Disorganized Crime: A Kat Makris Greek Mafia Novel Read Online Free

you were the asshole—not him."
    That old woman rocked back and forth in her seat, howling with laughter. "They are both assholes. But in this business you need good assholes. Get in the car, Katerina. These are dangerous times for the family if your father has truly been kidnapped, and I want to get home fast."
    It was a natural reaction, the way I reached for the back door. It was equally natural the way I leaped back when the old woman made a tst noise.
    "In the front," she barked.
    "But …" Takis started.
    "You two malakas get in the back. I want to look at the girl, okay? You do not like it? Walk."
    My abrupt departure from American soil meant I was traveling light. My alleged relatives had packed a small bag I remembered from the back of my closet, and now Takis was stuffing my handbag into my arms. I peeked inside. Tampons. Tampons everywhere.
    "In case you are bleeding," he said. "You were in a very bad mood."
    My head wanted to explode. "You pushed into my place uninvited. Then you drugged me. Then you abducted me." I ticked off each item on my fingers. "Of course I'm in a bad mood!"
    "My Virgin Mary!" the old woman cursed. "You went into her house uninvited? What, are we animals now? Are we the Kefalas family? When do we go into a home uninvited, unless they are an enemy? Never! We are better than that. Apologize."
    Two not-that-sorry faces shone back at me from the back seat.
    She repeated the order. "Apologize!"
    "We are sorry," Takis said.
    "Very sorry," Stavros said.
    The old woman fixed her dark eyes on my face. "Do they look sorry to you?"
    "Not really."
    A laugh split her face in two. "Too bad you are my granddaughter, what I need is my son."
    My brain sputtered. It wasn't a fan of surprises, and tonight it had been slammed with cream pies, clown-style. My grandmother? How could she be my grandmother? Until this moment I didn't even know I had a grandmother; although biology suggested it was a probability, unless Dad had been spawned in a secret underground laboratory. In the absence of contrary evidence, I was inclined to believe the old woman. She did have a miniature version of Dad's nose glued to the center of her face.
    I needed time to process. But first, I needed to hear what this Baboulas person had to say about Dad's possible kidnapping. Then the plan was to throw myself at the mercy of the US Embassy in Athens.
    Mind completely boggled, I buckled into the limo's passenger seat, cradling my precious bag o' tampons.
    "You are tall," the woman who claimed to be my grandmother said. "I used to be tall. Now look at me."
    The chuckleheads in the back seat laughed right on cue.
    I'm not that tall. Five-four on a good day, and only in the morning. It's all downhill once gravity kicks in. My alleged grandmother had to be five-foot—at a stretch—judging from how far forward she'd had to scoot the seat. At five-nine my father wasn't a big man, either.
    The limo jerked to life. Granny had a heavy foot. The way the black car lurched forward, I was guessing her bones were lead. I shot a glance behind me. Both Stooges had lost all their color. They were gripping the handholds one-handed, frantically crossing themselves with the other.
    "God help us," Stavros muttered. "She is not supposed to be driving."
    At that, the old woman cackled.
    My attention turned to her profile. I'd seen it before on my father's head. Funny, I always assumed he resembled my grandfather. But no, here was the same long, serious nose, same full lips and slightly pointed chin, like some kid mistook her and Dad for Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head, and swapped their bits and pieces. I sagged slightly in the seat.
    "So you're really my grandmother?"
    "Look at your nose." She leaned over, wheels swerving, and flipped down the sun visor. Predictably, it had a mirror. And sure enough, there was our nose.
    "Do you bake cookies?"
    "Yes."
    "Do you knit?"
    "I knit. Also, I crochet and do needlepoint."
    It was true, she could be someone's grandma—maybe