Chapter 12 Matei
MATEI
Iwake and tap the screen on my phone to check the time. Five-thirty. Same as always. My internal clock never fails, no matter where I am in the world.
I slip out of bed and head to the bathroom. The marble is cold under my feet as I turn on the shower. Steam fills the space quickly, and I step under the spray, letting the heat work the tension from my shoulders.
I scrub my face and think about the fact that I caught Jordan watching me undress last night. I smile because she thinks she can move around this house without me knowing.
My mind then wanders to her, when she stood before me almost naked.
Is she scared, does she pretend to be brave.
Who is this little fluture that I caught with the blue vials.
I have to change my thoughts and remember this is only about interrogating her.
It's about the drugs and about taking down the Bulgarians.
It's just nice that this info is locked up in a pretty package.
I'll just make sure I take my time asking her what I need to. Just to make sure I don't miss any details, it has nothing to do with how attractive she is.
I turn the water colder to shock me out of my thoughts and finish washing.
By the time I step out, towel around my waist, the bathroom mirror is fogged. I wipe it clear and stare at my reflection. No matter what, the first thing I always see is that faint scar along my jaw from a knife fight in Bucharest when I was nineteen.
I brush my teeth, style my hair, and slip out and into the walk-in closet to dress.
Black suit, black dress shirt, and a matching leather belt. I add my cufflinks, fix my tie, and toss on my jacket.
I slide a watch onto my wrist, Patek Philippe today, and slide my gun into the holster at my lower back, concealed by my jacket.
When I step back into the bedroom, I walk to the dresser and pull open the top drawer. Inside, next to money and two handguns, is a burner phone, brand new, with the plastic still on the screen. I grab it and leave.
I make my way to her bedroom and open the door.
She's curled up on the floor, the bed still made.
She moves when she sees me and sits up.
"Sleep well?" I ask.
Her eyes shift to me, sharp and hostile. "What do you think?"
I flash a faint smile. "Try the bed next time."
Pulling out the burner phone, I walk over, crouch down, and hold it out.
"That's yours."
She looks at it, then back up at me. "What is it?"
"Some people call it a phone."
"Funny," she says and rolls her eyes. "I already have a phone."
"Not anymore," I say and toss it on her lap since she's refused to grab it.
I then walk over and lean against the dresser, crossing my arms. "That one only calls me. You need something, you call. You have a problem, you call. You want to leave the house, you call first."
Her jaw tightens. "You're kidding."
"I don't kid, fluture."
She stares at me, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and rage. "So what, I'm just supposed to sit here and do nothing?"
"Well," I say and rub my chin, "we have nice amenities here. You can have whatever you want from the kitchen. We have guards at every corner ready to help when you need it. Think of it as a vacation for now."
"Oh okay," she says and stands, "like a retreat for kidnapped victims?"
I laugh. She's funny.
"You're not a victim," I say.
"So I can leave?"
"No. The part about being kidnapped was right."
"So how long do you plan to keep me?" she asks, straightening up.
"Until I say otherwise."
She laughs, but I know it's sarcastic. "And what about my life? My job?"
"What job? You don't have one."
Her eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"
"The club," I say, my voice firm. "You're done there. And those cam shows?" I shake my head. "That's finished too."
She puts her hands on her hips. "You can't just decide that."
I push off the dresser and close the distance between us. She doesn't back down this time, just tilts her head up at me.
"I already have," I say firmly.
Her breath catches, just for a second, but she recovers fast. "I know you think we have some twisted deal here where I answer whatever questions you have, but you don't own me. I have responsibilities and bills to pay."
I let the silence stretch between us. Then I step back, giving her space.
"You're right about one thing," I say.
I turn and walk over to a small table that has a leather-bound notebook and a silver pen. I grab both and walk back to her, holding them out.
She looks at the notebook like she's never seen one before. "What the hell is that for?"
"Your bills," I say. "Write them down. Every single one. Rent, utilities, credit cards, whatever else you owe. How much, card numbers, and who to."
She doesn't take it. "Why?"
"Because I'm going to pay them."
Her eyes widen. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't need your money."
"You have forty-seven dollars in your bank account," I say. "Your rent is probably overdue. Your credit cards are maxed. You need my money."
Her face flushes, anger flaring in her eyes. "You went through my accounts?"
"Of course I did."
"I don't know how they do things in Romania, but here, that's illegal."
I laugh.
"So is kidnapping," I say. "But here we are."
She glares at me, her hands balling into fists at her sides.
"For your information, I have $4,800 being deposited into my account as we speak."
I nod. "Why? I thought I paid $5,000 for your little show?"
She scoffs. "Well, it's because of those damn fees… wait," she says and puts her hand to her mouth. "That was you?!"
I smirk.
"For the record, I tried to type $15,000, but I got distracted."
She grunts in annoyance, but her neck turns red. "I'm definitely not taking your money. Even more so now."
"Are you sure about that? Ruining your credit and possibly getting your roommate, Lindsey is it, evicted.
That doesn't sound like you're being very responsible.
But that works for me if it's your preference.
" I push the notebook into her hands. "Or you can write down what you owe, give it to me later, and I'll handle it. Your choice."
She stares down at the notebook and grabs it from my hands. For a moment, I think she's going to throw it at me like she did the water bottle, but she doesn't.
"None of this is my preference OR choice, by the way," she says, standing there, trembling with rage and something else. Something that looks a lot like helplessness.
"I need to leave. I'll be back later."
"This is insane," she says.
"Maybe." I turn toward the door. "But it's how things are now. Get used to it."
I leave her standing there, the door closing behind me.
I make my way down to my office, and when I walk in, I'm surprised to find Adrian there.
