Or else.
Those who fuck with me and my family—like Niles Nikolaides—learn what else we have in store for them. In his case, he forfeited over his blond vixen of a daughter. Others pay with their blood. I prefer blood, but in this instance, I’m not unhappy about getting this furious woman into my bed.
Forever.
The thought is equal parts disturbing and thrilling. I’d never admit to my father I’m a lonely bastard who wishes he had someone to come home to every night. He’s happy with Mamá, and has been for my entire life, so it’s only natural I crave the same for myself.
We exit the airport without incident. My charcoal-gray Maserati GranTurismo sits parked in the fire lane. No one writes a ticket. They just ignore me as it should be.
“Get in,” I bite out, my voice cold and commanding as I open the passenger side door.
Her plump lips press together as though she’s thinking desperately of arguing, but in the end, she lets out an exaggerated huff before throwing herself into the car. I close the door and catch the eye of a security guard.
“Women,” he mutters, chuckling at me.
“Women,” I agree. I smirk at him before climbing in my car.
She’s quiet as I drive away from the airport and onto the main road. Her thoughts are loud, though. A cacophony of accusations and hate bouncing around inside the vehicle as though they can physically harm me.
I’m untouchable, moró mou.
I shift through the gears and fly down the road, passing cars along the way. She clutches the side of the door and the console as though that will help her if we were to crash. It won’t. Lucky for her, we won’t crash either. Next to crushing the bones of motherfuckers who cross me, I love to drive and I’m good at it. My father and brother prefer drivers, but not me. I’ll take one of my many cars for a ride any day to escape the stifling responsibilities that weigh on me continuously.
“Am I in trouble?” she finally asks after a few minutes, darting her worried gaze my way.
“For trying to flee the country and hide from me?”
She nods, fear gleaming in her blue eyes.
“I didn’t make the rules clear, so I suppose not,” I tell her, catching her gaze briefly before I turn my attention back on the road. “However, if you run from me again, you’ll be punished. Severely.”
“You’ll kill me?”
“My punishments are never so simple.”
She doesn’t try for more conversation, and I offer none. The drive takes less time than it should because I drive like a bat out of hell. When I finally pull into the hotel, I drive around to the back and down a long road that’s far from tourists’ eyes.
“Where are we going?” she demands, as though she has every right to make demands of me. “I thought you were bringing me back.”
Ignoring her, I climb out of my car and make my way over to her side. I open the door and gesture for her to get out.
“Are you going to hurt me?” she asks, the bravado in her tone gone without a trace.
“Not at the moment.”
Her lips press together, but she exits the vehicle. I grip her bicep and guide her to the groundskeeper’s house on the corner of the property. The groundskeeper nods when we enter his small home unannounced. My barging in with someone in tow is nothing new. I haul her through the living room and into the kitchen. Pushing through the cellar door, I walk her down the narrow, steep stairs into the kelári.
But there is no wine in this cellar.
Only sad attempts for mercy.
There’s no mercy here either.
Adrian sits on the sofa in the corner with his feet perched on the coffee table. In the center of the room, tied to a chair, is a man. Not just any man, but a man who thought he could lie to me.
“Cy,” I greet. “Did you miss me?”
His brown eyes are wild and he whimpers from behind the red scarf that’s stuffed inside his mouth. Sweat pours down his forehead and his T-shirt is soaked through. His feet are a mess, just like I left him.
When Adrian sees Talia, he sits upright and pats the sofa, understanding washing over him. She is to watch. She needs to see. “Come sit, miss,” he urges.
As though he is the villain in this dank cellar, she takes a step nearer to me. Rather than allowing her any comfort, I release her arm and swat her ass. “Go, Talia.”
She shoots me a venomous look over her shoulder. I bite back a chuckle. Fiery, even when fearful. Impressive. Once she sits as far away from Adrian as she can get, I remove my jacket and drape it over a chair.
“Talia, moró mou,” I rumble. “Meet Cy. Cy, meet my fiancée.”
Cy cries, but no one cares.
“Cy is a bad man,” I tell her. “A bad man who must be punished. Do you want to know what he did that was so heinous to be tied to that chair?”
She shakes her head furiously, tears welling in her blue eyes. “No.”
So brave this woman. Challenges me continuously.
“Allow me to regale you anyway,” I say with a smile. “Cy here was asked where his brother Bakken was. Bakken is a thief and a killer. A pirate of sorts. An Aegean Sea asshole who boards ships that do not belong to him and cuts throats of innocent people. Bakken thinks if he kills people in my territory, that the Hellenic police will come after me and my family.”
Her brows furrow as she waits for me to continue, her eyes glued to Cy’s bloody feet.
I roll my sleeves up before whistling at Adrian. “Give me your sock.”
He groans but kicks off his shoe. The big brute pulls off his black sock and tosses it to me. I set the sock down on the table and place my hands on my hips.
“Talia, Cy was wrong. The Hellenic police are my father’s friends. They’ll be at our wedding. There’s a blurred line between good and bad. You’ll soon learn to straddle it with me.” I turn my head to regard Cy. “We burned your brother alive on his own ship. We found him no thanks to you.”
Cy whimpers and shakes his head. He isn’t allowed to speak anymore. There was a time when I allowed him to, and he lied. Told me his brother had fled to Istanbul. In reality, his brother was floating around in my territory, fucking with what’s mine.
“Know what happens to liars, Talia?” I demand, my attention once again on her.
She flinches and shakes her head.
“Use that pretty head of yours,” I growl. “Amuse me and guess.”
“T-They lose their tongue?” she asks, her bottom lip trembling.
Adrian snorts out a laugh.
“I suppose that’d make sense,” I say as I squat in front of Cy. “But a madman doesn’t make sense. Therefore, liars get a different treatment around here.”
I pick up the knife from the floor. Earlier, when my father left my office, I came straight down to the cellar to work on Cy. I’d barely started when Basil told me that my fiancée had fled. Cy’s been waiting all this time.
The stench of piss permeates the air, but it’s to be expected. I inspect my blood-crusted blade and flash Talia a wide smile. When I continue my sawing through his leg, just above his ankle, he screams through his scarf. I can hear Talia gagging from nearby. The knife is sharp, but it still takes me a good half hour to saw through the bone. Blood gushes everywhere, and I’ll have to throw out these shoes, unfortunately. Eventually, I break through the bone and finish sawing through the muscle until I’ve completely removed his foot. Cy’s head lolls to the side, but he’s still awake. Good.