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“And what have you done to earn our trust?” Ray asks.
The man strokes his wiry beard some more as his dark beady eyes dart back and forth between Ray and me. Behind us, the floorboards creak and the two goons who let us in step around us to join their boss in the living room.
“I guess we’ll just have to trust that none of us have broken the terms of our engagement…”
Engagement.
The word is like a sharp slap to my face, a reminder of what I’m really here for.
For fuck’s sake, am I really going to do this?
“Where is the girl?” I ask, my fingers twitching with impatience.
“You’re not talking to her. You’re talking to me,” the man grumbles.
“And who the hell are you?” Ray asks.
“I am Thales Retsos. Commander of the Greek army. You may call me Retsos.”
“And why the fuck are you here?” I demand to know. “Your army has nothing to do with this.”
“These are supposed to be peace talks,” Ray adds.
“The Greek army does as I say. If they are going to stop fighting, it is only going to be because I tell them to stop.”
“We both know that you won’t tell them to stop unless the girl does. She’s the one they’re rallying behind. Not you. So, I’ll ask one more time. Why the fuck are you here?”
Retsos’ sharp Greek nose twitches into a sneer before he forces it back down. “Well, I also help the princess make her big decisions. And there isn’t a decision as big as this one.”
The princess. My fists clench at the thought of the girl. She must be a spoiled brat. How could she not be? Princess? Are you kidding me? If she wants to be taken seriously, she should know better than to have men call her that.
“Where is she?” I ask again, my teeth grinding in anticipation. I just want to peel the band-aid right off. Let’s get this shit over with.
“She doesn’t need to be a part of the negotiations,” Retsos says.
“If we’re going to negotiate, I insist,” I growl. The little bible in my chest pocket starts to thump against my racing heart. Really, all I want to do is pull out my pistol and start firing. But people are counting on me. Valentina. Roman. They have families. I have a niece. This war can’t be allowed to go on forever.
A tense stand-off follows my stubborn declaration.
Finally, though, Retsos seems to give in. Without saying a word, the middle-aged Greek nods to his goons.
Immediately, they leave his side, heading towards the back door.
“Fere tin mesa!” one of them shouts to their own caravan waiting out back.
Bring her in!
That’s an unusual way to talk about your leader. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say something fishy was going on. But the Greeks wouldn’t dare fuck around with us on an issue like this. Killing me does little to help their cause. There’s still a royal cabal of leaders waiting back in New York.
So, what the fuck is happening?
Through the thick air, I hear the faintest sound of a car door opening then closing. Outside, a man and a woman exchange heated words, but I can’t quite make out what they’re saying. The argument stops by the time they reach the back steps, and all goes silent again as the back door is pushed open and a new, lighter set of footsteps join the heavy beating of the large Greek boots that accompany my potential bride-to-be into the living room.
For a moment, my heart stops beating. Blood rushes into my ears and my fingernails dig deep enough into my palms that I can almost feel them drawing blood.
This is it.
The moment I’ve been dreading since I read that disgusting fucking letter. The letter that she sent.
