Shaded from moonlight by the overhead canopy, Ilias Dimakos leaned against the railing along the dock for the Alcatraz cruise ships, two goons at his side. The occasional flare of light from the end of his cigar dug deep shadows into his facial lines and highlighted the slight sag of his chin.
“You’re early,” I said, joining him. Soft waves lapped at the dock and boat.
“This is business.” His heavily accented voice dragged, hitting the consonants hard. His gaze never turned away from the small cruise ship in port. “You killed my cousin, young Iannelli.”
“He tried to kill me.”
He snorted. “Is that howyou will tell it?”
“Not my problem the truth doesn’t fit the picture you’ve created in your head.”
“The truth. We all make our own. You know, I thought your father too ruthless, too callous, too meticulous, too deceptive. All the reasons I despised him. Also the reasons I worked with him.”
“My father was not an example to follow.”
“We all follow in the footsteps of our elders. One way or another.”
“Respectfully, I disagree.”
The dock rocked gently as the end of his cigar blazed.
“Yes,” Dimakos drew out. “You prefer to chase your tail until you trip. All for someone else to find your beloved sister. Tell me. How does it feel to be so emasculated?”
I squeezed the railing. “I would have thought tossing insults was below you.”
“A simple question, that was all.” Finally, he faced me and tapped his cigar against the railing, ash tumbling into the ocean. “Much less than you did for my cousin.”
“Yes, your cousin.” I pulled myself upright. My mouth tugged to the side at the way his neck craned for him to meet my eyes. “Should we discuss the murder of his brother? His attempt on my life? Or the fact that my father, a man you despised, kept detailed records of your numerous dealings?” His mouth parted, and a vein pulsed in his neck. “Things are never as black and white as expected, especially in this business.”
“You expect me to drop this?” His voice rose.
“Yes.”
“Stathis was like a brother to me.”
I closed the space between us, close enough to taste the tobacco and woodsy reek of his cigar breath.
“Refuse to accept, and this’ll mean war between the Greeks and Italians, and we all know who has more men and connections.A good bloody fight is all it will be for me. But to you,” I whispered, “hidden dealings will also come to light.”
He stepped back. “You’re a real piece of work, Iannelli. Just like your father.”
My teeth gritted. The comparison burned. “I am what I need to be. No better. No worse.”
“I cannot ignore Stathis’ death. Not for me. Not for the family. Appeasing them after Alastor’s death was hard. This will be impossible.”
“Not my problem.”
“There must be recompense.”
I chuckled, amused that he thought I’d give him anything for my own assassination attempt. “I’ve heard you follow a forty-day mourning tradition. For the sake of our past relationship, I’ll give you that. Forty days, that’s how much longer I’ll keep Stathis’ body on ice so you can decide.”
“That is not a negotiation.”
“We both know this never was. This time, no wayward bullets, and we part amicably. Next time? Well, that depends on you.”
My footsteps thumped down the dock.
“Iannelli. This is not how you forge alliances.”
