Chapter 16 Matei
MATEI
The gates swing open as the Rolls-Royce glides through, and I glance at Jordan in the fading light.
She's staring out the window, but I can't see her reflection against the tinted glass.
The bags in the trunk and at her feet represent more than money.
They're proof I'm lowering her guard, whether she admits it or not.
The car stops, and the driver opens her door as one of my men opens mine.
I get out and look to everyone who's waiting in silence for their orders.
"Duce?i totul ?n camera ei," I say in Romanian. "Tot."
They nod, and some move to the trunk while others grab the bags from inside the car.
Shoes, dresses, boxes of jewelry. Everything I could manage to acquire for her today. A little over half a million dollars. Not bad for an afternoon.
Jordan stands by the car, unsure what's going on.
I walk toward her, and she straightens, her fingers clutching the strap of one of the smaller bags.
"Leave it," I say. "They'll bring it up to your room."
She hesitates, then hands it off to one of my men.
"We're having dinner," I tell her, motioning for her to walk.
She blinks. "Now?"
"Yes. Now," I say, and wrap my arm around her waist, and we start walking toward the house.
We get inside, and Abby, a housekeeper, is standing by the front door.
"It's all ready for you, sir," she says.
I nod. "Thank you," and we make our way to the dining room.
Two men open the doors as we approach, and we walk in.
The dining room has a warm glow, lit by the chandelier overhead and candles on the table. The setting sun just adds to it.
I pull back a chair next to the head of the table and motion for Jordan to sit, and she does, her hands folding in her lap.
I take the seat at the head, with her sitting directly to my right.
One of my household staff appears with wine, filling our glasses without a word. Jordan picks hers up and looks at it, then takes a sip.
The staff bring out the food moments later, and I watch Jordan's expression shift from wonder to curiosity.
Sarmale sits steaming on her plate in a rich tomato sauce. Beside it, a small serving of m?m?lig?, and a dollop of smantan?.
Jordan stares at it. "What is this?"
"Romanian food," I say, cutting into my own sarmale. "Traditional. My mother used to make it."
She nods. "Okay, I've never tried anything like it."
I smile and point to each thing on my plate. "This is sarmale, cabbage rolls with meat and rice. This is m?m?lig?, or cornmeal, and the part that makes it all come together, smantan?," I say, and dip my fork into it, "sour cream."
She picks up her fork, hesitant, and cuts a small piece. She brings it to her lips, blows on it, then takes a bite.
Her eyes close.
"Oh my God," she says, chewing slowly. "This is good."
She covers her mouth with her hand. "What's it called again?"
"Sarmale."
"Sarrrmahhhleey?"
I laugh.
"What's so funny?" she asks, swallowing her food.
"Nothing. I've never heard you speak Romanian."
"Well," she nods and takes a sip of her wine, "I never have until right now. Poorly, I assume," she says, laughing.
It's a nice sound to hear.
"You'll get better," I say and take a bite.
She stares at me for a moment, then keeps eating.
"It's like comfort food, but better," she says.
"You like it then?" I ask.
She nods, and something warm spreads through my chest. Pride, maybe. Or satisfaction.
I smile despite myself. "Try the m?m?lig?. It's cornmeal based. Make sure to put a little sour cream on top."
She does, and the look on her face when the flavors hit her makes me want to feed her every meal for the rest of her life.
We eat in silence for a while, the clink of silverware against porcelain the only sound.
Then she pauses, setting down her fork and wiping her mouth with her napkin.
"Can I ask you something?"
I glance up. "Yes."
She hesitates, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but why aren't you just asking me questions and getting rid of me?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"I mean, there were a lot of good-looking girls at the club that night. Hell, I saw at least four or five just today on Rodeo Drive."
I look at her over the rim of my wine glass, then take a slow sip.
"I didn't," I say.
She flashes a small smile.
"No, but really," she presses. "Like, how does this all play out?"
I set my glass down and lean back in my chair. "Discussing business at dinner isn't something I like to do."
Her face falls. "Oh. Well, I've never had to discuss anything like this in my life, but here we are."
She looks down at her plate, and I see the disappointment flicker across her features.
"But," I say, standing, "first time for everything."
Her head snaps up.
"Stay here," I say and leave.
I walk to my office and grab the blue vial from my desk.
I turn it between my fingers.
While I've had my fun, maybe a little too much, I need to know who this girl really is now. This game between us might be ending right here and now.
When I return to the dining room, Jordan is sitting up straight in her chair, waiting.
I sit down across from her and slide the vial across the table.
She leans back immediately, her eyes widening. "Jesus, you take that shit, too?"
I don't answer her.
"You know what this is then?" I ask.
"Yes. Siberian Ice. Those men you..." She stops and looks around. "Killed. They push that crap on all of us at Omnia."
My jaw tightens. "So you sell it for them?"
Her head snaps up. "What? No. I've never even tried it."
I study her face, searching for the lie.
"I don't do drugs," she continues, her voice firm. "Okay? Drink sometimes, sure. But not that."
I lean forward, my hands flat on the table. "No? Then why were there three of them in your purse that night?"
She looks at me, confused. Then her expression shifts, like something clicks into place.
"Lindsey," she says.
"Your roommate?"
"Yep." She nods her head. "She scored some off one of the Bulgarians, and for whatever dumb reason, she put them in my purse. I didn't even know about it until I got home, and she basically ripped my purse out of my hands to get them."
