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“Shut up. I know it’s silly. But I pictured him with a uniform and one of those little pins they wear with the wings.”
He rubs his face, trying not to smile. “Come on, let’s make contact.”
I grab his wrist before he can walk away. He hesitates, looking back with me with an uncertain smile. I glare at him for a moment, not because of his teasing jokes, but because of what happened yesterday at the apartment. I should’ve brought this up sooner but it’s awkward and I’ve been putting it off, but now I feel like I have to broach the subject or never talk about it again. “Please don’t talk to my sister about—you know.”
“Me and you? Fucking?”
“Stop it. She’s still my sister, okay? Even if she’s very French.”
His expression softens. “She isveryFrench.”
“Way too French. Like, I wish she’d tone it down.”
“All right, if that’s what you want, I won’t discuss our private business with your sister.”
“Thank you.” I feel myself blushing again as I imagine that moment out back beneath the tree, his hands between my legs making me come, his lips on my nipples sucking and biting hard. If she’d appeared only a minute or two earlier, she would’ve seen something unspeakable.
We got lucky. I don’t plan on being lucky twice.
He leads me across the road and toward the pilot’s table. He stands as we approach and nervously rubs his hands together. Peter greets him in Greek and introduces me in English, and the pilot nods, glancing around. “Nice to meet you. My name is Captain Galaki.” I assume his name isn’t actuallycaptainbut don’t bother mentioning it.
“Should we talk?” Peter orders coffees for the table and we sit. The men instantly begin speaking in Greek which leaves me sipping dark espresso and staring around us, wondering what the hell I should be doing. Captain Galaki seems nervous at first but slowly relaxes, and after fifteen minutes, they switch back to English.
“Captain Galaki was just explaining how he flies from Marseille to Greece twice a week,” Peter says with a devilish smile. “That’s a lot of air miles.”
“Yes, I fly a lot. I know many people at the airport as well.” Captain Galaki doesn’t look happy about it. He leans forward, his voice lowering. “If I do this, will Le Milieu keep bothering me?”
“If you do this, Le Milieu will pay you handsomely. So will the Balaska family, I suspect.” Peter taps his cup gently with his finger to emphasize his point. “I understand you’re nervous, but you don’t need to worry. We’ll have men at both ends of the flight to load and unload the cargo. All you’ll need to do is file the logs and fill out the paperwork.”
“And fly the plane,” I add.
Captain Galaki looks at me as though I’ve got two heads before turning back to Peter and slipping into Greek.
I sigh and lean back. No matter how strong I get, how smart I am, how aggressively I put myself into any conversation, these Greek assholes still sometimes treat me like I don’t matter. Peter gives me an apologetic smile but keeps doing business, and I don’t blame him. We need this guy, which means I have to put up with his casual sexism.
But something bothers me. Not far from where we’re sitting, a couple men are leaning outside of a bakery, smoking cigarettes and staring in our direction. They look like anyone else at first until I start to spot some of the telltale signs of a gangster: shady, quick glances around, bulges at the hip, baggy clothing trying to hide weapons, and a man in a car nearby, their getaway ride. Peter taught me this a few days ago and I thought he was kidding when he gave me a checklist to follow, but now that I’m watching the guys and they’re watching us, I realize he was absolutely right.
“Peter.” I nudge him and he ignores me for a second, answering something Galaki said in Greek. “Peter.” He looks over with a frown and I nod at the men.
He follows my gaze and goes very still.
Galaki looks between us, his eyes narrowed, frowning. “Is something wrong?” he asks.
“We need to go.” Peter slowly stands.
“Go? We haven’t finished.”
“Weallneed to go.” Peter stares down at Captain Galaki. “Right now.”
The captain looks bewildered as Peter comes around the table and hurries him to his feet. I watch the men talk quietly to each other, stub out their cigarettes, put away their phones, and start walking toward us.
“They’re moving,” I say as Peter steers Galaki by the elbow away from the cafe and onto the sidewalk. We go at a fast walk, hurrying down the block. Galaki complains in Greek the whole time until Peter says something sharp and pointed and the man shuts up.
“I know them,” Peter says softly. “Filo men. I recognize them from Rastus’s place.”
“How the hell did they know?”
“Hard to say. I’d guess they followed the pilot.” Peter squeezes Galaki’s elbow. “Did anyone else in the city know you owed Le Milieu money?”
