Chapter 21 Jordan
JORDAN
Ten thousand dollars. For a dress.
The fabric clings to my body like water. It's the red dress he liked. The one with the neckline that plunges between my breasts, and the slit that runs up my left thigh, exposing skin with every step I take.
And even though it's hard to admit, my reflection finally looks like someone who belongs in this world of private chefs and armed guards and men who buy entire buildings without thinking twice.
Even though I know I should probably get out of here, my curiosity can't accept that yet.
I'm feeling something for this man. This life.
I want it, and maybe I'm crazy for that, but you know what, who cares, maybe I am a little.
And it's that side of me that told Matei last night I'd go to this dinner.
I pick up the diamond necklace from the dresser, and the weight of it is still shocking to me. Never in my wildest dreams would I think I'd be wearing something like this.
I look down as I fasten it around my neck, the cool metal settling against my collarbones. I look up and can't help but smile. Sparkling diamonds make every girl smile.
It also helps that I have my phone back.
Being able to just check my social media was a lot nicer than I thought it would be.
Though I'm a little worried about Lindsey.
I haven't been able to get ahold of her, and she hasn't been on Instagram in a few days.
That's normal. She doesn't post much, but she's pretty good with texts.
I'm worried she's working overtime to cover things, so I really want to get ahold of her to tell her she doesn't have to worry about it anymore.
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door that makes me jump.
"Come in," I say.
Matei enters, and the air shifts.
He's wearing his signature tailored black suit that he looks so handsome in. His dark hair is pushed back, and his eyes travel down my body slowly, taking in every inch.
"Turn around," he says.
I do, slowly, feeling his gaze like a physical touch.
When I face him again, his jaw is tight.
"Perfect," he says. "You're so perfect."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Well, it's the dress."
"I'm not talking about the dress," he says, his eyes soft with a look that I am starting to see more of.
He walks over to me and takes my hand and wraps it around his arm.
"Are you ready?" he asks.
I smile and nod.
"Good. We're meeting many people tonight. Stay close to me."
"Of course," I say, and we walk down the stairs to the front door. "Who are they?"
"Some new connections who can help my family expand."
He helps me into the car and then slides in on the other side, his driver closing the door behind him.
The Rolls-Royce glides through the Hollywood Hills, smooth and silent.
I sit beside Matei, my hands folded in my lap, trying not to fidget with the dress.
Matei hasn't said much since we left the house. He's looking at his phone, scrolling through messages with that focused expression he gets when he's working.
I watch the city lights blur past the tinted windows, the palm trees and mansions giving way to the Pacific Coast Highway.
"Where are we going?" I ask, breaking the silence.
"Malibu," he says, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket. He turns his body toward me, abandoning the distraction. "To a restaurant on the water. A private dinner."
"Private," I repeat, a little smirk playing on my lips. "That word seems to have a lot of different meanings in your vocabulary. Does 'private' mean a romantic booth, or that you bought the place so no one hears screams?"
Matei laughs softly and reaches out, his hand covering mine. His thumb traces a slow circle on my skin, making my nerves spike.
"Somewhere in between," he says. "I am meeting with men who are interested in the kind of... stability I provide in exchange for some things."
I raise an eyebrow. "Stability. Is that what we're calling it?"
"It is a polite term for it, yes."
I turn fully toward him. "Matei, the first time we met, you walked into a VIP room and took out every Bulgarian in the room without getting a drop of blood on your jacket. Let's not pretend you're in insurance."
He leans in so close I shift in my seat. "And let's not pretend you were truly horrified. I saw your face that night, Jordan. You locked eyes with me long before that, knowing I wasn't Prince Charming."
"I was intrigued," I admit. "But that quickly turned into shock." My heart rate kicks up even now talking about it.
"You were brave though," he says. "I saw the gears turning."
"I guess living in this city teaches you to assess threats quickly."
"Does it?" His gaze drops to my lips, then back up to my eyes. "Is that what I am? A threat?"
"I don't know yet," I say with a slight smile. "The jury is still out."
"Good. Keep watching me, fluture. I like it," he says and squeezes my hand gently.
He leans back against the leather seat, his expression shifting from playful to curious.
