by Cat Porter
“How much do they want for the boy?” Yianni asked. He didn’t seem too upset by this new information. He was all business.
“Do you even know how old he is?” Alessio asked him.
“How much do they want?” Yianni only repeated.
“He’s fifteen years old,” I said. “About to be a man, still a child. Honor student, athlete. Polite, just like his father. Now he’ll be marked forever because of you, a shitbag he doesn’t even know.”
Luca studied the water polo trophies lining a shelf. “They want ten million euros.”
Yianni’s face fell, his jaw hanging like a gate blown wide open by a sudden gust of hard wind.
“We need to talk to Mr. Fokas,” I said. “And you’re going to tell us where to find him.”
“You can’t just go talk to him,” Yianni said on a sneer.
“You’re such good friends, you said, Yianni. For years, from the very beginning,” I said. “He wants this money, he’ll see us.”
Luca rammed a gun under Yianni’s chin. “Start talking. And don’t make up any little fairy tales. I’ve heard them all.”
Black sky glittering, road lights flooding the long, winding seaside boulevard, palm trees stretched out like great big fans. It was just before midnight, and Luca and I were on the nightclub strip of Poseidónos Boulevard in Glyfada, a trendy seaside southern suburb of Athens, moving through the traffic. Nightclub after nightclub. Greeks loved a night out. They lived for live music, dancing, and every popular singer obliged. Billboard after billboard beckoned with huge, dramatically lit posters of male and female singers appearing at venue after venue.
Ciro directed the driver to pull into “The Lyra” which loomed ahead on our right, the parking lot jammed. “You stay in the car,” Luca said to Alessio. “I don’t want you seen or involved directly.”
Alessio nodded and sank back in the leather seat.
Ciro, Luca, and I strode into the nightclub. Four bouncers blocked us at the brightly lit lobby, but Luca, in his Italian accented English, informed them of our need to see the “affentikó.” The boss, in Greek.
Cell phones came out, murmuring, cutting glares. Pounding music, thick smoke. Greeks smoked a hell of a lot too. Everywhere you went. Thank fuck I didn’t have asthma.
“Affentikó he cannot see you now,” came the reply.
I got into the bouncer’s sweaty face. “Tell your boss that we have the special delivery he requested, and if he wants it on time, he will see us right the fuck now.”
The bouncer only blinked, made a face. This shit was complicated for him. His horrible, shiny, polyester-y, purple shirt was too tight at the neck, cutting off his goddamn circulation and any brain function.
Luca grabbed the phone from the bouncer’s hand and shook it in his face. “Tell him one name. Tell him Aliberti is here.” Luca smashed the phone in the guy’s chest.
The guy peeled his phone back and made the call. He gestured down a dim hallway. “This way.”
He led us to a far corner, up a narrow stairwell to a large door. He patted us down and took my and Luca’s guns, unlocked the combination keypad, and we entered.
A thick cloud of smoke and the din of cards shuffling and snapping on tables, men speaking in low tones, the constant clack of high heels on tiled floor. Women in stripper clothes and heels served drinks. A mini casino.
“Here,” said the bouncer, and we followed him to another stairwell that opened to an office. He closed the door behind us.
A large man with graying black hair and a gruff scowl sat behind a desk, a lit cigarette in his hand. His shirt collar open, a thick gold chain with a cross visible on his chest. Aside from a paunch in his waist, the former kickboxer had aged well.
“You don’t stand up when you greet your guests, Mr. Fokas?” Luca asked.
“Why do you use the name Aliberti with me?”
“I am Tiberio Aliberti’s son Luca. His representative here in Greece.”
Fokas pressed his lips together, his glare scouring Luca. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”
“They took my gun at the door, this will have to do.” Luca took out his European Union driver’s license and held it up.
Fokas flicked his gaze over the card and Luca put it away. He leaned forward on his desk taking another hit of his smoke. “Please, sit. What is this about?”
“I was having a fantastic holiday here in your country, but then I got interrupted. You interrupted me.”
“I interrupted you?” He let out a sharp laugh. “How did I interrupt you?”
“You took the boy. You shouldn’t have taken the boy.”
Fokas’s dark eyes narrowed for a moment. “Why do you care about the boy?”
“His sister is my brother’s woman.”
I smoothed a hand slowly down my throat. Even though I knew it was all a scene we were playing, hearing those words out of Luca’s mouth pissed me off, jerked and jangled my every fucking chain. Loudly.
“I had a point to make,” Fokas said.
“Si. A point. Don’t you think you made it when you shot at the girl?”
“I’m an impatient man, and I don’t like being ignored.”
“The money owed to you is ready. I have it,” Luca said. His fingers flicked out at me, and I raised the briefcase in my grip.
“Hmm.” Fokas smashed his cigarette in a full ashtray at his side and leaned back in his chair once more. “The ten million plus the hundred fifty-thousand?”
“Ah, I think you are being greedy,” said Luca. “This, what you are doing now, will only bring terrible attention to your organization, and my father will not be pleased. It will ruin your agreement with him. All imports will have to stop. Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t.” His jaw stiffened.
