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His brow furrows. “Didn’t they teach you at business school that cockiness and smugness aren’t good negotiating tools?”
“I’m not negotiating, and I didn’tgoto business school.”
A smirk plays around the corners of his mouth. “Okay then, how about this: you seem to make my sister-in-law happy, and I’m choosing to believe that means I can trust you. Also, I met your father once, in London.”
I blink in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”
He nods. “Vadim was an honorable man. I liked him, and he seemed to have the respect of everyone else in the room when we were introduced. I’d like to think that he raised you to be the same.”
Ares puts out his hand. I shake it firmly, and he grins.
“Does this mean I can get on that sick plane now?”
I chuckle. “Be my guest.”
Kratos, the giant among the Drakos brothers, walks his grandmother over, who gives me a sharp arch of her brow.
“I, too, would like to believe that you are a man we can all trust.”
She clears her throat, offering me a Tupperware container filled with what looks and smells like fresh baklava.
“Mrs. Drakos—”
She shakes her head, holding up a frail-looking finger. “Before you make any promises, we have a saying in Greek.Kalokagathían órkou pistotéran éche. It’s from the philosopher Solon, and it means ‘Put more trust in integrity of character than in an oath’.”
I smile as I nod at her offered baklava. “Na fováste tous Éllines pou férnoun dóra.”
Beware of Greeks bearing gifts—a reference to the ancient Greeks and their Trojan horse, which gained them entry into the walled city of Troy.
Dimitra grins widely, chuckling as she puts the Tupperware into my hands. “So long as you are kind to Eilish, who I consider one of my own grandchildren, there’ll be no soldiers jumping out of my baklava come nightfall.”
“That’s a promise I can make confidently.”
She nods, smiling.
“Nice plane,” Kratos grunts, giving me a firm shake. “And thanks for the invite.”
“No hard feelings about the parking garage basement, I hope.”
He smirks, leaning closer as his grandmother steps out of earshot.
“Not exactly the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me.”
Elsa gushes an exuberant thank you, giving me a hug that elicits a venomous glare from her fiancé. Nora and Galina blurt equally gushing thank you’s before dashing up the staircase and onto the plane hard on Elsa’s heels.
“Nice fucking plane,” Hades mutters, stopping in front of me. “But seriously. The Bijou Gala? How the fuck did you pull that off?”
I shrug deprecatingly. “Called in some favors, that’s all.”
He glares at me. “You realize this means I have to up my fucking game next week for Elsa’s actual birthday. Thanks a lot.”
“Competition breeds innovation.”
“Asshole.”
I grin. “You’re welcome to borrow the plane again for her—”
“I just might,” Hades smirks back. “And don’t think for a second I’ll be topping off the tank before I bring it back.”