"Tell me something," he says. "I know everything about your random jobs, your debt, even why you came to LA. But I'm curious about something else."
"What do you want to know?"
"Why did you stay?"
The question catches me off guard because I think he wants me to face the reason I have decided to stay here with him. "What?"
"In Los Angeles," he clarifies. "You worked too hard for money that sometimes wasn't enough. You were struggling and not even doing what you came here to do. Most people would have packed up and gone back to where they came from. For you, Washington."
I take a deep breath, now realizing what he meant.
"Why didn't you go back? Why stay and fight a losing battle in a city that clearly didn't care if you starved?"
I look out the window at the ocean appearing in glimpses between the cliffs. The moonlight shifting across the waves.
It's a real question. He's not asking about the surface-level stuff. He's asking about me. About the hunger that kept me serving booze and going to auditions where I was treated like cattle.
I look back at him. "Because going back meant admitting I was just ordinary," I say, the truth slipping out too raw before I can polish it. "And I'd rather starve in a city where anything is possible than be comfortable in a life that feels like a dead end."
Matei watches me, his dark eyes intense, stripping away the layers. For a second, I see a flicker of recognition.
"Ambition," he says. "The refusal to be ordinary. That is a dangerous way to live, Jordan."
"Well, it got me kidnapped," I say with a smile.
"I like to think that it got you noticed," he says, "by me."
He lifts my hand from my lap, bringing my knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss.
He lowers my hand but doesn't let go.
The car slows, turning down a long, private drive toward the ocean.
"So," I say, trying to lighten the tension in my chest. "I don't have to serve any drinks tonight, do I?"
"You'll never have to do anything like that again," he says. "That's a promise."
We pull up to the restaurant. It sits right on the edge of the ocean, a modern glass structure that looks like it grew out of the sand itself.
I take a deep breath, feeling the lingering ghost of his touch from where his hand was on mine earlier.
He looks at me intensely.
"I want to mention that the associates we are meeting tonight, they are sharks. They'll be looking for blood in the water. Make sure you show them that ambitious spirit of yours. Remember, you're here with me and you're untouchable."
I give him a nod of understanding.
"You ready?" he asks.
I nod. "Ready."
The valet opens my door, and I step out onto the smooth stone driveway. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks fills the air.
Matei comes around the car and offers his arm again. I take it, feeling the solid muscle beneath the suit.
We walk past fire pits that line the walkway to the entrance, flames dancing in the ocean breeze. The glass walls of the restaurant are open, shifting panels that let the night air flow through.
It's beautiful. Breathtaking, even.
We walk inside, and a hostess in a black dress greets us immediately.
"Mr. Ionescu," she says with a practiced smile. "Your party is waiting on the private terrace."
"Thank you," Matei says.
She leads us through the restaurant, past tables of well-dressed diners who don't even glance our way. The interior is minimalist and elegant.
We step out onto the terrace, and the ocean spreads out before us. More fire pits dot the space, and a long table is set near the edge, overlooking the water.
I look around and spot Adrian. He's leaning against the railing, talking to a few others. He's wearing a dark suit and looks very well put together. When he sees us, he nods.
"Brother," he says in English to Matei. "You're late."
"We're exactly on time," Matei replies.
Adrian's eyes slide to me, and something flickers across his face. Disapproval, maybe, or pity.
"You look nice," he says, but it sounds like an insult.
"Thank you," I say anyway.
Matei gives his brother a stern look, a silent warning to Adrian.
The other guests are gathered near the table, about twenty people in total. Men in nice suits and women in designer dresses. They all look well-to-do, fancy, like they do this every week.
Matei introduces me to a few of them, names I forget as soon as I hear them because I'm nervous, and I smile and nod and try to look like I belong.
One man stands out. He's older, maybe fifty, with graying hair and a smile that doesn't seem friendly. He stares at me as we walk around.
Eventually, he shakes Matei's hand, and they exchange pleasantries in low voices, but his eyes keep drifting to me.
It creeps me out right away, and my mind does that thing where I get super worried if they've seen me on cam or something and now they might do something.
It's only happened once, but ever since, I get worried easily sometimes, and I feel like men look at me with that "I've seen you naked" look.
I turn away from him, telling myself I'm imagining it.
