Chapter 51: Codename: Aconite Chapter One

I drum my glossy red fingernails along the patent leather steering wheel as two guards take a painstakingly long time to scan my car for explosives. If they take any longer, I’ll be the one exploding.

I was busy cultivating my batch of nerium oleander – more commonly known as oleander – a strikingly beautiful flower that is extremely deadly from root to petal due to containing lethal cardiac glycosides known as oleandrin and neriine. However, I was interrupted by a call from Uncle Dimitris begging me for a favour. As my favourite uncle, I couldn’t say no, but then again, no one says no to the most powerful νονοί in Athens.

With my car finally cleared, the gates in front of me open and I am ushered through. I step on the gas and begin weaving through the familiar winding road umbrellaed by Mediterranean Cyprus trees. The road eventually opens to an expansive gravel driveway filled with cars all parked in neat rows, alerting me to the meeting taking place inside. I can even see my father’s car parked closest to the house.

The large driveway lays beside a pristine, white, luxurious 2.600sq.m mansion built on a 4.675sq.m plot of land. The white stone exterior is so perfectly white it causes a glare in the midday sun, but I’m not here to admire the home I practically grew up in. I park my car, get out, and make my way through the compound until I come to the outdoor sitting area. Guests are given a delightful reception when they walk past the 10x20m swimming pool that resides at the front of the house. Its crystal blue waters look all the more luxurious framed by the majesty of the mansion behind it. Can’t tell you how many times they’ve had to pull a body out of this pool, not to mention the number of times blood has damaged the filter – several occasions at the least.

I make my way down the length of the pool and walk up one of the two mirrored winding staircases at the front of the mansion that leads to the second floor. As I approach the double-glass patio doors, two strapping bodyguards look me over and nod in approval.

“He’s waiting for you,” the one on the left greets as he opens the patio door for me.

I step inside with my head held high and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ posture as I enter the bar area. Men are seated all around the spacious room either mixing drinks at the bar, playing chess on a lounge, poker on the couch, or reading a book in one of the small nooks. Each of the men dressed in a black suit sporting unconcealed guns holstered at their sides or on their hips is a bodyguard for one of the twelve heads of the Drakos Mafia family.

The two men at the far end of the room look up from their books and smile in my direction giving me a nod in greeting, which I return. Ajax and Castor are my father’s bodyguards and have been for the last twenty-seven years. Four years longer than I’ve been alive, meaning I’ve known them from the day I was born. My father trusts these men with his life and so do I.

There are only a handful of women here, wives or daughters of some of the family heads. You won’t ever find my mother sitting with these women. Last I checked, my mother was in Columbia on assignment, but even if she wasn’t, she’s not like these women. These women all bow their heads and follow their husband’s commands, whereas my mother would drop dead before she allowed herself to be like them. I would take a different approach. I’d happily kill any man who expected me to be his trophy, or worse, his incubator.

I walk to the double doors across the room and just as I place my fingers on the handle, a strong hand clamps down on mine. I slowly look up curiously at the 6’4” brute who dared place his hairy paw on me.

“You can’t go in there,” he says harshly.

“Oh?” I casually ask.

“No women allowed,” he says smugly, his gold tooth glinting at me. This malaka should have spent that money to fix his bald patch.

“I suggest removing that hand if you want to keep it,” I say politely.

He throws his head back and laughs, “You think I’m scared of a tiny thing like you?” he says as he looks me over, hunger burning in his eyes as he drags his tongue across his lower lip. I can feel my stomach ready to heave from the action.

I smile at him, and with cat-like reflexes take a firm grip of his dick and balls, digging my almond-shaped acrylic nails into his flesh as I watch his face turn bright red and contort in pain; a cry escaping him, the sound of which is akin to a dolphin being strangled. From the corner of my eye, I can see men cringing and cupping their balls, while Ajax and Castor are hiding behind their books trying not to laugh.

“Now, why don’t you be a good boy and go find an available vacuum, because with an attitude like that, it’s the only thing that will let you stick your dick inside it,” I say icily, giving his family jewels another squeeze as I push him away, watching him drop to the ground and curl up in the foetal position. How utterly pathetic.

I look over at Ajax and Castor and throw them a wink that has them breaking composure and busting out laughing.

“They never learn, do they?” Castor says between laughs.

I smile, open the double wooden doors, and step inside.

The moment I enter, twelve heads turn in my direction, some looking displeased to see me, but I couldn’t care less. Each man is seated around a large oval mahogany table, in a dimly lit room just big enough to fit them all in. At the head of the table, is Uncle Dimitris. His dark blue eyes focus on me, but he does nothing to acknowledge my presence. He’s 54, with a slim-toned build that comes up to 6’1”. His salt and pepper hair is flat to his head but slightly swept to the side revealing the lines of age etched into his forehead. His trimmed salt and pepper beard hides his pointed jawline and almost disguises his olive-toned skin. It’s even more toned down due to the long-sleeved black button-down shirt he’s wearing that becomes taught as he leans his elbow on the arm of his chair.

Sitting to his right at the table is my favourite man in the whole wide world. Mihalis Hatzis, my father. My father and Uncle Dimitris look like they could be brothers, but they share no blood. They are family by oath. My father has dark brown hair that is slowly greying, more so at the sides than anywhere else. His hair is thicker on top and trimmed at the sides, but his thin beard is definitely showing more signs of age than his hair. He has deep blue eyes and smooth olive skin with very few wrinkles. He’s still fairly toned, but a little slimmer than Uncle Dimitris, but it’s hard to tell when his figure is hidden under a grey suit and gold dress shirt.

My father smiles warmly at me, and I don’t hesitate to make my way to him, bending down to kiss his cheek.

“Geia, patera,” I greet him warmly.

“Geia, louloudi mou,” he smiles, patting the back of my head affectionately.

I walk over and gently kiss Uncle Dimitris’s cheek and stand at his side patiently.

“What the fuck is she doing in here? Even the wives were kept outside. No women are allowed in,” Zephyr snaps aggressively. That man is still living in the 50s. It’s 1989, get with the times.