"Because I want you close."
She hesitates for a second, giving me an inquisitive look, then stands, adjusts her sweater, and moves behind me. I feel her presence at my back, and I'm thankful for her being near me. I'm thankful for so many things about her now, especially since I thought I'd lost her.
The minutes stretch out, and finally I hear footsteps in the hallway. Heavy steps, multiple people.
Then the door swings open, and my father walks in.
Nicolae Ionescu is a monument of a man, even at his age. Broad shoulders, silver hair slicked back, a tailored charcoal suit that he's never not in. His face is carved from stone, weathered and hard, his dark eyes sharp and calculating.
He's built from living through the oppression and hard times in Romania, and he moves like he owns the world, like every room he enters bends to accommodate him.
Behind him come his personal squad, three armed bodyguards that are his most loyal, to a fault. Men that go everywhere he does. They fan out slightly, hands resting near their holsters.
And then my brothers come in next.
Lucian enters first, his face stern and focused. Victor follows, his jaw tight, his usual smirk nowhere to be found, and Matei brings up the rear, his fists clenched at his sides.
They all move to my side of the room, standing with and near me.
My father stops in the center of the room, his gaze sweeping over us. Then he sees Elena, who comes out slightly from standing behind me.
For a moment, I expect shock and surprise like everyone else has shown, even if fake, but there's nothing.
He doesn't look shocked that she's alive. He doesn't look guilty, either.
He looks annoyed.
He turns away from us, moving to the bar cart in the corner. He picks up a crystal decanter, pouring himself a generous amount of whiskey. The sound of liquid hitting glass is the only sound in the room.
I step forward.
My left arm throbs in the sling, but I ignore it. I reach down with my right hand, grabbing the bank routing paper from where it's been sitting on the desk. I move it across the table in his direction and point to it.
"We need to talk," I say, my voice stern.
Nicolae doesn't even glance at the paper. He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a slow sip, savoring it.
"Do we now," he says.
I lean forward, pushing into the desk.
"I know about the fifty million," I say. "I know about Lupu. I know about the deal with the Volkovs."
I pause, letting the words hang in the air.
"And I know you paid them to take her," I finish.
Nicolae sets the glass down gently. He finally looks at the paper, glancing at it with mild interest, and then looks up at me.
"And?"
That's it. That's all he says.
"And?" I repeat, my voice rising. "That's all you have to say?"
Nicolae picks up the glass again, swirling the whiskey.
"What do you want me to say, Adrian? That I'm sorry? That I made a mistake?"