Page 43 of Dagger in the Sea

“He should be.”

“Yes.”

“Were you?”

I said, “It’s certainly no way to conduct business.”

“Oh? Why do you think so?”

“I believe respect counts.”

“It does. Which is why I won’t be working with Mauro. He wants to stick his imbecile son on me? I’m not having it.” He gracefully shifted in his seat, facing me fully. “I won’t be strong-armed either. So don’t think you can come here and toss a threat at me and I’ll tremble and give in. Do you understand?”

“I do, sir. I’m not here to threaten or bully you. You run a quality international corporation, I only—”

“And my name stands for that quality all across the board. Why would I do business with an arrogant boy like this junior, when there are so many others to choose from?”

“Mr. Guardino could make it difficult for you in the Chicago area.”

“He can try all he wants, Mr. DeMarco.”

“I’m sure we could all reach a mutually agreeable solution, Mr. Aliberti. One that will work to everyone’s advantage. If you would speak with Mr. Guardino once you’re back in the United States, I’m sure you would find him most agreeable to work with, most amenable to your needs. You could have a very positive working relationship.”

A thick brow furrowed, he folded his hands.

I said, “Mr. Guardino knows—”

“Oh? What does he know?”

“He knows that his son should not have spoken to you that way, and he wishes to make it up to you. I’m here to ask you simply to meet with him, hear him out.”

Gennaro fingered the delicate crystal glass. “Tell your boss to fuck off.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Signor Gennaro.”

He glanced quickly to my left. “But you will. Right now.”

Cold metal shoved up against my temple. The bodyguard stood over me, his gun at my head. Luca remained still, relaxed.

I took in a deep breath. “This isn’t necessary, sir.”

“It is,” Aliberti said in his Italian accented English. “I don’t like being interrupted over nonsense. Your boss is a respected man, but his son is a shit which tells me a lot about the father. I don’t like it. At all. You are his messenger, are you not? Relay your message or Ciro—” he flicked a hand in the bodyguard’s direction— “will take care of you. Call him. Now.”

“Very well.” I took out my cell phone slowly and hit the Boss’s number. It rang, and rang. Athens was eight hours ahead of Chicago. It must have been early evening there.

“What?” Mauro finally answered.

“Mr. Guardino, I’m here with Mr. Aliberti and he wishes me to tell you to fuck off.”

Silence.

I held Mr. Aliberti’s firm gaze. Ciro ground the gun’s metal nuzzle into my skull. Mauro’s laugh filled the line.

“Keep trying or don’t bother coming home.”

The line went dead.

I really, really loved being in the middle of disputes and conflicts. Of two grown men having a pissing contest. “I’ll let him know, sir,” I said, clicking off.

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