Chapter 10
THEO
The smell of coffee draws me toward the kitchen. Elena must be making a fresh pot.
It's early. The kind of quiet morning where nothing stirs.
I've been up since before the sun, going over updates on that damn lawyer, Xanos.
After rereading every thread of the financial trail that leads nowhere, I've decided I don't have time for anything.
I've ordered my men to storm his place today and bring him to a safe house where I'll go and speak to him.
I probably should have done that sooner, but I'll rectify that.
As the coffee smell gets stronger, I'm more thankful for it. I didn't sleep that well last night.
After my little exchange with Stassi, I became more confused than ever. I want to know what she's hiding, but part of me wants to stop asking and just enjoy her being here, while also being upset that she's here.
And who the hell gets in a fight with someone and then gets aroused? I mean, shit, even after everything, she's just able to pull things out of me like no one I've ever known.
I round the corner, walking into the kitchen, and I stop. It's not Elena brewing coffee—it's her.
Stassi.
Her back's to me as she sits at the kitchen island wearing an oversized shirt, looking like she never left.
She's reading something on her phone I can't make out—not that I'm trying to. She shifts in her chair, and her shirt slips slightly off her shoulder.
That's when I see it.
A pale scar, just above her right shoulder blade. About five inches long. A clean slash that never should have happened.
It wasn't there before.
I stare at it, almost forgetting to breathe, and then a thought enters my mind. Forget that she disappeared. She got hurt. And I wasn't there.
She must feel my eyes on her, because she turns to look at me.
I walk over without a word. She stays still, just watching me. When I reach her, I let my fingertips brush the edge of the scar slowly.
She stiffens, but doesn't move.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
The skin under my hand is soft, warm, and I can feel her breathing shift. I should pull away. I should ask questions. I should demand to know who did this to her.
Instead, my mind flashes back.
To the first time I touched her skin. To the first time she gave me control and dared me to take it.
I blink and I'm back in Athens. Four years ago. The night everything changed.
She wasn't supposed to be anything.
Another American girl on vacation. Loud friends. Too much eyeliner. Laughing like they owned the night. But she wasn't like them. She moved differently. Watched everything. And when one of her friends knocked an entire vodka soda onto her dress, she didn't seem to care.
She just blinked, looked around for napkins, and started cleaning it while her friend went back to talking to a group of men.
I watched from the VIP balcony, ignoring whatever nonsense my brother Dimitri was saying beside me. My attention was locked on her.
She tried to wave off help. Told the server she was fine. But I stood and, for some reason, went down to her.
Because I needed to know her name.
"We have towels in the office," I said, appearing beside her.
She turned to me and leaned in. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."
It was the first time I saw the beautiful golden flecks in her eyes, framed by long dark hair.
"I said we have towels, you know," I said, pointing to her dress, "to help with that."
"Oh, do you, like, run this place? You're not dressed like the waiters."
"You could say that."
She studied me for a second while I took in her delicate lavender scent mixed with sunscreen. "Let me guess. Club owner, vaguely dangerous, never waits in line."
I laughed. "Wow, you already know me so well." I smile and motion my head to my left. "Come on."
She followed.
The office was quiet. She stepped inside, glancing around at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the private beach.
"You bring all your wet tourists here?"
I grabbed a towel and held it out. "Normally they get wet in here," I say, laughing.
She took the towel I offered and started blotting her dress. "Smooth guy, I see. Well, don't get any ideas."
I tried not to stare at her, but I couldn't look away.
I sat on the corner of my desk and told myself to relax. That was a first.
"So, you sound like you're from the States."
"Yeah. Chicago. You?"
You're kidding me. My pulse speeds up a bit.
"Same."
She stopped and looked at me, her brow arched. "You serious? How do you run a club here and live there?"
"It's complicated and boring, but I do. I'm more interested in why you're here."
She paused. "My mom was from here. She passed last spring."
I stiffened up. "Oh, shit. Sorry, I—"
"No, no. It's fine. I'm managing," she said and went back to blotting her dress. "She always wanted to bring me to Greece. You know, where my family came from and all. Cancer had other plans."
I didn't ask anything else. Didn't have to. The silence between us thickened. And she changed the subject.
"You really saved me out there," she said. "And no offense, but your napkins suck. I just assumed I'd be walking around in a wet dress all night."
"Well," I said and stood, "we wouldn't want that."
I pulled out my phone and dialed, my eyes never leaving her.
"Johnny. I want you to upgrade the napkins in the club and have them here by tomorrow."
I hung up, and she took a step toward me, smiling curiously and handing back the towel. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that. Anyway, I owe you."
I looked at her with a smile as I took the towel. "Careful."
"Why?"
"Because I might hold you to it."
She smiled.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"What's your name?" she repeated the question.
"Theo."
"Theo. That's a nice name. Everyone calls me Stassi."
"Short for Anastasia?"
"Yes, Sir."
Fuck. That word hit harder than anything she could have said.
"I like the way that word sounds on your tongue, Stassi."
She arches a brow. "Is that so? Too bad I'm not the obedient type."
"Even better," I said. "I like a challenge."
She steps closer, heat in her gaze. "Believe me, sir, I'm more than you can handle."
She turns to walk out, but I grab her wrist and pull her back to me. She doesn't resist. Her body leans in, head tilting just enough to meet my eyes.
My gaze drops to her lips. Full. Dangerous. Tempting.
My, my, this girl is going to be trouble for me.
I kiss her.
She kisses me back—hungry, reckless—hands sliding up my chest as I run my fingers through her hair, tugging it just enough to make her gasp.
"Oh, you can be a good girl," I whisper against her lips. "I just know it."
She smirks. "I guess you'll have to find out."
Then she pushes me back with a smile, walks over to my desk, and writes her number on a scrap of paper.
"I'm only in town for a few more days," she says, turning over her shoulder, voice light. "But I can try and make time for you."
She was supposed to leave that Wednesday.
She stayed six more weeks.
And I had so much fun taming that wildfire of a woman.
We flew back to Chicago together.
And for the next three years, we lived between two worlds—hers and mine.
And for a while, I really thought she'd be my person. The one I'd hold onto. The one I'd never let go.
And then.
She was gone.
I blink again and I'm back in my kitchen, my hand still on her shoulder.
She's looking at me, eyes wide, lips parted. There's heat there. Memory. Pain.
I pull my hand back slowly.
"Sorry, I…I saw the scar and," I say and clear my throat, "I didn't know you had gotten hurt."
She gives me a forced smile. "It's nothing."
We look at each other for a moment, and despite me wanting to ask where it came from or who gave it to her, my mind, or my pride, won't let me.
But I guess that's not what this moment is about.
This moment is about something else.
Loss.
Distance.
The gaping hole of everything I never knew because she left.
She was the first person I ever dated long-term. Before then I really felt just like a second-in-command after my brother. Someone meant for enforcing the rules of our mafia legacy. She helped me realize there was more.
I step back and pour myself a coffee.
"I've got a busy day today," I say, taking a sip. As I go to leave, I stop. "I know I didn't give you a chance to get anything from the hotel you were at. Let Elena know what you need. You don't have to keep wearing Calli's clothes."
She nods, lips tight. "Thank you. I didn't bring anything worth keeping anyhow."
I don't look at her again as I leave the kitchen.
But I feel her watching me.
And I know she remembers everything.
Just like I do.