I don't want to tell Matei anything because it's probably me being in my own head.
We take our seats at the table, Matei pulling out my chair before sitting beside me. Adrian sits across from us, flanked by two of Matei's men.
Adrian looks very handsome tonight. I can tell he's sober. Matei seems to approve, so it makes me happy for him, too.
The champagne flows immediately, and I take a sip, just to have something to do with my hands.
Matei doesn't drink at all. He watches the table, his expression calm but alert.
Conversation swirls around me. Business talk I don't understand, names of cities and percentages of things I don't know. I nod when someone speaks to me, but mostly I stay quiet.
And I try to ignore the man across the table who keeps staring at me.
By the time dessert is served, I'm tense enough to snap.
The man has been looking at me all night. Not subtle glances, but long, lingering stares when Matei's in deep conversations that make my skin crawl.
I excuse myself from the table and walk toward the dessert display near the other end of the terrace, needing air, needing space.
I close my eyes as the ocean breeze cools my flushed skin, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm the knot in my stomach.
Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe he's just...
"Excuse me."
My eyes shoot open, and I turn, and he's there. Standing too close, smelling like whiskey.
"I've seen you someplace before. Haven't I?" he asks, his words slurring slightly.
My heart drops into my stomach.
"I don't think so," I say, taking a step back.
He moves with me, closing the distance. "No, I'm sure of it."
I try to turn away, and his hand lands on my shoulder.
"Let me go," I say, keeping my voice low.
He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. "Maybe if you let me see what's under that dress, I'll know for sure."
The blood drains from my face.
"Excuse me?" I say, shock making my voice louder than I intended.
He grins, his teeth too white. "Oh, come on. I've seen your shows. I know it's you."
"You're mistaken."
"Bullshit. I know it's you. I've given you money before." He leans closer, his breath hot against my face. "What's your price?"
Panic claws up my throat. "Get the hell away from me."
I try to move, but his hand tightens on my arm, bruising.
"Hey," he says, his tone full of rage now. "I fucking said..."
His voice cuts off.
I turn, and Matei is there.
His hand is wrapped around the man's wrist, his grip so tight the man's fingers turn white.
Matei doesn't say a word. He just drags the man's hand toward the dessert table and slams it down.
The man yelps, trying to pull away, but Matei doesn't let go.
He picks up a steak knife from the table.
"Matei, don't," I start, but it's too late.
He drives the knife down.
The blade punches through the man's hand, pinning it to the table.
Blood pools dark and spreads immediately.
The man opens his mouth to scream, but Adrian appears behind him, clamping a thick white dinner napkin over his lips to muffle the sound.
I glance around wildly, but no one seems to notice. Matei's men have moved in, circling us, blocking the view.
"Did you fucking place your hand on my date?" Matei asks, his voice low and deadly. He leans down, his face inches from the man's. "Offering a price for someone who is priceless was a huge mistake."
The man makes a strangled noise behind the napkin, his eyes wide with terror.
Matei grips the knife handle and twists.
The man screams into Adrian's hand, but the sound is lost in the waves on the beach.
"You touch her again, I will cut off your hand," Matei continues. "If you talk to her again, I'll rip out your fucking tongue."
He twists the knife again, and more blood spills across the table.
"And if you even so much as look at her again, I will pluck out your eyes and feed them to you." Matei's eyes are black, empty of anything resembling mercy. "Do you fucking understand me?"
The man nods frantically, tears streaming down his face.
Matei straightens, smoothing his jacket like he just finished a business call. He runs a hand through his hair, fixing the strands that fell out of place.
"Look at me," he says.
The man does, his face pale and wet with tears.
"My name is Matei Ionescu, and if you ever meet me again, it'll be because I'm ending your life."
He turns to his men and says something in Romanian I don't understand.
They nod, and one of them pulls the knife free.
The man sobs as they drag him away, his hand leaving a smear of blood across the table.
Matei turns to me, his expression softening immediately.
He offers his arm.
"Come, fluture," he says gently. "Let's go home."
I stare at him, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
His arm stays extended, waiting.
I take it and look back down at the blood on the table and smile.
For the first time in my life, the monster isn't chasing me. He's walking beside me, protecting me.
And I never want it to be any other way again.