“Kírie Fokas. I oversee the work in Greece for Signor Aliberti. I say who, when, where, and how to fuck yourself. There are hundreds of men like you looking to do business with my father. In fact, I met someone in Mykonos this past week who made me a very tasty offer for working that particular island. The best island, eh? But I’m a man of principle. You and I are already doing business, and I would like to be loyal to our agreement. You know, in the Ionian Sea I have new Albanian friends who service those islands with their power boats. Those boats could easily cross to the Aegean.” Luca casually stroked his jaw.
Fokas’s upper lip stiffened, he remained silent.
“You took the boy. Congratulations, you’ll get money. Why shouldn’t you for such an impressive act? But not ten million. His sister is my family. Be sensible. Take this—” Luca gestured at me, and I took the briefcase with the hundred and fifty and put it on the desk. I opened it, and Fokas’s eyes darted to the cash and lingered there. “—it’s what’s owed you from that sailor friend of yours, yes? Lower the ransom for the boy to one million and you’ll get it.”
Luca and Fokas had a stare down, seconds ticking into minutes.
“These people have the money,” Fokas said.
“You know,” said Luca, his voice casual. “I hear the marijuana from the island of Crete is amazing. Maybe you could help me with that? I always need a fresh supplier.”
More business opportunities. More bargaining. Fokas slanted his head in that particular Greek way.
Luca raised his chin at me. “Make the call.” He turned back to Fokas.
I phoned Petros. “Hold please,” I said, and then handed the phone to Luca.
Luca took my phone. “One million by tonight.” He closed the phone and handed it back to me.
“The girl, Adriana, delivers the money to the drop off point.” Fokas licked his full lower lip.
The fuck had tossed his match and the gasoline blazed in my veins. My muscles tightened, keeping the roar of my rage in check. It was Luca’s place to respond. I had to remain unmoved.
“Absolutely not,” Luca said through gritted teeth.
“She comes with the money or I keep the boy. Very simple.”
�
��Why?”
“She may be between your brother’s legs, but for me she is a star. And I want to see this star fall from the sky and come down to earth for a change. I want her and her fancy family to get their hands dirty for once, not to send their slaves to do their work for them. If she does not come, the price goes back to very, very high. You understand?”
“Motherfucker!” I spat out, climbing into the back seat of the car next to Alessio.
Luca slid into the front, Ciro slamming the doors after us.
“What happened? Did you see him? What did he say?” Alessio asked.
I filled him in as the driver swung the car out of the nightclub and back into traffic on Poseidónos Boulevard. Alessio’s eyes blazed and he exploded in acidic Italian at his brother, hands waving in the air, punching at the seat in front of him.
Luca remained unmoved, his lips pressing into a firm line. “We’ll be there with her, Alessio. He just wants a show. He wants to leave his mark like a fucking dog peeing on a tree.”
“He’s not going to leave his mark on her!” Alessio’s voice boomed.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “She can do it,” I said. “She’s more than capable.”
“You are so certain?” said Alessio, his tone ironic.
“The Adri you know and the Adri I know are very different,” I said through gritted teeth. “She can do this. She’ll want to do it.”
“If you say so,” muttered Alessio.
“He wants to see her cry, be desperate, weak,” I shot back. “She’s not going to give that to him. No fucking way.”
One by one, our fangs retreated and we slunk back into our corners, our black thoughts simmering in our heads, like boiling potions in a cauldron.
“You were very convincing, Luca,” I said, breaking the silence.
“I’ve been doing this shit for my father since I was a teenager. Convincing people with my words, my gun, a knife.” Luca let out a rough breath and trained his eyes out his window.
Violence, threats, murder, and shakedown made up family memories of growing up for Luca Aliberti. He didn’t seem impressed with himself. It’s just the way it was.
“He’s always been good at this,” said Alessio. “Some of us are made for it. Some of us aren’t.”
“How does your father feel about that?” I asked.
“He thinks I am playing at some sort of hobby. It doesn’t matter so much to him that I got featured in Italian Vogue or an English rock star wears my jewelry on his concert tour.”
“He is very proud of you, Alessio. Don’t ever doubt that,” said Luca. “He does not show it easily. He’s difficult, it is his way. You know this.”
“Hmm. I am lucky I have Luca and our brothers Emilio and Vittorio who are committed to the success of the dynasty, so my lack of direct participation is not so much of a sore point.” He twisted his lips.
“Not so much,” murmured Luca, that grin of his breaking his handsome face into something sly and self-satisfied.
“I suppose this is what drives me to succeed,” continued Luca. “To prove to my father that I can do something of my very own and be a success and on my terms. My uncle Gennaro in America, he did this too with his hotels. He has built his own empire. I admire him very much.”
His own empire. Alessio driven to succeed on his own terms and making it happen. At the end of the day, he had a father and brothers who had his back. I couldn’t say the same for me.
“And you?” Alessio’s voice filled the car.
“Me? What?” I took in a breath.
“What you have now with Guardino, is that good for you?” Alessio asked. Luca’s eyes slid to me. “You like it?”
“Why do you care?” I said.
“Curious,” said Alessio. “You’ve come all this way to clean up a mess of his son’s. He must trust you. That’s good, yes?”
