Dr. Sebastian Engel's home is exactly what I'd dreamed of when I started selling drugs. Someday, I assumed, I'd make enough money to buy a huge-ass house like this. Five-plus bedrooms, a sweet pool deck, a game room with a foosball table, a library, a theater where I'd play video games on a huge flatscreen. Luxury. Not on the scale of Willem in The Netherlands, but something more refined and accessible.

Something classy.

Have a maid and a chef. Killer parties. And a beautiful wife.

Turns out, I'm probably only going to have one of those things, and that's fine by me.

Sebastian's finished giving me the tour. I can tell he's one of those guys who wants to prove his superiority to all other men by showing off his possessions. He's already explained the history of his Mediterranean home (it's historic, one of the first houses built in Coral Gables, by a wealthy Spanish industrialist in the 1920s), his cars (he has an affinity for vintage Porsches, but who doesn't) and his art (something I don't know shit about, so I nod and pretend to be impressed).

He's a little shorter than me and in shape for his age. I know Zoe said he was in to some kinky shit with women, but man-to-man, he's a likeable enough guy. A little too arrogant for my taste — I prefer Idris Elba understated cool — but we can definitely work together without a problem.

"Let's talk outside. We need to enjoy the cool evenings before summer hits."

"Fine by me. Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice. I hope I didn't interrupt your plans." Something about this guy makes me want to talk in a formal way, like we were on a Downton Abbey set or some shit.

"Not to worry. I'm supposed to have dinner with my girlfriend later tonight."

"Oh yeah?" I try to make small talk as we walk through the massive house. "Going anywhere good?"

"We're staying in. I have an excellent chef, and I find that women think it's more romantic to be wined and dined in private. Sometimes it's tiring to go out all the time, to soak in the energy of the public."

I smile, thinking of Juliette. Maybe we'll have a nice dinner at my condo tomorrow. Just the two of us. Candlelight. Those ravioli she likes. And that strawberry ice cream. "I think you're onto something there."

"Do you have someone special, Griffin?"

He leads me outside to an impeccably decorated sitting area. I choose a roomy rattan chair, and he sits on a sofa.

"I do. I've found the one I'm going to marry."

He grins, and I wonder why all of his expressions make him look sinister. It's probably the combination of the goatee with the bald head.

"Good for you. Congratulations."

I nod and run my hand over the deep brown, rattan chair arm. This outdoor furniture is basically nicer than what most people have in their living rooms, and a woman with severe, short blonde hair walks up to us.

She's all in black, and at first, I wonder if it's his wife. I don't get the wife vibe from her, though, probably because I assume Sebastian would choose a woman far flashier. This woman is close to his age, but wearing a simple black t-shirt and black pants.

"Inga, this is Griffin. The son of an old friend. Can you bring the Macallan and a pitcher of water? The filtered, not the sparkling."

He doesn't ask if I like scotch, and it's a good thing I do. We size each other up.

"I believe we have someone in common."

"Other than my father?"

"Other than your father. Her name was Nadia."

I frown. I've known a few women named Nadia over the years. There was the bartender, a girl at a clothing boutique on the beach, and some girl I met at a club, I think. "Nadia?"

"Nadia Acevedo."

A light bulb goes off in my addled brain. "Yes. I remember." The club girl. She was well-known around the South Beach scene, one of those girls who was always at the best parties and never seemed to work. We'd spent a couple of nights together, and truthfully, I hadn't thought of her in years. "Poor thing, she was coming to see me one night and died in a car crash on the causeway."

"I know. She was my girlfriend."

Oh hell. I'd been screwing this guy's girlfriend? I was only about twenty at the time, and it was probably the wildest year of my life. "I didn't know she...you and she..."

He holds up a hand. "No hard feelings. We had an unusual relationship. I was more of a benefactor, helping her through school. I didn't require her to curtail her activities when she wasn't with me. I did care about her deeply, though, and was devastated by her loss."

"Well. Wow. I'm so sorry. She was a good person. Very sweet." In truth, Nadia was anything but sweet. A memory of her begging me to tie her up and hit her across the face flashes in my brain. And another, of how she was so high on pills one night and begged me to fuck her in her sleep. The disgust I'd felt at her requests is still palpable. I'd been wild, but not that wild.

