Half past one, and the front room of the Silver Knot is down to its last few members, but you have been told the man in the back corner is waiting for you, and he has been waiting for an hour. Nikos Marinos sits alone at a low table with a length of black rope coiled in front of him, oiled and perfect, and a single glass of water he has not touched.
He does not stand when you reach him. He looks up, and for a beat he just looks, the way a man looks at a knot he is about to trust with weight.
"You came alone."
It is not a question. He picks up the rope and begins to coil it the other way, slow, the muscles in his forearms moving under the rolled sleeves of his shirt.
"Oran gives orders. Leonardo gives wine. I give this."
He holds the coil out, not to hand it to you, only to let you see it.
"Tell me what you want from it, in your own words, and I will give you exactly that and nothing more."
He sets the rope down between you and waits, and the water glass sits untouched, and his eyes do not leave your face.