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“Then go be curious somewhere else.” I speed up my pace, not looking at him. “I don’t want to talk about the money.”
He says nothing as I move away from him and angle toward the beach. I glance back over my shoulder and he’s only standing there, watching me. We’re within sight of the house, which means I won’t get lost, although right now I want to lose myself.
I hate that he asked about the money. All this time and he hadn’t mentioned it, and now suddenly, he’s curious. Why would he care? It’s money, there’s nothing special about it, only that there’s a lot of the stuff stuck in a trust fund accumulating interest. None of it matters and I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t owe anyone anything, and that’s the problem.
The money doesn’t define me and I’m sick of people looking at me like I’m some spoiled rich girl. Or an insane rich girl.
But either way, rich.
It’s not that I won’t use the money one day. It’s there and it’s not going anywhere, not unless I die and it gets left to someone else. But my parents passed so suddenly in an accident and when I heard they’d left me more money than I could ever spend, my only thought was dread. What would it make me? What would it turn me into? I used the money to pay for college, but beyond that, I haven’t touched it. And I won’t, not until I’m established on my own and I don’tneedit anymore.
A lot of people find that hard to believe, but it comes from something my mother would say.
You need to be comfortably uncomfortable, love. That’s where all the best things happen.
Having all that money at my disposal would be too comfortable. And I don’t want a comfortable life. Maybe that’s why I’m here in Greece.
For a moment out there, I felt something between us. A spark, something hot and glowing. Something dizzying and satisfying. But I have to remind myself that Peter is a gangster, a member of a crime family, and he has spent his whole life stealing from people like me. If I let him, he’ll take what I have.
The story of my life. Everyone trying to take what I have, or at least trying to worm their way into my life to get a taste of it.
That’s what money does to people. That’s why I don’t want it.
I spend a few minutes watching the waves, put my walls back up, and march into the house. Peter meets me in the kitchen. “We’re going to the Filos tomorrow,” he says. “Be ready.”
“Do I get a gun?”
“You’d better. You have to watch my back now, killer.”
Chapter10
Adrienne
The Filo family compound is an old sheep herding ranch in the central rural section of Crete in a windswept valley a half mile away from the next paved road. The truck rumbles along the gravel path as Peter keeps his eyes straight ahead, staring at the structures in the distance as they slowly come into view.
“How worried should I be right now?” I ask him and reach down to touch the small gun I have tucked into a holster slipped into the waistband of my jeans. The gun is a tiny .22 with only a few bullets, small even in my hand, but its presence gives me a strange feeling of comfort. I’ve never been a gun person before and always thought guns were for weirdos and crazy people. Now that there’s one tucked into my pants, I feel like I have a power over the world. Like a new kind of strength has been unlocked for me. If someone wants to hurt me right now, I have the ability to hurt them right back.
“Not too worried,” he says as he parks the car. Two armed men stand on the front porch staring at us. They’re wearing jeans, dark shirts, dark sunglasses, and have rifles slung over their shoulders. Neither move to approach. “The Filo family was part of the Florakis association, and the Florakis ruled the Greek crime lords up until they were all but wiped out a few months back. Kacia’s the only Florakis that survived, but she doesn’t seem interested in trying to revive her family’s prestige. But anyway, we were all allied together, which means we know how all the others operate. There shouldn’t be any surprises here.”
“What was the association like?”
“Imagine a bunch of bickering old men with varying loyalties and desires all working to make each other rich. The association brought together all the crime lords for the first time in Greece’s history, and I doubt something like that will ever happen again. It was like herding cats. No, it was like herding angry, feral cats that actively want to scratch your eyes out.” He runs his hands along the steering wheel and lets out a sigh. “In theory, the Filos are allied with my family, but in practice, it’s more like every man for himself. If it’s in the Filos’ best interest to help us, then they will. Otherwise? Who knows.” He pushes open the door and gestures for me to follow.
I go after him, acutely aware of the way the gun moves under my shirt. He swears it’s invisible considering how small the actual weapon is and how my top is slightly flowy, but it’s not like it would matter anyway. He’s armed, those men are armed, everyone in this world is armed. Why shouldn’t I walk around with a gun of my own?
The guards approach. “We were told you’d be coming today,” the lead man says. He’s got big, bushy eyebrows. “The boss is waiting for you in his study.”
Bushy Brows takes us into the house. From the outside, the ranch looks plain, almost ramshackle, but inside, it’s like stepping into an entirely differently building. Everything’s been refinished and modernized, from the floorboards to the light fixtures, and it all screams luxury. We’re taken down a short hall and deposited outside of an ornate door. Peter gives me a look like,get a load of this, and turns the gold-plated knob.
Inside, the head of the Filo family sits in front of a crackling fireplace sipping whiskey. He stands as we enter and smiles warmly. He’s a big man, burly, round shoulders, dark hair, dark eyes. He shakes Peter’s hand and kisses the air beside both of my cheeks. “Come, sit down, have a drink.”
“How are things, Rastus?”
“We’re doing well out here,” he says and pours whiskey into a glass for Peter. His Greek accent is light and his English is very good. I notice that he doesn’t pour a drink for me, but by now I’m not surprised. The men sit by the fire, and I’m left lingering awkwardly on a couch nearby. Rastus Filo doesn’t look in my direction, and Peter only glances over once or twice, like I’m a forgotten ornament tucked into a corner. I hate it, but I know better than to complain when there’s so much on the line. This is how the Greeks are with their women, and while I think it’s wrong, I’m not exactly going to change an entire country by complaining to a crime lord about it.
Peter says, “Don’t you ever get lonely with only guards and sheep for company? I hear your lovely wife is back in Athens right now.”
“She’s entertaining half the crime lords in the city, I’m sure.” He laughs, deep and bellowing, and I have no clue if this is the positive reception Peter hoped for or if this is just how Rastus Filo acts. “But I like my solitude. And besides, Crete suits me. I’m near to the coast and the ocean, but still surrounded by my flock.” I wonder if he means the sheep or the men he has working for him.