“Yeah.” I pressed a thumb down the cuff of my shirt sleeve. “He trusts that I’ll get the job done.”
“My uncle did not agree when you spoke, did he?” Alessio asked.
“It was our first conversation, but I think now he’ll be more open to it.” I met Luca’s gaze.
“Once all this is done for Adri and her brother, I will help you with him so you can go back to Chicago with good news for your boss,” said Alessio.
“I appreciate it,” I murmured, a chill razoring through me. Back to Chicago.
A little over a week ago I would have been pleased as fuck to hear those words. Now they filled me with a cold heaviness in the pit of my stomach, like a hefty piece of Greek marble had settled in my gut. Because back to Chicago meant the weight of that same fight, that same unresolved tension between me and my father.
Because back to Chicago meant no more Adri.
An ache sprinted over my skull, and I ran a hand over my scalp to chase it off. “Is that where you’d prefer me to be, Alessio? Back in Chicago?”
He made a face. “I’m impressed you put yourself out there for Adri. Helping her, supporting her. You two have grown close, no?”
“That’s fucked with your plans, has it?” I bit out.
Luca’s heavy gaze slid to his brother.
“Relax, Turo,” said Alessio. “I don’t have plans for her. I only want her to be happy. To feel safe. She hasn’t been either of those since I met her, and she deserves to be.”
I shifted my shoulders in my jacket. “Yes, she does.”
“I’m glad we’re getting her out of this shit, eh?” Alessio said.
“Yeah,” I replied.
Luca studied me, the beginnings of a smirk skating across his lips. He folded his arms and leaned his head back against the headrest and shut his eyes. Luca, Luca, Luca. Something gnawed at me about him.
My instincts were never wrong.
44
Turo
I had Ciro take us to an empty lot back behind some half built houses down the road from the resort. As Adri and I got out of the car, stray dogs stopped in their tracks and watched us warily. We didn’t have any food on us, though.
Only guns.
“Have you ever held a gun before?” I asked her.
“Yes, I have. A few months ago my mother’s security guard showed us both a few basics.”
“Good.” That was a relief. Something was better than nothing at all.
“I know you don’t ‘pull the trigger’ but press it, squeeze it with control,” she said.
“Very good. Let’s review, shall we?”
“Turo—”
“I need to do this with you, baby. Please.”
“Okay.”
I propped up planks of wood that were littered in the abandoned yard. She took the gun in her hands and I showed her how to release the safety, had her do it once, twice, three times. I placed her fingers properly around the weapon.
“Gripping the gun high on the back of the grip will give you more leverage against the weapon which will help you control recoil when you fire.”
“Right.”
“Stand with your feet shoulder width apart and bend your knees slightly which will give you greater stability and mobility when you fire—good.”
I stood to her side, just behind her. “Use your dominant eye to aim, and make sure you’re only applying pressure to the front of the trigger and not the sides.”
She aimed, fired, missed. Again. Again. Hit, hit, miss. Hit, hit.
“Good.”
Her eyebrows quirked. “You’re relieved I’m not half bad, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes, I am.” I grinned.
She got more and more comfortable with the concept, with the weight of the gun in her hand, her positioning, the movement, got over the first shock of the sound and the heaviness. She paid attention, she didn’t complain.
“How are you feeling?”
“Stressed but good, lots of adrenaline. I’m glad we did this.”
I slid the gun in the back of my jeans and grabbed her, twisting her arm behind her, hooking an arm around her nec
k.
“Turo!”
“Now what do you do?” I said in her ear.
She twisted in my hold, she pushed.
“Before your attacker gains full control of you, you need to do everything you can to inflict as much injury as you can to get away. You hurt or be hurt. Get loud, push. Aim for the parts of the body where you can do the most damage easily—eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knee, legs. And conserve your energy while you’re doing it. Your attacker’s position and how close he is will determine what part of your body you’ll use.”
I showed her how to use her hands, fingers, her knees, elbows, her head. How to leverage her weight strategically, get out of common holds and attacks.
Gesturing at Ciro with a lift of my chin, I released her. “Are we taking a break?” she asked, eyes wide, face flushed.
“Nope.”
Ciro grabbed her from behind, and she twisted, her arm shooting out, the heel of her palm striking up under his nose.
“Go, baby,” I murmured.
An hour and a half later we were floating side by side at our bungalow’s swimming pool.
“Can we practice some more tonight?” she asked.
“Can you get the hotel to bring us gym mats for the floor?”
“After, can you show me maneuvers with your velvet tongue on the mats on the floor?”
Laughing, I gripped her ass under the water and pulled her body flush to mine. “Deal.”
We stacked the money into a black duffel bag at Petros’s villa.
They’d called with the location for the drop off, a rural area sixty miles north of Athens. After they picked up the money and the cash checked out, they’d call Adriana and tell her where her brother had been released.
Adri’s hair was pulled back in a high, tight ponytail, the strain in her stiff shoulders evident. Her oversized black sunglasses masked her eyes, most of her face, leaving only the sharpness of her jaw, her pale lips. Lips I’d kissed just an hour ago in the privacy of our room, our bed, the car ride over.