“Four labs,” she repeated. “It’s taken time and some resources. But the people I have dealing with it know what they’re doing, they source good shit and they cook good shit. Your boys will have product, and a lot of it, by the end of next week. They need to get their shit together to unload it because it’s gonna keep coming.”

“Product?” I asked.

“Ice and E,” she stated casually, and equally casually shoved food in her mouth.

I looked side to side before I leaned her way and hissed, “Georgie!”

I did this for a variety of reasons, including the fact I was just hearing this now and she was calmly discussing cooking meth and ecstasy at fucking Rioja!

“I told you I had a plan,” she replied.

“Does Dad know of your plan?”

She said nothing.

Oh God.

“One,” I began to count down all the things wrong with her going forward with this to the point of production. “Valenzuela hears we’ve got labs, we’re at war.”

“We have territory we’ve kept. We’ll work that careful not to infringe. If we can keep it from him and are smart in selling for long enough, when it’s time to expand, we’ll have soldiers to fight or he’ll be smart enough to let go some turf. And anyway, we’re producing and I’m assured what’s cooked is very good. He might find it in his interests to start buying from us.”

She was insane.

Benito Valenzuela did not have partners. He didn’t make deals. If there was something he wanted or something was happening he did not like, he performed hostile takeovers, the hostile part defined as hostile because it was underlined in blood.

I didn’t argue that. She knew that, this being why she was insane.

Instead, I stated, “Two, when Dad finds out, he’s going to lose his mind.”

She shook her head. “He’ll come around.”

“You know what he finds acceptable,” I reminded her. “And those two products in our menu are not that.”

“It isn’t the eighties anymore, Liv,” she told me exasperatedly, like it was me making the rules when it was not, never was and it never would be. “He has to swing with the times. We can’t get our hands on coke or H because Valenzuela has it tied up. I had to get creative. Furthermore, it’s ridiculous Dad thinks cocaine and heroin are elite drugs and Shade only deals in elite. There are no elite drugs. Drugs are drugs. Drugs are money. And we need money.”

I glanced again side to side before I retorted, “I know it isn’t the eighties, Georgie, but this is Dad and he thinks he’s king. You don’t move forward on something like this without discussing it with him. On that alone he’s going to lose his mind.”