I typed my message back.
Make sure she can’t slip out again. Put guards at her door.
Dammit, I had to take her back to the clinic. I was tempted to ask my best friend to do it, but that wouldn’t be right. It was on me to handle.
Salvatore’s reply flashed on my screen.
Of course.
Then my phone buzzed again.
What do we know about the guy who stole the shipment coming my way?
Me: A punk dabbing his toes into our business.
Salvatore’s reply was instant.
Idiot. See you at the warehouse.
Putting my phone away, I leaned back in my seat and pinched the bridge of my nose to ease this pressure behind my eyes. Maybe I was tired, or maybe this anticipation that shit would blow up any minute was taking its toll on me.
I pushed my hand through my hair and inhaled a lungful of air.
My mad wife was a problem I didn’t know how to handle. I’d tolerate anything and everything from her, but trying to murder my children wasn’t one of them. Being the head of the Greek mafia, I’d done my share of fucked-up shit in my lifetime, but ending Amara’s life seemed like a step too far.
Goddammit, I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.
For years, the doctors reported she had to be constrained daily, and I couldn’t even fathom what kind of hell that had to be for her. But then in recent months, she was better. Even they were convinced she was. I was hopeful when the doctors recommended I bring her home. She was Dimitros’s mother and deserved better.
However, after all that had happened, bringing Amara home was clearly a stupid idea too. There was no question that her mental illness was overtaking her life, but I was at a loss on how to help her anymore.
I had hoped she’d get better with time and professional help, but she hadn’t, and I couldn’t help the bitterness that crept up whenever I thought of everything that had happened.
Having her locked away kept me from killing her, but it didn’t stop me from wishing her dead. She stood on thin ice, very much like the mafia—with one major difference. She could be killed.
Over the last two decades, I had gained power over any and all criminal activities in Greece. It was the reason behind my marriage to Amara. Her family’s alliance and territory fell to me, and I had complete control.
Yes, my organization fucking thrived, but it came at the cost of the happiness, sanity, and safety of both me and my children.
Except nobody knew that. Fuck, people already wondered if Amara was even alive, so what was preventing me from killing my wife?
Maybe it was the last shred of decency I had left. Fuck if I knew.
The car came to a stop and my driver, who also happened to be my bodyguard, came around and opened the door for me. I gave Yiorgos a swift nod and made my way out of the car, straightening my jacket and heading down the parking lot and into the warehouse where we conducted all our questioning.
Maybe it would help relieve some of this tension plaguing me.
My great-grandfather bought this dock complex at a prime price after World War II. Needless to say, they came in handy when transporting goods. And on days such as this one, the docks came in handy for different reasons.
When I entered the warehouse, I found the poor bastard who tried to steal my shipment strung up from the ceiling by his ankles.
“You got here fast,” I greeted Salvatore. “What did you do? Take a helicopter?”
“Shortcut.” He gave me a terse nod, glaring at the strung-up man while holding a cigarette. “And guess what? I didn’t knock when I entered.”
I rolled my eyes. “I only ask you to knock when entering my office, smartass.”
“Well, glad we got that clarified.” Salvatore put the cigarette between his lips, then inhaled deeply before letting out the cloud of smoke. “Now, let’s get back to this asshole.”