He's slouched in one of the leather chairs with his feet propped on the edge of my desk. He's wearing the same clothes from yesterday and looks like death. His face is pale, his eyes bloodshot, and there's a half-empty bottle of water on the armrest.
"Get your feet off my desk," I say.
He drops them to the floor with a groan, rubbing his temples. "Fuck, I feel like shit."
"You look like it too." I walk to the desk and sit down, pulling my laptop toward me. "How much did you drink last night?"
"Enough."
"Clearly." I open my email and scan through the overnight reports. Nothing urgent. Just the usual surveillance updates. "You're here early."
"Couldn't sleep," he mutters. "This house is too fucking quiet, by the way."
I glance up at him. "You're hungover. Go back to bed."
"Can't. I'm here to help."
I close the laptop and lean back in my chair, studying him. Adrian is twenty-seven, but right now he looks closer to forty. The drinking is catching up with him. So is the grief.
"You need to slow down," I say.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He looks away, his jaw tightening. "Don't start."
I let it go for now.
I pull open the top drawer of my desk and take out the small glass vial of blue liquid. I toss it to Adrian, and he catches it midair, frowning.
"What's this?" he asks.
"That," I say, "is what the Bulgarians are selling to fund their operations here. It's called Siberian Ice."
He holds it up to the light, watching the liquid shimmer. "This shit looks like antifreeze."
"It's synthetic. From what I've been told, it makes you fight harder, fuck longer, and feel no pain."
Adrian raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Don't get any ideas," I say.
"Relax, brother. I'm not about to take this shit."
I nod. I believe him. Drinking, yes. Drugs, I don't think that's part of his self-destructive repertoire.
"Every Bulgarian we've taken down has had at least one vial on them. Sometimes more." I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "They're flooding the streets with it. Creating dependency and cash flow."
Adrian lowers the vial, his expression thoughtful. "So they came here to hook people on this shit?"
"It seems so."
He nods slowly, turning the vial over in his hand. "Given the name, I'm guessing they're getting it from the Russians?"
"That's what our sources have confirmed," I say and lean back in my chair. "But something doesn't add up."
"Like what?" he asks.
"I don't know yet. Just a gut feeling. It's just that the Russians normally do things on their own."
Adrian nods. "Maybe they're letting the Bulgarians do the grunt work, and then they'll come in and clean house. Take Los Angeles the easy way."
"Maybe." I shrug and tap my fingers on the desk. "For now, I want you to find out what you can. Shipments, distribution points, places they're moving the most product at. It's probably nightclubs and bars."
"Got it," he says and slides the vial across the desk back to me. He stands, swaying slightly. He grabs the edge of the desk to steady himself.
"And no fucking drinking," I say firmly.
He gives me a lazy salute. "Sure, boss."
"Serios, f?r? s? bei. I mean it, Adrian."
"Da, da." He starts toward the door, then stops and turns back. "And really, what about the girl?"
I go still. "What about her?"
"She's here. In your house." He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Why?"
"She knows something about this drug, maybe more, and I'm going to find out what."
"She's pretty," he says, his tone casual. "But she looked scared shitless when you brought her in."
"She doesn't know why she's here. Oh," I say and pause, "and she may have seen me kill a few people."
Adrian studies me, his bloodshot eyes sharp despite the hangover. "You planning to keep her?"
"That's none of your business."
"It is if she becomes a liability."
"She won't."
He doesn't look convinced. "What happens when she tries to run?"
"You know that's half the fun."
Adrian raises his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. Your funeral. You know they only bring trouble."
He turns to leave, but I stop him. "Adrian."
He glances back.
"Just find out what you can and stay sober. I need you sharp here."
"Of course. Oh, one more thing. What about Dad?"
I lean back in my chair. "What about Dad?"
Adrian's expression turns firm. "He still doesn't know about all this, does he?"
"No. Lucian and I agreed to keep him in the dark for now. As far as Dad knows, I'm trying to broker a deal here. He doesn't know how deep we're in. He doesn't know about the Killaneys, or any of it."
Adrian nods. "You know he'll lose his shit if he finds out."
"I know." I stand and walk around the desk and lean against it. "He's too paranoid. Communism ended thirty years ago, but he's still acting like Ceau?escu's secret police are around every corner. He doesn't trust anyone. Not even us sometimes. That's why we're here. In LA. Away from Bucharest."
Adrian frowns. "What do you mean?"
"We're bringing the family into the future," I say. "If we stayed in Bucharest under Dad's rule, we'd rot. He's stuck in the past, still thinking in terms of concrete walls and paranoia. He doesn't see what we can become."
Adrian is quiet for a moment. Then he says, "And what's that?"
I walk over to him. "Something bigger. Something that doesn't rely on fear and old grudges. We've come a long way since living in those concrete apartment towers, Adrian."
He stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." He straightens, pushing off the doorframe. "I'll find out what I can about the Siberian Ice. You do your thing with the girl. And we'll keep Dad in the dark for now. If you and Lucian think it's best, you know Victor and I will go along with it."
"Good."
He starts to leave, then pauses. "For what it's worth, Matei, I think you're right. About the future. About all of it."
I nod. "Thanks, brother. So let's take LA quickly."
He leaves, and I walk back to the desk and sit down, opening the laptop. There are reports to read, calls to make, deals to finalize. But my mind keeps drifting back to Jordan.
She's upstairs right now, probably still holding that notebook. Probably still angry.
But I can work with that.
She knows something, and I think once she falls in line, she'll tell me a lot more.
Maybe I'm lying to myself, but maybe she's not who I think she is.
Either way, I won't rush finding out.