Much of my day is spent discussing how to handle the cartel. They’ve been interfering in our dealings, trying to steal our business associates. Their men are dirty snakes, conniving con artists, and thugs.
We deal with plenty of shady individuals in our work. Still, the cartel prey on the elderly, scamming them into paying hundreds of thousands of dollars, wiping out their retirement accounts.
It’s disgusting, and while I shouldn’t care, I take pride in my work ethic, in what I do for a living. We may sell drugs and make a hefty profit, but we’re giving them to folks who would otherwise get them from somewhere else. At least our drugs are high quality, none of that mixed shit with fentanyl.
My suppliers are like gold, and the thought of the cartel moving in to snatch our drugs or our suppliers doesn’t bode well with me.
They’ve been talking with our suppliers, and that’s enough to warrant action against them, strike while they’re least expecting it.
If it’s not the Italian mafia causing me a headache, it’s the cartel. Not that we can’t handle the problem. That’s why I called a meeting with my men, to have them hit the cartel where it hurts.
They have orders to take out Carlos Sanchez, the cartel leader. Dmitri, my underboss, is running the operation. I’ve given him the go-ahead to put a hit on Sanchez.
Sanchez is not an easy man to get along with, but my men will do whatever is necessary to remove the problem.
I swing by Steele Concierge Medical after the meeting is finished. I make sure it ends, giving me enough time to get back across town to pick Madisyn up.
I should be ordering Luka or even Nikita to pick Madisyn up. But instead, I am behind the wheel.
Glancing at the clock in the vehicle, my fingers tap against the steering wheel. How long am I supposed to wait for her?
I glance in the rearview mirror. I’m always cautious about making sure that I’m not being followed. That’s why I typically have Luka drive. He’s good with keeping an eye on being tailed while also focusing on the road.
I recognize one of the cartel’s men hurrying inside the front entrance. He’s not bringing anyone with him, and he doesn’t appear as though he needs immediate medical attention, although he’s certainly hightailing it like he might.
Is the cartel seeking the concierge’s services? I’ll need to have a word with Dr. Gracie Steele, and there are some clients I refuse to accept. The cartel is on that list.
I reach for my phone and text Nikita to investigate it for me. I want to know why the cartel is on our turf, using our facilities.
The double doors automatically open, and Madisyn breezes through like she’s in a hurry. I shove my phone into my pocket, not wanting her to ask any questions.
Several people step outside behind her. One is a woman carrying a toddler, and another is a man by himself. He seems to have Madisyn in his line of sight.
Who is he?
He doesn’t look like an employee, but maybe he’s changed and done for the day. Could he be an ex-lover? Husband? No, if she were married, Nikita would have told me.
Madisyn heads toward my SUV and glances in the window before opening the door.
Smart girl, making sure it’s me.
Then again, if she was smart, would she be taking a ride with a bratva boss?
She climbs into the front seat and slams the door, buckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for picking me up,” Madisyn says. “I hope you didn’t have to go out of your way.”
“It wasn’t a problem,” I say, not answering her remark directly. “What’s your address?” I ask.
She gives me her address, and I punch it into the GPS display, giving me directions. The route is straightforward and what I’d expect if I were going home. It has me drive right past my house.
“I managed to locate my vehicle,” Madisyn says, killing the silence between us as I pull out onto the road.
“And word on what needs to be done to repair the car?” I ask, glancing briefly at her. I had meant to contact Andrei, but I’d gotten sidetracked this afternoon discussing Sanchez and the cartel.
“I need a new engine.” Madisyn grimaces and folds her arms across her chest.
“It’ll be cheaper for you to buy a new car,” I say.
Somehow, I doubt that she can afford a brand-new vehicle, or she’d have already had one. A person doesn’t drive a rundown piece of shit car for fun.
There’s silent desperation that she exudes. She tries to hide the fact that she doesn’t have money, that she’s likely piss poor, but I’m not sure why. She has a decent job. Does she have debts that are burying her?
“Maybe a used car,” she says, her voice soft.
I can’t get Nikita’s words from my head, suggesting that she could work for us and be available on call should the need arise. It would solve her money woes, but this isn’t about her. It’s about my needs, my men, our safety.
I need to know that I can trust her, and the only way to do that is to test her.