Page 1 of The Boss

CHAPTER 1

Dimitrios

“Are you beating the shit out of someone?”

Whap. Whap. Whap.

I grinned as I issued a hard shove to the boxing bag, avoiding the brutal swing-back by heading for my bottle of water. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“No, I don’t think I would, thank you very much. I’m not a violent man.”

Gregory Winters was many things.

Including an attempted comedian.

It was good to hear his voice after several months.

“What about the time you beat your roommate half to death?” I swirled the liquid before taking a long swing. Sweat trickled down both sides of my face, but I was far from being done abusing the swinging bag.

“That was years ago and it was worth being kicked out of the dorm.”

“Which meant you had to room with me.”

“Things worked out,” Gregory said and laughed.

“Yeah, things did.” But things had changed as well. I’d been indifferent to my father’s world, my studies at Harvard allowing the pretense that I could escape my legacy to remain embedded in my mind for four glorious years.

But all good things were always forced to come to an end.

I took another swig of water before pouring the remainder of the bottle over my head, taking a full fifteen seconds to allow the cool liquid to drip down my face. With my buddy on speaker phone, I was able to return to my personal boxing round. I needed the release.

Whap. Whap.

“I can tell you’re busy. I wanted you to know it’s possible I’ll be returning as ambassador to Greece in a couple months.”

Whap. Whap. Whap.

Panting, I wiped sweat from my eyes with my forearm and shook both my arms. Goddamn, every muscle in both had been tense lately. “Oh, yeah? I thought you were done with living the Greek life.”

“Are you kidding me? I’d give up citizenship if I didn’t think my father would disown me.”

I chuckled. He’d been ruled by his family as I had mine, only in entirely different ways. Maybe that’s why we’d struck up and maintained a strong friendship. He’d left Athens less than a yearbefore after serving several years as the American ambassador. I sensed an interesting story that might be best told over a bottle of ouzo.

“The last time I checked, your father was dead. God rest his soul.” They’d had a tumultuous relationship where I respected mine.

“Oh, yeah. What a shame.” His distaste of his father’s philandering ways had been the subject of more than a few conversations while chugging back tequila. “I have no reason not to come. That way I can kick your butt in pool like I used to.”

“You’re dreaming, my friend,” I told him, remembering our times fondly. “However, we’d welcome you with open arms. Do I sense an entirely different reason you might be driven back into the position?”

His groan confirmed my assumptions were correct.

“It seems the current ambassador got himself in some hot water with a Greek princess.”

“Ouch. Not good for him.” Greek princesses were a dime a dozen, but you didn’t fuck with one unless allowed by her father. Or as my father would say in our native language: The man wasparakalóntas na skototheí.

Begging to be killed.

Whap. Whap.

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