Chapter 35
THEIR CORNER SUITE at the fabulous Shutters on the Beach hotel had a wide view of the ocean and the endless sandy beach tinted by the setting sun at the horizon.
Gozan relaxed in a chaise and perused the room-service menu. He wanted a cocktail before dinner and maybe fresh oysters.
Behind him, Khezir angrily thumbed the television’s remote control, speeding through the channels.
“Khezzy, your father would have loved to see the ocean. I wish he could be here with us.”
“Those stupid bitches,” Khezir said in Sumarin. “What a waste of our time. All day working on them and then, ‘Sorry, we are not feeling well. Thank you anyway.’”
“There will be other women. This hotel is full of them.”
“Don’t speak to me of women.”
“Okay, Khezzy.”
No one understood Khezir the way Gozan did. He had been like a father to Khezzy since the day his brother-in-law, Khezzy’s father, had been murdered, stabbed through the heart by his disgruntled mistress while he was asleep.
Khezir was only fifteen at the time, but he had sought the woman out and restored his family’s honor, meeting blood with blood. Afterward, he inked his body with the dead woman’s name.
It was the first of many tattoos.
Now Khezir threw the remote control at the flat-screen, strode to the sliding doors, and went out to the balcony. Gozan knew that Khezir was bitterly disappointed that Susan and Serena had canceled the evening’s plans.
Tension was building inside Khezir, and Gozan was responsible for keeping the young man on track. Having fun was a by-product, not the objective. Much was at stake.
Gozan sighed as the sun slipped beneath the water. He was of the same blood as Khezir and he loved him.
“Khezzy,” he called out. “I am ordering oysters for two and a nice bottle of champagne. Is there anything else I can get you?”
Khezir shouted back, “You’ll be the first to know.”