Chapter 3 Theo
THEO
"Mr. Kastaris, I've done all I can." Nico shakes his head, sweating beneath his cheap suit despite the restaurant's air conditioning. "These accounts are restricted."
I sip my cortado slowly, staring at him as he's fidgeting with his napkin like it might save him.
"Restricted," I repeat, setting my cup down. "You're the senior accounting manager at the largest bank in Athens, and you're telling me these deposits are beyond your reach?"
Nico tugs at his collar. "The accounts they came from are protected by clearance levels I don't have access to. I already risked everything to get you what I have, but the source of the funds, they're locked behind level one flags."
"What the fuck does that mean? Government? Religious? Political?"
"I don't know. That's just it, I can't see who's behind them," he says and leans in. "The system blocks me. Someone very powerful has these accounts locked down tight."
I lean forward. "Then find me someone who can access them."
"There isn't anyone. Not without—" He stops himself.
"Not without what?"
He stares at his untouched food. "Not without breaking laws that would land me in prison for the rest of my life and possibly you if they found out I gave you anything."
Interesting. So we're talking maybe government-level security. Political connections, perhaps. The fact that he's this scared tells me it's big and that I might be getting somewhere.
"Listen to me carefully, Nico." I rest my elbows on the table. "My family doesn't forget those who help us. Nor those who don't."
His eyes dart around the room as if he's looking for an escape.
"I have a wife. Two daughters." His voice cracks. "Mr. Kastaris, please. I've been very loyal to you for some time, but in this case, I've given you everything I can."
I study him for a long moment. He's right, and the fear in his eyes seems genuine. This isn't the usual reluctance I encounter—this is true terror. Something about these accounts has him legitimately frightened.
I may need him again in the future, so I need to find another angle.
I slide my napkin from my lap and place it on the table.
"I understand, Nico." I reach into my jacket and pull out an envelope. "For your time."
Relief floods his face as he takes it. "Thank you, sir, for your understanding."
"Of course." I give him a forced smile. "Give my best to Sophia and your daughters. Maria just turned sixteen, didn't she? Already looking at universities?"
The color drains from his face.
Of course I don't plan on doing anything, but sometimes it's good to remind people of the power you possess.
He nods stiffly and rises from the table. "I should get back to work."
"Yes, you should."
I watch him hurry away as I pick up my cortado and take another sip. If bank records are a dead end, I'll need to focus on the lawyer Yanni gave me before he tragically left this earth, Chris Xanos.
The manager appears. A cute blonde giving me a look I know all too well. Shame I don't have time to find out if I'm right.
"Will there be anything else, Mr. Kastaris?" she asks, touching my arm.
Yeah, she'd definitely say yes.
"Maybe next time," I say with a smile. "For now, just the check, please."
Five minutes later, I'm walking out of the restaurant, mind racing through possible connections. Special restricted accounts funneling large amounts of cash to street gangs. My father's assassination. It's all connected. I just need to find the thread that ties it together.
The sun hits me as I step outside, momentarily blinding after the dimly lit restaurant. I slide on my sunglasses and head toward my car parked around the corner.
That's when I see her putting a note on my windshield.
Slim legs wrapped in tight jeans. A beautiful sight as she bends slightly over the windshield.
For a moment, instinct kicks in, fast and easy. My cock stirs as admiration flickers in my brain. She's got nice legs. A nice ass.
Oh, the things you can do to make up for hitting my car, sweetheart.
I open my mouth to throw out a line. I'm not sure, something about exchanging insurance information over dinner or a sly line about how I'm sure we can work something out, but then she straightens.
And turns.
The world stops moving.
The air rips out of my lungs.
Those damn hazel eyes with gold flecks. The face I've seen in my dreams and nightmares. The woman who disappeared four years ago without a fucking word.
Anastasia.
My Anastasia.
Well, she was anyway.
She freezes when she sees me. Mouth parted in shock.
"Stassi?"
Her name falls from my lips before I can stop it. My body goes cold then hot, rage and shock rising within me.
She looks different. Thinner. Hair shorter. But those eyes, I'd know them anywhere.
Panic flashes across her face.
Then she bolts.
No thought. No hesitation.
She runs like she's seen a ghost.
My body moves before my brain catches up.
I go after her. Anger, confusion, disbelief crashing through me like a tidal wave.
She sprints toward the far side of the lot, dodging between parked cars.
I pick up speed.
Four fucking years.
Four years thinking she could be dead. Four years swallowing rage and betrayal like broken glass. Four years convincing myself I didn't need to know why.
And now she's here. Alive. Breathing.
Running from me like she has a right to.
Not a chance.
"Stassi!" I roar.
Heads turn on the street. I don't care.
She glances over her shoulder, hair whipping across her face, and nearly trips.
She veers toward the alley beside a bakery.
I cut the angle, fast and sharp.
By the time she reaches the narrow space between the buildings, I'm there.
Grabbing.
Pulling.
My hand locks around her wrist, yanking her to a brutal stop.
She cries out, twisting, but I'm already hauling her back, slamming her against the rough brick wall.
Not enough to hurt her.
Just enough to remind her who the fuck she's dealing with.
Her chest heaves. Her lips tremble.
My heart is racing, feeling like it's going to explode.
I stare at her, drinking in every goddamn piece I thought I'd forgotten.
The same wild hair. The same smooth face. The same beautiful mouth, trembling on the edge of words she's too afraid to speak.
"You have five seconds," I snarl. "To tell me why the fuck you're here."