as they filled the room.
His hands moved faster over the keys as the tempo continued to build. Faster. Faster, his eyes straining to keep up with reading the music in front of him, his feet simultaneously working the pedals until he played the final, dramatic chords and held them. The blended notes echoed off the vaulted ceiling above him, their reverberations throbbing in the air until they gradually faded away into silence.
He sat up straighter on the padded bench, removed his hands from the keyboard and stiffened when the door opened and his right-hand man walked in. “What?” he snapped in a hard voice.
They knew never to bother him in here. This was his private sanctuary, where no one was to disturb him. Ever. Between never-ending business and security threats, he got precious few hours to himself.
Jon stopped, cleared his throat, and folded his hands in front of him. “Sorry to interrupt. But we just got news you need to hear.”
Jordan grunted and waved a hand at a servant hovering nervously behind Jon by the doorway. The man quickly hurried forward with the usual gin and tonic on a tray. Jordan took it, then dismissed him with another wave and focused on Jon. “Well?” He took a sip, savored the cool bite of the gin and the twist of lime as it slid down his throat.
“Another shipment was intercepted.”
His hand tightened around the tall glass. “When and where?”
“Three hours ago, in Seattle.”
That was the second one in the past three months. “How much was seized?”
Jon hesitated before answering. “All of it.”
Jordan shot to his feet and hurled the mostly full glass at the opposite wall where it exploded and fell to the shiny black marble floor in a pile of glittering shards. “Who the fuck is doing this?” he demanded.
Jon hadn’t moved. “We aren’t sure, but...it seems someone has been leaking intel to the cops.”
Jordan whirled back around, a murderous rage taking hold. He shook his head, fighting to regain his control. “Not possible.”
He ran a small, tight organization for a reason. He vetted everyone who worked for him personally, from his housekeeper, his driver, his bodyguard, accountant...all the way up the chain to Jon. And he made sure he had leverage over every single one of them.
Leverage ensured absolute loyalty. And those few motherfuckers who had dared step out of line since he’d taken charge of the Pacific Northwest territory had paid with their lives. Most of them begging for death after creative torture or watching their loved ones die in front of them.
So no, he couldn’t believe anyone else within his circle would have risked talking to the cops or Feds.
When Jon didn’t say anything more, Jordan tugged on the cuffs of his dress shirt to straighten them, angered by the loss of control he’d just displayed. But losing that much product in such a short time frame meant catastrophic financial losses for him.
The boss wouldn’t be happy, would hold him responsible for the leak. There would be repercussions.
“Tell the falcons I want a detailed intel report by midnight. And get Angel in here.”
Jon left immediately and the servant scurried in with a fresh gin and tonic. Jordan took it and walked through the glass doors out onto the adjoining balcony for some air. He paused at the railing, resting his forearms along the top of it as he gazed out at the unobstructed view of the vineyard and the water beyond it, his mind racing. Who would have the balls to leak intel? Who would have a death wish?
He stood there in the balmy summer evening air enjoying his drink until a discrete clearing of a throat behind him drew his attention.
Jon stood in the open doorway. “Angel’s here.”
“Have him wait in the library.” Jordan took his time finishing his cocktail before walking back inside and making his way down to the library he used as his office on the ground floor. Angel rose from the leather sofa when he entered.
Jordan motioned at him to sit down, shut the wood-paneled, reinforced steel door behind him and got straight to the point. The room was soundproof and swept for bugs twice a day, and so was anyone prior to entering. “Someone’s leaking intel to the Feds. One of ours. We don’t have any leads yet, but we will soon, and when we find out who it is, I want you to handle it.”
Angel answered with a single nod, his expression neutral.
He was a fairly recent addition. Unassuming, with an average appearance that made him able to blend in without being noticed. He was quiet. Well-trained.
And, most importantly, a deadly professional.
Angel served a very specific purpose: to eliminate enemies and threats to Jordan’s part of the organization. Torture wasn’t his job. He tracked, confirmed, and killed. Quickly and efficiently, without leaving any trace behind except the bullet in his victims. That made him Jordan’s most valuable weapon.
Unlike some others who had managed to rise to the rank of lieutenant within the cartel, Jordan didn’t fuck around with gangbangers, or guys looking to stroke their egos by putting rounds through skulls and chests when it came to hiring killers. His enforcers were all pros. Disciplined, with a variety of useful skill sets. And they also all came from poor backgrounds, just like he had.
Money was the most powerful motivator in the business. Along with fear.
Angel met all those qualifications, and based on the reports Jordan had received from his falcons, Angel also had the most interesting motivation of anyone Jordan had hired. One that gave him all the leverage he needed to keep Angel from turning on him.
He decided who was worthy to keep on the payroll and who was a liability that needed to be eliminated. He held the lives of enemies and employees alike in his hands. That was the nature of the world he ran.
Angel still hadn’t said anything, just sat watching him. Meeting that dark stare, Jordan appreciated that this guy was all business. “You eaten yet?’
“No.”
“Come up to the kitchen, we’ll have some dinner together.”
“That’s generous of you, but—”
“I wasn’t asking.” No one refused his hospitality when he extended it. He expected good manners in addition to unwavering loyalty.
Angel shut his mouth, his jaw flexing slightly in annoyance. “All right.”
That was better. “Come on.” He motioned for him to follow. “We’ll talk more business over steaks.” He’d had some wagyu beef shipped in the other day. Only the best for him now, in both his professional and personal lives.
He wouldn’t let anyone jeopardize or take away the lifestyle he’d scratched and clawed for his entire adult life.
As soon as Jordan found the source of the leak, Angel would plug it with a bullet.