Page 151 of Dagger in the Sea

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.

“Affentikóhe 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 constantclackof 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?”

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