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He moved behind people and struck up conversations with those who spoke English, telling people he worked in construction in California, which he thought was the only appropriate and non-controversial career he could think of. Each time he moved, he tried to keep one or two people between the Don and him, hoping to outlast his repeated attempts to join him in conversation.
Finally, the Don shouted, “Dimitri. Your family is from Greece?”
The whole patio opened up into a circle of smoking men. The Don was on one side, and Dimitri was on the other, with no protection.
“On my father’s side, yes. They come from a long line of patriots.”
“There are no living Greek patriots,” the Don said. His insult was intentional, but then, everyone probably knew his opinion of Greeks on the island. He’d heard this before. “Always fighting lost causes,” he said finally, shaking his head.
“Ah, but it’s like a book. The last chapter hasn’t been written. Perhaps there will come a day when our ancestors can hold hands through the newer generations.”
Several in the group agreed. There was verbal acknowledgement, although careful.
“You mean peace? Only good kind of peace is between families. War is good for countries. It sloughs off the weak.”
Dimitri didn’t respond. He tried to act neutral. The Don was obviously trying to get a rise out of him with his little barbs and insults.
“War is good, no?” the Don repeated again.
“War is good for some,” he began. “Not so good for those who perish. I prefer a more orderly way,” he said and peered directly into the Don’s eyes.
He’d come to the point, like he always did when he was confronted by a bully, to finally stand up to the Don, but Dimitri give him an exit strategy. Of course loss of life was a wasted exercise and it was wiser to avoid it. He was hoping the man saw this opportunity.
The Don didn’t flinch from his gaze. He lowered his cigar and studied him again. Dimitri figured he’d underestimated him, and so the Don was now paying attention.
Close attention.
Was this a mistake? He was going to be silent until the next move. But he noted where the henchmen were, observed that they had their finger on the triggers of their weapons. The safeties appeared turned to the off position, and they stood with legs out wide, warrior stance.
Though unarmed, one step away was the cart with the leftover meat and a large six-inch carving knife he could throw before anyone would see it coming. If he needed to.
No one said a word. They didn’t move, not even taking a puff.
The Don’s eyes began to narrow, becoming slits, the creases at the sides becoming deeper. His lips moved up on his cheekbones, and he began to laugh.
The others, of course, did the same, nervously.
Dimitri did not. But he softened his jaw and noted the henchmen slowly stepped away from the Don, taking their fingers off the firing mechanism.
No one else would have observed this.
He knew he’d doublethink this action for hours afterwards. But it was important that the Don treat him with respect, and that’s what he got. There was no chance, though, this man could ever be trusted to ask a favor of. It would be committing himself and Moira’s entire family to an eternity of servitude. Their chance of moving back to the U.S. would be out of the question.
Always easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
His father had said that over and over again while he was growing up. And he was right. He wouldn’t be asking for permission to take them to the States. Dimitri and the team had totakethem away from the Don.
Before he felt he owned them. If Moira’s father agreed to any kind of a marriage between Lauren and any of the Don’s grandsons, it would doom them all.
That was out of his control.
The only thing in his control was time. If they got it done soon and quick, it might work.
It had to.
Chapter Fifteen
Dimitri wondered whyMoira was taking this particular route back to the apartment.