I lean back in my chair.
Shit.
"So you don't use this or push it?" I ask again, picking up the vial to show her, though she's been staring at it this whole time.
"Fuck no. I've seen what that does," she says, taking a sip of her wine. "Have you? Is that one dot or two?"
I frown. "What do you mean?"
"Can I see it?"
I hand it to her.
She holds it up to the light, squinting. "It's right here. Wait." She pauses. "This is three. I've never seen three. Look, here." She points to the base of the vial, and I lean over to see.
"I hadn't noticed that," I say, taking the vial from her hands. My fingers brush hers, and her skin is warm, soft.
I see them now. Clear as day. Three small dots etched into the glass.
"What do they mean?" I ask.
"It makes sense," she says, shaking her head.
"Lindsey was able to take more of them. God, they're really just..
." She trails off, taking a sip of water this time.
"The dots are the strength, I think. I'm not sure, but one is the full-blown drug.
It's what they give you the first time. But not everyone can lose hours of their life fucked up, so they came out with two-dot ones.
The girls took them a few nights a week.
It made them happy, but also like zombies.
Three's probably a low high, so you can get hooked and take that crap every day. "
I nod slowly, processing. "I've heard men like it for sex, but why the girls?"
She laughs. "Sex, too, probably. Lindsey and three other girls had an orgy in the VIP room the first time they took it. Nothing like coming back from the bathroom and seeing your roommate getting double penetrated by two Bulgarians."
"Wow," I say.
"Yeah." She looks down at her food. "But Lindsey said it made her feel like she's never felt before. Like high, but not. I don't know. It's dangerous, Matei." She looks back up at me, her eyes serious. "Don't take it."
I nod and pocket the vial and study her face.
She looks to the side, thinking. I can see the gears turning.
Then she looks back at me. "Did you really think I was using that stuff?"
I hesitate. "Well. I never even knew it existed or what it was until I saw it in your purse."
"So that's a yes, then."
I nod.
Her expression hardens. "Is that why you took me? When you said to protect me, did you think I was some strung-out girl in need of saving?" she says and shifts back in her chair. "Or worse? Someone you could use to get what you wanted?"
I shake my head. "Not exactly. I thought maybe you were working with the Bulgarians. Selling this stuff, and could give me the answers I needed."
She scoffs. "Selling drugs has never been my forte. Sorry to disappoint you."
"No," I say. "I'm relieved, actually. The fact that it's a misunderstanding eases my mind quite a bit."
"Well, then," she says. "Now you know. If I'm here by a misunderstanding, I guess I don't need your protection after all, and I can go."
I lean forward, my fingers inches from hers. "Is that what you want? Do you want to leave here, fluture?"
She looks at me, her eyes soft, uncertain. She bites her lip, and I see her breathing quicken.
"Before you answer," I say, "I have one more thing for you."
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the small velvet box I slipped in earlier. She didn't notice when I bought it. She'd been distracted by a display of handbags at the time.
I open the box and pull out the necklace.
It's a Cartier. Over twenty carats of flawless diamonds, set in platinum. The stones catch the light beautifully. Like her eyes.
Jordan almost chokes on her wine. "Matei," she says and coughs. "I told you no. That's too much."
She had. She told the saleswoman, too. So I'd nodded and sent the woman away. Then I bought it anyway.
I stand, and she turns in her chair to follow me.
"Face forward," I say in a low tone.
She hesitates, then shifts in her chair, lifting her hair with both hands.
The scent of her hits me immediately. It fills my lungs, and for a moment, I forget what I'm doing.
I hover there, my hands inches from the curve of her neck. There's a part of me that wants to toss this to the side and bend her over this table. Pull her hair and make her feel me.
But I want her to want that from me. Which, if I have my way, will come soon enough.
Instead, I drape the necklace around her throat, my fingers brushing the delicate line of her collarbone as I fasten the clasp. The diamonds settle against her skin perfectly.
I let my hands linger, just for a second, my thumbs tracing the edge of her shoulders. She doesn't pull away.
I step back, and Jordan lowers her hair and turns to look at me, her fingers rising to touch the necklace.
Her smile is radiant.
For a moment, she's not scared. She's not calculating her next move or planning an escape. She's just happy.
And that does something to me.
"It's beautiful," she says.
"It suits you," I say, and return to my seat.
She looks up at me. "Umm, so, about your..."
Suddenly, the dining room door crashes open.
Adrian stumbles in, his shirt half-untucked, his eyes bloodshot.
He's rambling in Romanian, his words slurred and angry.
"Ie?i," I say sharply.
He doesn't.
"Leave. Now," I say, repeating myself in English.
"Matei, I need to talk to you," he says.
"Later."
His gaze locks onto Jordan, and he stares at her.
Jordan shifts in her seat, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
"Adrian," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "If you keep staring at her, you'll lose an eye."
He scoffs, swaying slightly. "Nu merit?, frate," he says in Romanian before turning and stumbling back out of the room.
The door slams behind him.
Jordan exhales, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Sorry about my brother," I say, turning back to her and taking a sip of my drink.
"Why does he seem so mad all the time?" she asks.
I lean back in my chair, swirling the wine in my glass. "He went through a pretty messed up situation. It's affecting him."
"What kind of situation?"
I meet her eyes. "Another time, fluture. Let's not spoil a good day."