Epilogue
Amos
That fucking brat. I take a deep breath as I wander into a private room at Thasos Country Club, smoothing my hand over my tie while squinting at the large expanse of windows on the other side. Blew all my plans to hell and back. Her and her stupid bitch of a mother. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
A figure of a man stands out in the light, seated at a round table that overlooks the docks. My anxiety amplifies slightly as I recognize him. He’s not too far away, and he probably heard me walk in, but he seems too busy eating, enjoying the spread of food in front of him. My feet carry me forward despite my anxiety.
When I clear the morning light that blinds my approach, I study the chubby man munching idly on an apple slice. He doesn’t look up when I approach. Instead, he pushes a tiny black booklet—the bill for his rather large meal, no doubt—toward me when I take a seat opposite him. With a forced grin, I accept the booklet and rest my hand over it.
I watch the man for a long time, imbibing his posh appearance, his greased hair, and the gold rings that decorate his fingers. His suit is tailored to his body, ironed perfectly, and made of the softest material any man might like. His white shirt is crisp and free of stains, the collar hosting a thick white napkin to keep his food from falling on the eggshell white cotton.
My eyes roam his several times, practically turning green with jealousy. To say I’m envious is hardly fitting. It should be me in his position with my little digits stuffed into a fat fucking goose, hands clutching a fat calf and an even rounder pig. This should be my farm, my land, and my treasures.
But I’m a puppet instead, dancing on invisible strings for a madman who seems hellbent on destroying the original families of Macedon. His wildness shows in his tasks, no mercy evident in the way he delivers his message. It’s an alarming circumstance and one I have every intention of changing as soon as I’m able to change it.
I’d rather be the madman than be under him.
Climbing the ladder takes time, I assure myself while focusing on the man stuffing himself in front of me. If I want to play with the wolves, then I need to act like a wolf. That’s what I learned from Felipe.
“The Persian is disappointed with how little progress you’ve been making, Amos,” the man states as though he’s delivering a few simple reports to his boss. His nonchalance would be infectious if I wasn’t nervous about this meeting. “You were supposed to dismantle the families in Macedon, not play with them.”
I take a breath, trying to emulate calm and control as I reply, “It was all part of my greater plan.”
He hums while narrowing his eyes at me. “You don’t make the plans. You follow them.”
“You don’t understand how these families work. They’re…delicate. They need to be handled in certain ways.”
“Don’t you think my boss understands that?” He grins mischievously while reaching for a cup of yogurt, plucking a spoon from a napkin next to his plate. “That’s why I’m here—to clean up your little mess.”
The tension in the room triples as I feel the presence of another in the room. It may be the Persian, or it may be a sniper he sent to take me out. Memories of yesterday float through my mind as I try to focus on the situation at hand. My throat tightens, and I pretend like I’m looking out the window when the man across from me sighs.
Just kill me already, I think. I can’t take waiting for the hit.
“You look nervous, Amos,” the man teases. “Are you not cut out for this?”
“I’m more prepared than ever.”
He smiles, appearing more like a cat than a human as he twirls his spoon in the cup of yogurt. He’s yet to offer me anything for breakfast, but I hardly think I’m up for the task of eating, especially when I’m waiting for a death sentence.
“We’re on a timeline, Amos,” he states. “The Persian needs things done his way, or else the whole thing falls apart. Does that make sense to you? Do you need me to say that slower?”
I wrap my fingers around the edge of the booklet, seeking its sturdiness to keep me from flying off the handle. Impending death or not, it’s best not to lose my cool. I have to save my dignity while I still can. “No, I understand perfectly.”
“See, that’s why he chose you. The right hand of Felipe Moretti couldn’t have been a better choice for my boss.”
“It makes sense,” I agree. “I’ve seen so much behind the scenes. I’m a great and valuable asset.” I try not to sound desperate as I add, “And I have access to the accounts, of course.”
He pensively nods. “Sure, but you didn’t marry the Moretti woman.”
“She’s dead now.”
“And you haven’t gotten control of the Moretti girl either.”
Don’t fucking remind me. I clench my jaw, trying to keep myself from bursting at the seams. Any reminder of my failure around controlling Alex makes me feel the kind of fury that only the gods could wield. She’s denied me more times than I can count.
I had her once in my fingers—on my fingers. She was so sweet, so supple, so full of life, and ready to be taken over.
But instead, that idiotic kid got her.