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“I was with a colleague before I came here.”
“A colleague you had to put a bullet in?”
He gave me a bored look. “No, not that it’s any of your concern.”
Reaching to my side, I picked up the spare controller and tossed it at him. “Here.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Play.”
It was a violent game where there was lots of shooting and death. It was right up his alley.
Because the man sitting next to me was none other than the mafia boss of East Dremest himself, Jordan Altair Sr. He was also the one who once loved my father, Malik.
Malik didn’t share my last name or really anything with me outside of some of my looks. I had my father’s dark hair and light blue eyes, but I didn’t have his sharp jawline. Mine was softened while still having a defined edge, not as severe as his, or so I’d seen from pictures. I was also shorter than him by a few inches, per Jordan. If anyone would know, it was him.
My father was Jordan’s second-in-command for decades. During that time, they fell in love, only neither did anything about it until a fateful night when everything went to shit, and the opposite of love happened. There were guns, a threat, and in the end, Jordan chose his son over the man he’d loved. Some crimes were unforgivable, or so Jordan said. In all honesty, I didn’t give a shit about my father. He was more of a bank than a person to me.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Jordan growled the moment I unpaused the game. He pressed the buttons on the controller,the plastic creaking in his tight grip. In the next breath, his character met an unfortunate death.
There was a chuckle on the other side of the room. Both Jordan and I turned toward the sound.
The guard snapped his spine straight. “Sorry, sir.”
“Make a noise again unless there is an imminent threat, and I will break your fingers. One. At. A. Time,” Jordan warned in a low, deadly tone. For a fifty-nine-year-old man, Jordan could still be scary as fuck. With silver hair and matching thick beard, Jordan could easily be a grandfather. Not that he was. His son, JJ, hadn’t adopted children.
To mistake Jordan as a kind, forgiving person would be a foolish decision. He might be semi-nice to me and put up with my bullshit to an extent, but he was still a hardened criminal who trafficked guns and drugs for a living. Sure, he had legitimate businesses as well, but most of his wealth and all of his reputation came from his illegal activities.
He sighed and dropped the controller on the console between us on the couch. “I didn’t come here to play games.”
When faced with crowds or groups of people, I shrank back, hugged the walls like I did at Untouchable. Somewhere along the way, I became comfortable in Jordan’s presence. Who would have thought? The one person I should be afraid of, I didn’t mind being around. In fact, I found security in his presence.
“No?” I asked. “Then why the drop-in?” He did so often. At least twice a week, sometimes more. It was a perk of being within a block from the building he owned and lived in. The tower he liked to stand in the penthouse of and look out over the half of the city he’d claimed.
Dremest was divided into two sides. West Dremest was where the club I danced at was. It was what many had dubbed the nice part of the city. It wasn’t that it was cleaner or there was less crime. It was purely down to the fact Jordan Altair Sr. ranthis side, East Dremest. Separated by a creek, when shit went down over here, he knew. When shit went down on the other side, he knew too, but didn’t care as much. There was an old unspoken agreement between him and his deceased brother that they kept to their sides unless visiting family or whatever. His nephew kept to the agreement now.
Jordan had a lot of power. He kept his side well-tended, no litter blowing around when a car drove by. No people on the streets selling drugs, selling their bodies, or sleeping on the sidewalks. He took care of those who lived here by providing safety and keeping the crime outside the borders. There were shelters for unhoused people and programs to help them stay on their feet.
Every part of East Dremest reflected Jordan. He made sure when someone entered his kingdom; they knew where they were and who ruled. Local politicians didn’t matter, neither did the police. He had people in his pocket, regardless of where he went.
In West Dremest, the other half of the Altair family ruled along with the namesakes, the Dremests. Though some said Dexen Dremest was on good terms with Jordan because of Dexen being in a relationship with Jordan’s son.
Dexen and his brother, Xaiden, as well as their parents were the descendants of those the city was named after. Their family carried a lot of weight around here, as did Jordan’s nephew, Perry. The western part of the city was their domain. Perry inherited businesses and a great deal of wealth when his father died. He was on speaking terms with Jordan too. Jordan had a fucked-up way of showing it, but he cared about his family.
Jordan rubbed his hand over his beard as he contemplated what his reason would be for this particular visit. Crafting lies was as easy for him as putting on his tailored slacks. “Was there an incident at Untouchable the other day?”
I had two ways to play this. Pretending to be clueless was an option, though he already knew the truth if he was asking, which meant he found out through another dancer, guard, or member. There was no way Dexen told Jordan my business. Dexen didn’t roll like that, plus Dexen wasn’t aware of my connection to Jordan.
My other option was to put the heat back on Jordan. I was damn good at keeping what I wanted to myself. At least in here and in the club. Out on the street, getting takeout, that was fair game. Jordan had eyes everywhere, especially on me.
The thing was, he was looking out for me. He didn’t control me or force me into his life of crime, although he made strong suggestions. Jordan carried a lot of guilt on his shoulders over my father. I would too if I were the one who killed my best friend and love interest. They never took the final step to being together, but from what I’d gathered, it was clear at the end how they felt. And yet… one bullet and bye-bye, Malik. I was Jordan’s way of making amends for what he did. Hell, Jordan didn’t even know I existed until we sat across from each other in the attorney’s office.
What did my father leave Jordan in his will? No money or possessions Jordan didn’t already have. My father left Jordan a letter. I didn’t know what it said and didn’t ask. But from that day forward, Jordan was in my life, refusing to leave, determined to be there for me.
Was I grateful to have a mafia boss in my orbit? Meh, the jury was still out on that. I liked him though. In his own way, he cared. He also spent time with me, which was more than I could say for my father. So, Jordan won a spot in my life for simply showing the fuck up.
Putting my controller down, I turned to face him. “I didn’t know you had a membership.”
