Page 2 of Before Broken Vows
But trust? In this world?
It'll take more than a letter to make me, or my brothers, fully trust him.
"Which leaves me," I say, "with you. So, these wire transfers." I tap the paper. "Seven million euros last month. Another six the month before. All routed through shell companies that end withyour organization. That's not Sebastian's level of sophistication, and not yours either, I'm betting."
Yannis shrugs. "We're expanding."
"Into what?" I snap.
"Security contracts. Legitimate business."
I laugh. "The Athenian Warriors going legitimate? Try again."
He doesn't respond so I guess it's time to give him a little incentive.
I stand and retrieve a pair of bolt cutters from a table in the far corner of the room.
"Is Elena your wife, girlfriend, or mistress?" I ask, turning around holding up the cutters. "She lives in that nice apartment in Kefalari. The one with the red door and the basil plants on the balcony."
His chest heaves. "Leave her out of this."
"I haven't brought her into anything." My voice remains perfectly calm. "You might have, though."
"Fuck you, Theo."
I walk up behind him and rest the cutters on my shoulder.
"Look, your organization doesn't have the infrastructure for any kind of legitimate growth. So either you stole that money—which would be incredibly stupid—or someone is using you as a pawn. Before Sebastian died, he mentioned that he shouldn't have trusted someone. Who was that?"
Yannis shakes his head. "I can't tell you."
"Can't, or won't?"
"Can't. I?—"
The bolt cutters snap shut on his pinky finger. The crunching sound of bone is barely audible over his screaming.
"You dropped this," I say, picking up and tossing his severed finger onto his lap.
I look down and take a step back as blood pulses onto the floor.
"You almost got blood on my shoes."
"You and your brothers think you're so different than me or Sebastian? That you deserve all of Greece. You think you're better than us?"
I tilt my head. "No, but I know exactly what I am."
A strategist at heart. A killer when necessary, but ultimately, a king without a crown. Thankfully, I was taught that the right hand of the family is the longest.
I close the cutters on his index finger and it falls to the ground.
He screams again and I walk around to face him.
"Who's. Funding. Your. Accounts."
He's sobbing now, all pretense gone. I guess getting two fingers cut off does that to a man. "I don't know! I don't know names!"
"Then tell me what you do know." I lean closer. "Who's pulling your fucking strings, Yannis?"
