The conference room at the Grande Bretagne Hotel is neutral ground. No weapons. No guards inside the room. Just a polished oval table, five bottles of water, and the three most dangerous men in Greece.
I sit between Dimitris and Stavros. My hands are folded on the table, resting on the stack of files I demanded from Andreas. Across from us sits Thanos Nikolaides, the head of the southern family. He looks like an older, crueler version of Stavros—same dark eyes, same predatory stillness.
"We are wasting time," Thanos rumbles, ignoring me completely. He looks at my father. "The Vasilakis family bombed your convoy. They breached your security. And your response is to call a meeting? We should be burning their ports."
"We strike when we have the advantage," Dimitris says calmly. "Blind rage
