Page 40 of Influence

“Niko! Wonderful to see you!” Georgio greeted.

He had a rough edge that made him notorious for barking orders at his small kitchen staff during the busy dinner service. Georgio was renowned as one of the finest traditional Greek chefs in the village, and it was common knowledge that securinga position under his tutelage meant you truly knew your way around a kitchen.

“You too, Georgio. I’ve been eagerly awaiting your spanakopita for days,” I replied, my eyes drifting past him to see that my brothers had not yet arrived.

The aroma of freshly baked pastries and savory herbs filled the air, a testament to Georgio’s culinary skills.

“Your table is ready, Niko.” He gestured toward my usual spot. “I even opened a bottle of your favorite vintage for you.” His eyes twinkled with the shared amusement of our inside joke.

“Thanks for keeping my little secret safe,” I winked.

It was our ongoing joke: Georgio was the only one I trusted to order a bottle of wine that wasn’t from my family’s vineyards. The wine he selected for me was a rare vintage crafted by one of my competitors. While I prided myself on loyalty to my brand, I also enjoyed the occasional discreet indulgence in a peer’s creation.

I settled into my usual seat, strategically positioned with my back against the wall. The rich, dark wood of the chair creaked slightly as I leaned back, ensuring I never allowed myself the vulnerability of facing away from the door. I always needed to see who was coming in, as each new arrival could be a potential threat or ally.

The rich red wine swirled smoothly within it as Georgio filled the glass while he chatted cheerfully. I scanned every room detail, noting the flickering candlelight that cast shadows on the rustic stone walls and the soft murmur of conversations blending with the clinking of cutlery.

“Your upcoming nuptials are the talk of the town,” he remarked.

“You mean the gossip from the ladies at the hair salon?” I replied, my gaze catching sight of my men gradually arriving.

Their presence was subtle yet purposeful as they attempted to blend in with the evening crowd.

They traveled in a separate vehicle while I arrived early, fully aware that Stefano and Markos would be late. This gave me the necessary time to position my security, who discreetly dispersed around the restaurant, their watchful eyes indistinguishable from those of genuine patrons.

My brothers wouldn't distinguish these men from other diners. That extra layer of protection had been essential, especially after discovering they had met with our rivals to assess how far they would go in betraying me. I didn’t trust either of them, not even for a second.

Therefore, enhanced security was not just an option. It was essential.

I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. Drawing my weapon and firing a bullet into their heads felt as natural as breathing. As I braced myself for my task, I couldn’t shake the thought of the trouble they might be in now. Perhaps they had hired bodyguards or were under constant surveillance. With so many factions involved, nothing ever felt certain.

They were such short-sighted fools. Didn’t they realize that any attempt to hurt me would eventually come back to haunt them?

My anger simmered beneath the surface as I waited for them to arrive, each minute stretching like a fine wine savored, warming me from within.

As they finally arrived twenty minutes late, I had already poured myself a second glass, and my patience was wearing thin. They stormed into the restaurant, their inflated egos evident in every gesture. With a loud entrance bordering on rudeness, they settled in, completely oblivious to how their behavior sharply contrasted with the sophisticated ambiance surrounding the other diners.

“Niko!” Stefano shouted, his smile resembling a strained expression one might see in a low-quality theater production.

“Brothers,” I said, my voice cool and devoid of any warmth or welcome.

Markos shot me a cautious, calculating glance. I could tell he and Stefano were both bracing for the moment when I might turn against them. Our shared history was intricate, resembling a tangled rope. They remained unaware that I had been silently observing their every action, and I wasn’t ready to show my cards just yet. The true aim of this meeting was to decipher their next move.

“So, our last meeting wasn’t exactly pleasant. I was hoping another sit-down might clear the air. I’d like to hear what you have to say,” I began.

“Our thoughts?” Markos echoed back, incredulous. “Are you referring to your poor choice in companions?”

“Whatever’s been bothering you, it’s time to share,” I said, opening my palms to show my willingness to listen.

Stefano scoffed, shaking his head in clear disgust at the suggestion.

“Jesus, brother, where do we begin?” he muttered.

My fists clenched at my sides, heat rising in my chest as I struggled to keep my voice steady. Losing control would only push them further away.

I met Stefano’s gaze, his eyes wide with mock concern. “Listen, Niko. We’re only looking out for your best interests,” he said, his tone syrupy with insincerity. “Layana Vitalis is trouble, plain and simple. She isn’t right for you, and frankly, we believe you should cut her loose immediately.”

“Is that so?” I asked, each word sliding out more slowly than the last, my mind racing to unpack their motives. “I’d like to understand the reasoning behind such a firm stance. Surely there’s something about Layana that I don’t know yet.”

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