Page 37 of Dagger in the Sea

I knew Luca, unlike Alessio, worked directly with their father along with two older brothers of theirs. Alessio was the youngest of the four brothers. Obviously, Luca was on some sort of business trip here to Greece and not just vacationing with his brother and uncle, and Alessio wasn’t happy about it.

“We are getting on the boat tonight,” Luca said, his hard gaze landing on me. “All of us.”

13

Turo

We gotinto the heart of Athens where I picked up my small suitcase from my hotel and checked out. Now, we were headed to Adri’s house in a northern suburb so she could grab her bag.

“It’s about time they finished building this bloody highway,” muttered Alessio as the Cayenne flew over the smooth asphalt.

We were headed north on the newAttikí Othoshighway which ribboned through Athens connecting the city to the surrounding suburbs. An essential in preparing for the Olympics next summer.

We exited off the highway and a sign flashed by—Ekáli.Manicured, fenced off properties, tree lined streets and huge villas, some modern and new in their sleek, clean lines, others older with the aristocratic charm of a bygone age. We stopped at a huge, black iron gate decorated with griffins, and Alessio got out of the vehicle, letting Adriana out to tap in the key code. They got back in the Cayenne, and the gates opened. We passed through and up a slight hill of lush green lawn enclosed by a high stone wall. A contemporary Mediterranean mansion rose before us. Adriana took in a tight breath at my side.

The SUV came to a stop, and I immediately opened the door and got out, holding out my hand to her. She took it, hers still cold, shaky. She quivered, her legs as unsteady as a young deer’s.

I quickly gripped her waist, pulling her up against me. “Adriana?”

Her eyes skidded to mine. “I’m fine. Fine.” Her voice trembled.

“Not fine enough. Why don’t I come in with you?” I said.

She pulled away from me. “You take your new job quite seriously, don’t you?”

Alessio lit a cigarette. “It’s a good idea. Go with her. Don’t be long.”

I shut the door of the Porsche and slid Adriana’s arm through mine. She stiffened in my hold. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you and Luca, but I know I don’t like it,” she whispered.

“Between you and me, I don’t know if I like it either.”

“What did he mean that he knows who you are? Who are you?”

Thewhirrof a motor cut her off. She stopped, her gaze trained down another driveway toward a large garage where one of the doors rolled down.

“Gamóto,” she said under her breath. The Greek equivalent for “fuck”?

“What’s wrong?”

“My parents are home. They were at the opera tonight and then a dinner party after, but they’re home early.”

She unlocked an impressive coffered wooden door, and a grand foyer of gleaming marble swallowed us up. A house that seemed discreet and minimalist on the outside was anything but on the inside.

A Francis Bacon painting hung on the wall in all its ugly twisted splendor, marble sculptures, both ancient and modern, tiny and large were perched on pedestals. An enormous, colorful, perfectly designed flower arrangement lay in the center of a round marble table, and a series of small paintings in ornate gold frames which, at my passing glance, certainly seemed like authentic French Impressionist pieces, dotted the wall.

Adriana was not ordinary rich folk.

A well-dressed, attractive older couple stood in the living room drinking brandies. Their conversation ceased and they stared at us.

“Adri?” her mother said.

“You’re home early, aren’t you?” Adriana said, her voice suddenly casual and in control as she led me into the salon.

Her mother’s head slanted, eyes narrowed. Was it because Adriana was speaking English or because she’d brought a man home? Straight blonde hair edged her mother’s shoulders, perfect makeup. They both shared the same blue gray eye color. “Your father was quite tired, so we decided to cut this evening short. And you?” British lilt to her crisp, confident English and her sharp gaze had me standing taller despite the fading adrenaline in my system.

“Mamá,this isTuro. Turo, this is my mother, Liana Lavrentiou.”

Liana, the Queen, tilted her head at me. Both her perfectly manicured hands were adorned with twenty-four carat gold rings, including a large diamond solitaire. “Hello,” she said.

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