Beyond Enemy Vows (The Kastaris Greek Mafia #4)

Chapter 1

CALLI

Three hundred people chatting, laughing, and talking in the ballroom of one of our Chicago hotels.

Their black evening wear reminds me of the birthday celebration this was supposed to be.

It's been months since my father was buried, and here we all are, pretending this party isn't masquerading as a flex of control on the city.

"To Vasilis Kastaris," someone calls out, raising a glass.

I lift mine automatically, muscle memory taking over. My face arranges itself into the appropriate expression, grieving but dignified, sad but strong. The perfect Kastaris daughter.

Daddy would be proud.

Waiters mingle with our guests, serving imported wines and hors d'oeuvres. And at the center of the room, trying her best to make her rounds, is little old me.

Draped in a black dress with a slit up the thigh. My brown hair flows down over my shoulders, my lips red.

I look at myself in one of the mirrors. My dress clings to me like a lover, like Paris must have gripped Helen when he took her back to Troy.

My heels click on the marble floor as I move toward the back of the room, dodging a cluster of men arguing in Greek. I know them. I know all of them. That's the problem. Their faces blur into one long line of business associates, allies, maybe enemies, depending on the day.

I just need five minutes to myself. Five minutes without anyone asking me how I'm "holding up." Without another veiled offer of marriage disguised as political interest. Without being someone's daughter or sister or pawn. Even upbeat people need downtime.

"Rather be anywhere but here, huh?"

I turn and find Keira Killaney standing beside me. Her beautiful fiery red hair cascades over one shoulder, her green eyes sharp. My best friend since we were kids, the only person in this room who knows all of me.

She offers me a second glass of champagne and a raised brow.

"Is it that obvious?" I say, accepting the drink. "Just thinking about things."

"Oh?" she asks, taking a sip from her glass. "On death, duty, or the amount of sex you're not having?"

I choke on the first sip.

She grins. "That's what I thought."

"You're terrible."

"I'm necessary," Keira corrects. "Now, tell me you've at least noticed the man at nine o'clock who's been undressing you with his eyes for the past ten minutes."

"What?"

Keira turns to look toward the far side of the room. "Mister tall, dark-haired, and handsome looking straight at you."

I follow her gaze across the sea of black suits and cocktail dresses to a man near the bar, dressed in black tailored perfection.

And my breath catches in my throat.

Niko Petrou.

I blink again, like maybe I'm imagining it. But no. He's here. Leaning with one shoulder against a marble column, a glass of something amber in his hand.

His dark eyes fixed directly on mine. He doesn't look away when he's caught staring.

My skin prickles with awareness.

"Holy shit," I breathe.

Keira raises an eyebrow. "You know him?"

I nod slowly. "That's Niko. Niko Petrou," I say, watching as he offers me a smile.

"Our dads are, were, shaky friends. We spent summers together in Greece when I was younger.

He's ten years older than me, so he didn't really pay me much attention.

I'm surprised he's here, actually. My brothers aren't fond of him. "

"Well, he sure as hell is paying attention to you now," she says and sips her champagne. "He's practically eye-fucking you at a funeral."

"It's not a funeral, Keira," I say, turning to her.

"You're wearing black. I'm wearing black. He's wearing black," she says. "It counts."

I roll my eyes, but my pulse is misbehaving. I can feel it. He's still watching me. Not blinking. Like he's memorizing me.

"Anyway, what you're basically saying is," Keira's voice drops as she leans into me, "he's doable but regrettable. My favorite."

"Jesus, Keira," I say, looking at her.

"What? It's been forever since I've seen you actually look at someone.

Your brothers scare away most men before they get within ten feet of you.

And," she says, taking another sip of her champagne, "don't even get me started on that kickboxing trainer of yours you're flirting with three times a week for an hour.

He's got a good body, sure, but," she stops and looks back in Niko's direction, "he sure as hell doesn't have a face like that. "

I glance around the room, locating each of my brothers by instinct. Ares and Katerina are deep in conversation with city officials. Theo is working the mayor, and Dimitri is surrounded by three guys, no doubt telling an inappropriate joke.

Just when I'm unsure what to do, someone comes and interrupts us, wanting to introduce me to someone. I give Keira a sarcastic smile and walk away.

For the next hour or so, I do my duty. I greet guests, accept condolences camouflaged as birthday wishes, and tell stories about my father.

Through it all, I feel Niko's gaze like a physical touch.

We never approach each other directly, but we orbit in the same space.

When I laugh at something an old family friend says, I catch him watching.

