“I know what it looks like,” Oz said bluntly. “It looks like that night in the club when you, as you say, blew me off. I know what it looks like.”
Oz didn’t mean to display that kind of angry emotion, but he couldn’t help it. For some strange reason that chic of a girl, and all of her rejections, did something to him.
“I wasn’t blowing you off, I don’t care what you say,” Gloria said, getting angry too. “You don’t have to get nasty about it.”
“Who the fuck is getting nasty?” Oz angrily asked. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Gloria was hurt by his anger toward her. She didn’t see where she’d caused him to react that way! And, if she were to be honest, he disappointed her. “Please leave now.”
Oz stared at her. He knew he was overreacting. But why was he overreacting? “Don’t turn down Rappaport when they come to meet with you just because we aren’t clicking.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Gloria, “because I know I did nothing to made you so angry with me. I’m not lying about having to go out of town on Wednesday. You’re misjudging me.”
Oz stared at her. He could see in her eyes where he had hurt her. And that bothered him too. “I apologize,” he said.
“Please leave now,” Gloria said. “You can keep your apology.”
Oz almost lashed out at her again. But despite her defiant words, that pain was still in her eyes. That was why he didn’t say anything else. He, reluctantly, disappointedly, just left.
Gloria sat down when he closed the door behind him. And tears began to appear. Why was she letting a guy all wrong for her, a guy she hardly knew at all, get under her skin? It was like he was two different people. This nice, kind man who helped her out when he certainly didn’t have to. Who made her laugh when no other man bothered. But then he became this angry, mean person who looked as if he could slit her throat and go home to bed without giving her another thought just because she turned down his offer of dinner Wednesday night?
And then she thought about Wednesday night. And having to confront her father. And it was beginning to feel like too much. Like life overload.
But she wiped her tears away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In New York city, on a cool Monday night, the wind was whipping wildly as Morpheus, a head of one of the Greek crime families in America, along with his bodyguard/driver, walked out of their favorite Greek restaurant with their bellies full and their hearts satisfied. But as soon as Morpheus sat in the backseat of his Lincoln, and as his bodyguard/driver closed the door and got in the front seat, behind the steering wheel, his cell phone rang. By the ring tone he knew it was one of his men. He knew there was probably some crisis in his organization that he had to figure out when all he wanted to do was go home and get some sleep. But he wasn’t in a nine-to-five line of work. He pulled out his phone.
As Morpheus reluctantly looked at his Caller ID, his bodyguard/driver cranked up. And just as Morpheus was about to press the talk button on his phone, to find out what the problem was, he heard what sounded to him like a thunder clap. Then he suddenly felt his body bounce up and slam with unbelievable force against the back of the front seat, his cell phone sailing from his hand.
Before he could figure out what in the world was happening to him, his big body was being tossed violently like a rag doll; jerked from one side of the car to the other side as if he was a human projectile. The windshield shattered, his driver was sucked through and thrown across the hood of the car as if he had been tossed out by human hands. And then the entire vehicle, as if in slow motion, lifted up high into the air and then flipped backwards while it was up there, as if it was a flying firebomb.
When it dropped back down, the landing was so severe that it cradled the street and smashed down flattened, as if it had been the star attraction in a demolition derby.
It might not have been the star attraction in a derby, but it was definitely a warning shot across the bow to any other member of the Greek mafia who thought they were getting away with it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The SUV pulled up to the curb, on the other side of the busy street where police now had Morpheus’s car, along with a portion of that entire city block on that side of the street, cordoned off. Darkus, who was the point man on scene, saw the SUV and made his way across the busy street. He walked around and got into the backseat where Oz was sitting and staring at the scene.
“What do they know?” Oz asked him.
“Our sources say nothing. Just another mob hit to them. Greeks killing Greeks. They already don’t give a fuck.”
Oz exhaled. “Poor guy. Never did anything to anybody.”
“They were sending a powerful message,” Darkus said. “I saw his body, what was left of it. They fucked him up, Boss.”
“They don’t want the Greeks consolidating,” Oz said. “Whoever this Ghost Mafia is, they didn’t take out Morpheus by accident. They wanted to break us up before we got started.”
Darkus looked at Oz. “What are we going to do about it?” he asked him.
“What we have to do. Pay their asses back. Send our own message. What the hell else can we do? Fold and let them take down each and every one of us one by one? And take our land? And then every one of our organizations in Greece after that?”
“Are you ordering a hit?”
Oz hated that part of the job. That was why he didn’t want to be coalition leader. But he also knew he had no choice. They made him leader because he wouldn’t flinch in the face of tough decisions. “I’m ordering a hit,” Oz said. “They took out one of ours. We’re going to take out two of theirs.”
“We? Does that mean you and me?”
Oz exhaled. “That means you and me,” Oz said. “Set it up.”
Darkus gave his boss a knowing nod, and then got out of the SUV.
“Where to, Boss?” the driver of the SUV asked as he slowly drove by the horrific scene.
Oz leaned his head back. He had planned to visit one of his ladies in New York and take her with him to spend the night at his brother’s Hudson Valley estate. He didn’t like to sleep alone when he was stressed.
But he thought about Gloria. Making love to another woman seemed like he was settling for less when he thought about her. He’d rather make love to Gloria. Which upset him even more because she didn’t even want his ass.
But he still wanted her.
“Take me to my plane,” he said to his driver.
Even the driver was surprised. He just knew he’d be picking up one of Oz’s ladies for the evening and taking them both over to Hudson Valley. He glanced at his boss through the rearview. “Yes, sir,” he said, and headed right back to the airport.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They played racket ball hard. Two middle-aged men slamming that ball against the wall in rapid succession, determined to serve better than the other one and win every rally. It was their weekly aggression workout, and they were working it out. Their games usually lasted an hour. That morning: nearly two hours.
And then, exhausted, they headed for the showers. Both men were drenched in sweat. The winner was bragging and the loser was making excuses for his loss. But, like every week, it was all in fun.