Chapter 25 Matei
MATEI
Irub my forehead. I'm tired. Worked late and then got up early. I can never miss breakfast with Jordan.
The door to my office swings open without a knock. I glance up from the shipment manifest on my laptop, already knowing who it is before I see his face.
Adrian.
He's dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair combed. His eyes are clearer than they've been in a while, no longer bloodshot from vodka and sleepless nights.
He's making real progress.
"Want to go to a ship christening?" he asks, dropping into the chair across from my desk.
I lean back, crossing my arms. "A what?"
Adrian laughs, the sound rough but genuine. "I know, but STURK Enterprises is throwing some party to celebrate the launch of their new shipping vessel."
"And I care why?"
"Because they are the ones importing the Siberian Ice."
I sit forward, my attention sharpening. "How do you know?"
Adrian stretches his legs out, his boots scuffing against the Persian rug. "I've been busy, brother."
"And sober, too. I've noticed. I'm proud of you."
He nods, a flicker of acknowledgment passing through his eyes. "Well, someone's got to be on top of things and not on top of someone." He grins, the edge of his humor cutting through the tension.
I narrow my eyes, though a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Easy, brother. She's special."
Adrian shrugs, his grin fading into something neutral. I know better than to expect him to say anything positive about relationships, about love, about women.
He shifts in the chair, all business again. "Anyway, we need to go and talk to them. I think we should go and make our presence known. Piss off the Bulgarians. Us being there tells them, without telling them, that we know how they're funding their operations and bringing things in."
I consider his words, weighing the risks and rewards. The Bulgarians are scrambling, their network crumbling under our pressure. Showing up at this event would be a power move, a declaration that we know exactly where their supply chain starts and ends.
"When is it?" I ask.
"Tomorrow night. Down at the Port of Los Angeles. Fancy as fuck, apparently. Champagne, caviar, speeches. The whole show."
I nod slowly. "We'll go."
Adrian's eyebrows lift slightly, as if he expected more resistance. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. If this is where the Siberian Ice is coming from, I want to see who's behind it. Meet them."
"Good." Adrian leans back, looking satisfied. Then he shifts, his expression changing. "Also, more of our men showed up. Lucian said you'd know about it?"
"Yes. Fifteen. I put them up at the Roosevelt Hotel. It's a nice place." I close the laptop, giving him my full attention. "Also, our first shipment arrived last night. It's at a warehouse in Santa Clarita, outside LA. We'll keep it there until we figure out exactly how we want to introduce it."
Adrian nods. "Just let me know."
"In the meantime," I say, leaning back in my chair, "I've never been to a ship christening before."
"Me either," he says, and then pauses. "You going to bring the girl?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral.
I meet his gaze, my voice dropping. "If I do?"
Adrian shrugs, looking away. "Nothing. It's just... if it's not business, you're with her."
"And?"
"Nothing."
I stand, rounding the desk and leaning against it, studying him. He's deflecting, hiding behind nonchalance. I've seen him do it a thousand times.
"How are you doing?" I ask, keeping my voice low, but he knows exactly what I mean.
Adrian shrugs again, his jaw tightening. "Some days, I don't know how I'm going to make it. I see her face everywhere I go, Matei. Sometimes..." He trails off, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"What?" I press.
"Even on things like pictures of other people. I'm losing my shit sometimes, I think."
I take a deep breath. We don't get to talk about this often, so when it does come up, I take it.
"The day it happened, you know, I relive it too. So do Lucian and Victor. I mean, we grew up with her, Adrian. She was beautiful, everybody thought so, but she always liked you the best."
Adrian smiles, the expression genuine and fragile. It's the first real smile I've seen from him in months.
"Do you remember that one time we were in Pia?a Sfatului in Bra?ov over the summer?" I ask and rub my chin. "Shit, we must have been thirteen or fourteen."
"The ice cream cone?" Adrian asks, his voice softer now.
"Yeah." I laugh, the memory sharp and bittersweet. "She tripped on a loose stone and dropped it. You got so mad at that stone."
"You and Victor gave me shit about it for weeks."