Thank Christ the blonde woman chooses this moment to return with the scotch. Beacause I don't want to sit here and look at Sebastian and wonder if he'd had all sorts of weird sex with a woman that I'd also slept with.

One more reason I'm grateful for Juliette. I don't ever have to think about these things again. Love is so much simpler than random hookups. I grab the drink and take a sip.

"Excellent," I say, tipping the glass to him. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. It's one of my few vices."

"How's my father, anyway? I've been in Europe for a few months and unable to contact him."

"Not great. He was under the impression that you were dead. It's why I was so shocked to get your call. That and the fact that I haven't seen you since you were a teenager."

I nod slowly, wondering how much to tell Sebastian. As much as I hate my father, this guy does have an affinity for him, that much is clear. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. "I'll give you the abridged version. I was in Amsterdam on a business trip. During a meeting, a rival, ah, company, decided to stage a hostile takeover."

Sebastian picks up his scotch. "You don't need to sugarcoat things with me, Griffin. I know all about what you do. I knew what your father did. I'm no saint. No judgement here. None of us are without sin here."

"So, the honest version. I was in Amsterdam on a drug deal and a rival cartel bombed the warehouse while we were discussing shipments from China to Europe. My best friend was killed, I was seriously injured, and in a hospital there for months. Authorities thought I was dead because they found a charred body in the wreckage, but I was traveling under a fake passport. My sister was kidnapped by the rival cartel. And to get her released, I need to set them up with a contact here in the States."

"And that's why you're sitting here, drinking my barrel-aged scotch."

"Exactly."

He smirks and nods. "What do you need?"

"They want two things. One is a shipment of pills, kind of a good faith effort to show that we're able to move quantity. The second is the connection with you. They'd rather deal with you directly. They'd tried to make inroads here themselves, but were unsuccessful. That's why they're relying on me. With Zoe as collateral."

"Poor Zoe. I always liked her." He sips his scotch and looks thoughtful. "What kind of quantity are we talking?"

"As much as you can score."

"Griffin, I don't handle small transactions. I'm not a molly dealer to club kids."

My expression is stony but inside, I'm wondering why the dig. But I have to eat this guy's shit so I can get Zoe home. "Of course not."

I explain in detail about what kinds of pills Willem wants, and Sebastian listens thoughtfully, occasionally asking incisive questions. He's a smart guy.

"I know the makers of two of those drugs well. The others you mentioned might be more of an issue. How about we start with a large quantity of those two, and see if your contact is happy with that?"

I rub my thumb over my lip, studying the stone archways of the courtyard. "I think it could work. Those were the two that he was most interested in. He emphasized quantity, not variety."

The blonde maid or chef or assistant or whatever she is walks through one of the archways. I straighten and stop talking. She's probably trustworthy, but you can't take too many chances.

The woman goes to Sebastian's side and he shifts his body away from me. She murmurs something in his ear, and I can see him grinning wide.

"Oh, tell her to join us. And bring her a glass of that pinot she enjoys."

He turns to me. "My girlfriend is here, and I hope you don't mind that I've asked her to come out. I'm eager to see her."

"Not a problem." This should be interesting, because he's such an odd guy. What kind of woman would fall for him? He's rich, though, so probably he's a great catch. Anxiety creeps into my chest. Does this mean he won't make a decision tonight?

"I'm happy to help you, Griffin. I know how much your sister means to you, and I know your father would want me to help. I'll do it on one condition: that you visit your father and let him know he's okay."

Goddamn. The last thing I want to do is talk to the old man. Not when I'm already on edge. But maybe it is time to let my anger toward him go.

"Fine. Done. I'll visit him this weekend. Or whenever the next visitation is."

"There she is," Sebastian says in a louder voice, looking over my shoulder. He stands and beckons.

Damn, this guy's clearly in love, by the look on his face. Good for him. His whole demeanor's changed from stone-faced to lit from within. In his silky German accent, he calls out to her.

"I'd like you to meet someone, mein liebling."

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