When he speaks with someone nearby, I find myself straining to hear his voice.

The fifth time our eyes meet across the room, I'm tempted to approach him, ask him why he doesn't come say hi, but I don't.

Then I'm talking to a man in his forties about a charity my father once supported. Nothing flirtatious. But I feel it again, that shift. That presence.

I glance over my shoulder.

He's closer now, standing not more than ten feet away. Silent. Still. His gaze locked on the man I'm talking to.

The man stiffens, gives me a smile, and quickly excuses himself.

I turn to him.

"You always clear others away without trying?" I ask.

His eyes never leave mine. "Only when I want to."

"I see," I say and sip my champagne.

"Besides," he continues, "I could tell he wasn't any fun. Boring." He stops and leans down. "I know what danger looks like. And he wasn't it."

"I already have three bodyguards who make sure danger never finds me."

He smiles. "A little danger can be a good thing. Either way, someone should always be watching you."

"Not someone like you."

"Especially someone like me."

I feel an electric tingle run through me.

"Is that what you've been doing then? Watching me?"

He smiles and takes a sip of his drink. "Haven’t seen you in years. You've grown up. I noticed."

"Yes," I say, turning to look out at the crowd. "I didn't see you at Katerina and Ares's wedding."

"No. I wasn't able to make it. I heard my cousin looked beautiful."

"Yes, she did. I absolutely love her."

There's a moment of silence and I can feel his eyes on me, so I take another drink of my champagne and look at him.

"So, Niko Petrou. What are you doing here?"

"Paying respects."

"To my father?"

He shrugs. "Yes. And now, to the woman in the black dress I've been watching all night."

My stomach tightens.

That little line shouldn't work. But it does. It drops my defenses just enough to tempt me closer.

"You always flirt with enemy daughters at parties?"

"Our fathers were friends. Temperamental friends, but still," he says and takes a sip of his drink. "And you're not my enemy," he says smoothly. "So you just have to decide what I am to you."

"Pretty sure you're trouble."

"Not denying it," he says. "But I'm very good at it."

He steps close. Too close.

"Have a drink with me," he says, towering over me.

I blink. "Here?"

He laughs. "When this is over. Somewhere less watched."

My body says yes.

My mouth says, "I can't. I'm flying to Boston in the morning with Keira, and then to Ireland the day after. Her family has a cottage there."

His brows lift. "Ireland? That's a long way to run."

"Who says I'm running?" The challenge comes naturally.

"Your eyes do. What are you looking for out there, Calli?"

"Peace and quiet. Space to breathe and get away from all this," I say, looking around. "Keira and her brother are joining me at the end of the week, but I wanted to go out first."

He looks at me for a moment, studying me.

"Then maybe I'll meet you there. For that drink," he says.

My eyes go wide. "In Ireland? You're kidding."

"I'm not. Text me the address."

I laugh. "Not happening. It's been what? Ten years since I last saw you. I hardly know you, Niko."

He looks down at me, his eyes scanning over my body. "Oh now that's far from the truth. And even so, this will be the perfect chance to get better acquainted.”

He sets his drink down on a nearby table and pulls a pen from inside his jacket, writing his number on a cocktail napkin. "In case you change your mind."

He slides it into my hand, his fingers lingering for a second. "You'll regret it if you don't."

We stare at each other for a moment. A million responses come to my mind, but none of them make it past my lips.

Suddenly Keira appears, and I know I shouldn't, but my fingers slip Niko's napkin into my clutch anyway.

"Sorry, but your brothers are asking for you," she says.

I'm going to walk away now, I realize, and suddenly I don't want to. I'm intrigued. Curious. But he moves first, with a slight incline of his head that's almost a bow, leaving me standing there questioning things.

"Well?" Keira asks, approaching. "You look like someone just kissed you without touching you."

I swallow. "Yeah, weird catch-up. He wants to come to Ireland. Meet me for a drink."

"Oh fuck."

"I didn't give him the address. Even if I did, I don't think he'd come."

"What? You're sexy as hell, Calli. If I was a guy and thought I had a shot, I'd go a hell of a lot further than Ireland for you."

I watch the back of him as he vanishes back into the crowd.

My chest is tight.

I should just ignore this. Ignore him. It's too dangerous. My brothers would—I mean, if Ares knew I even spoke to him, there'd be blood on the floor.

I stop my thoughts and shake my head.

I just won't text him.

But even as I think it, I know I'm lying to myself.

Shit.

Why does it feel good to be seen by the wrong man?