Chapter 10 Matei
MATEI
Iwalk my younger brother to my office, where he immediately makes himself at home.
I pour myself two fingers of whiskey, lift the glass to my lips, and take a sip.
Adrian grabs a bottle of vodka and sprawls across the leather sofa like he owns it, one arm draped over the back, the other gripping the bottle by the neck. He doesn't bother with a glass.
The room smells of alcohol when we come in here, and judging from Adrian's presence, I know why.
I take another slow sip, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat, and lean against the desk.
"De ce ai ajuns mai devreme?" I ask.
Adrian lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a long pull. He swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"English," he says. "I want to practice for the ladies."
I scoff.
"Why are you here early? Lucian told me you wouldn't arrive until tomorrow night."
Adrian laughs, a short, bitter sound. "I couldn't wait. I missed you, brother." He says it as the bottle sways in his hand. "Plus, it's LA. Models. Hot girls."
I set my glass down on the desk. "We aren't here for women, Adrian. We are here to carve out an empire."
He snorts, his head falling back against the sofa. "Right. An empire. That's what we're calling it now."
I study him, noting the way his fingers tighten around the bottle, the tension in his jaw even through the haze of alcohol. He's spiraling, and I've seen this before. After everything, he started drinking more, sleeping less, and picking fights he didn't need to win.
Lucian thought sending him to LA would help. A change of scenery and a fresh start.
I'm not convinced.
Adrian lifts the bottle again, but this time he pauses, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. A slow smile spreads across his face.
"Not here for women?" he repeats, his voice laced with sarcasm. He gestures upward with the bottle toward the second floor, where Jordan is locked in one of the guest rooms. "Then who is the lady you dragged upstairs?"
My jaw tightens, and I pick up my glass again, taking a deliberate sip to buy myself a second.
Adrian leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the bottle dangling from his fingers. "Is she a whore or a pet?"
I set the glass down again, and it hits the table hard.
"Careful, brother," I say, my tone low and even. "You can insult me all you want. But if you look at her, speak to her, or go near that door, I will forget we share blood."
Adrian blinks, his expression faltering for just a second before he masks it with another laugh. He leans back, taking another long pull from the bottle, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough.
"So territorial," he says, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Matei. I don't want her. Fuck women. They don't deserve the air we breathe."
I don't respond.
There's nothing to say. I know why he feels that way. What happened to him. He loves women one minute, then dismisses them the next. When he's like this, he makes no sense, and with him drunk, I'm not about to get into it.
In truth, Adrian doesn't deserve my pity. None of us ever got any, but he has it anyway.
He starts chugging the bottle like his only mission in life is to finish it. In the past, I'd have ripped it from him, but I learned it's no use.
I watch him for a moment longer, then reach for the intercom on my desk and press the button.
"Get the guest wing ready," I say into the speaker. "Far from the Master Suite."
The response is immediate. "Yes, sir. Right away," my maid says.
I release the button and turn back to Adrian, who is staring at the ceiling again, his expression distant.
"Sleep it off," I tell him, my voice firm. "If you are here to work, then work. If you are here to wallow, go back to Romania. It's been eighteen months, Adrian. I need you focused."
Adrian's gaze snaps to mine, and for a moment, I see something raw and broken in his eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by cold fury.
"Fuck you, Matei," he says, his voice low and venomous. "You don't know."
He stands, swaying slightly, and for a second, I think we're about to fight. It wouldn't be the first time. But he doesn't move. He just stares, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, before turning and walking toward the door.
One of my men appears.
"Take him to his room," I say.
Adrian doesn't look back. He just walks away. My man closes the door, and I'm alone.
I pick up my glass and finish the whiskey in one swallow, savoring the burn as it warms my chest. The office is quiet now, and I take a seat in my chair.
Adrian is upstairs somewhere, drunk, angry, and broken.
And Jordan is locked in a guest room, hating me.
And the Bulgarians are still out there, licking their wounds and planning their next move.
I have a war to fight, a drunk brother to babysit, and a woman who wants nothing to do with me, but owes me some answers.
Good thing I prefer a challenge, because that's all my life is right now.
I pull out my phone and scroll through the messages from my men. Most of them are updates on the Bulgarians, surveillance reports, locations of known safehouses. Nothing concrete yet, but we're closing in.
One message catches my attention. It's from the chemist we sent the Siberian Ice vial to. I asked him to confirm something for me.
Suspicions accurate. Russian origin confirmed.
I read it twice.
Russian origin.
Dammit. That complicates things.
If the Bulgarians are working with the Russians, or worse, if the Russians are backing them, then this isn't just a territorial dispute I'm entering. It's the beginning of something bigger.
I set the phone down and close my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
My oldest brother, Lucian, warned me this expansion wouldn't be easy. He told me Los Angeles was a powder keg waiting to explode, that the Bulgarians were too disorganized to hold territory, and if they were, something was going on.
He was right.
But neither he nor our Don-in-Waiting thought it could be the Russians.
I make a mental note to call him in the morning. He'll want to know about this, and I need his input on how to handle it, since this may or may not change things.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.
Jordan.
Her name feels foreign in my mind, like something I shouldn't be thinking about right now, but I can't help it. She's burned into my mind.
I don't know why I feel this way. I don't know what it is about her that makes me want to lock her away, to keep her safe, to make her mine.
But I do, so I need to break her.
I need her to understand she can't run from me unless she's prepared to be caught. That she belongs to me now, and there's no going back.
Tomorrow morning, I'll deal with Adrian. I'll deal with the Bulgarians. I'll deal with the Russians if I have to.
But before I do all that, I'm going to deal with the woman locked upstairs first.