"Yeah, but I think you going back and getting her another one was the day she decided you were the one."
Adrian's face shifts, the smile dissolving into something somber, full of grief. The light in his eyes dims, replaced by the familiar hollow look.
I reach out, placing my hand on his shoulder.
"Brother," I say quietly, "you made us all swear to never speak her name again the day after it happened.
And we've all obeyed your wish, and we would never break it.
But what about you? Huh? Her name was the only one you ever spoke, and it deserves to still be spoken from your lips. "
Adrian looks down at the ground, his throat working as he swallows hard. "I try, but I can't."
"One day then," I say, squeezing his shoulder before letting go.
Adrian stands. "Maybe, but I don't think so. She's not around to answer, so there's no point."
He turns and walks out, the door closing behind him.
I stare at the door. The air in the room feels heavier from the grief that has nowhere to go.
Of all the things I can do for him, bringing someone back from the dead isn't one of them.
I exhale slowly and grip the edge of my desk. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the conversation settle.
It's like Adrian is drowning, and I can't save him.
Not from this.
I straighten, return to my desk, and turn my attention back to the city. Tomorrow night, I'll walk into that christening with Jordan on my arm. I'll let STURK Enterprises see exactly who they're dealing with. I'll let the Bulgarians know that their supply chain is no longer theirs.
And then I'll come home and bury myself in her until the rest of the world disappears.
Suddenly, I get a text from Lucian.
Father is asking questions. Says he tried calling you. Handle it.
I shake my head. Our father, Nicolae, the paranoid relic of the old guard.
He built the family business through blood and brutality, clawing his way out of Communist poverty and into power.
But the world has moved on, and he hasn't.
He still operates like it's 1995, like the internet doesn't exist, like modern surveillance and digital footprints aren't things to consider.
He thinks I'm in Los Angeles brokering a deal with some American investors.
He has no idea I'm building an empire.
I type back:
I'll call him.
I dial my father's number.
He answers on the second ring, his voice gravelly and accented. "Matei. Despre timpul t?u. Or should I say, about time. Adrian says you only speak English now."
I don't acknowledge it, but I stay in English since if he didn't want to speak it, he wouldn't have.
"Father," I say, keeping my tone respectful. "Sorry I've been busy."
"Busy," he scoffs. "You're always busy. Too busy for your family, too busy for your responsibilities."
I close my eyes, summoning patience. "What do you want, Father?"
"I want to know what you're doing in America. Lucian tells me you're handling business, but I don't like being kept in the dark."
"I'm brokering a deal," I say smoothly. "Real estate investments, expanding our portfolio. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"Don't patronize me, boy. I know what expanding means. Are you stepping on toes? Making enemies?"
"No more than usual."
He grunts, unconvinced. "And this girl Adrian mentioned?"
My blood turns cold. "What girl?"
"Don't play games with me, Matei. He said you have someone there. A distraction."
I grip the phone tighter. "She's not a distraction. She's mine."
"Yours," he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. "You sound like a lovesick fool. Women are liabilities, Matei. They make you vulnerable."
"Not this one."
"Every one," he snaps. "Your brother Adrian learned that the hard way. Do you want to end up like him? Drowning in alcohol and grief?"
"I'm not Adrian."
"No," he says slowly. "You're worse. You're supposed to be the smart one. The cold one. The one who doesn't let his cock do the thinking."
I inhale sharply, forcing myself to stay calm. "Is there anything else, Father?"
"Yes. When you're done playing house, you come home. We have real business to discuss. Business that doesn't involve American girls."
The line goes dead.
I toss my phone on the desk. Exactly why I've been slow to return his calls. It's always this. If you're not doing something like they had to do during Ceau?escu's reign, it's wrong.
There's another knock at the door.
"Come in."
One of my men enters. "The people for that thing you're doing are here."
"Oh, yes, they'll need to set up in the library. I'll go and meet them shortly."
The man nods and leaves.
Another surprise for her. Speaking of which, I grab my phone and ask if she's having a good time at the salon.
She tells me she is, so I'm happy.
Okay, I need to finish up here, go speak with those people, and get things ready before she returns.