Chapter 17 Ares
ARES
It's been two days since we had our moment and since I told her one of my deepest secrets: the true details of my father's murder and the note.
Since then, Katerina's actually started to open up more, smile, and seem genuinely happy. She and Calli were giggling for about an hour last night—so loudly I heard it from my office.
Oddly, it didn't annoy me. It made me laugh at times, too.
I check the time on my Rolex. 6:45 p.m. Dimitri should be here soon. His plane landed an hour ago—he's back from Greece with news.
I want to talk to him without Theo. He's been pushing his thoughts too deep into all this, and I don't want him influencing Dimitri.
A few minutes later, Dimitri is walking through my office doors.
I stand and give him a hug. "Good to see you, brother. Flight all right?"
Dimitri nods and walks over to my bar and pours a drink. He holds the decanter up. "Want some?"
I nod. "Sure."
He pours me a drink and sits down.
"It's a fucking mess, bro," he says and takes a sip. "Contradictions left and right."
"What do you mean?" I ask, setting my drink back down without taking a sip.
He leans forward in his chair. "I don't know how this is possible, but I spoke to five different families all over Greece. They all say different shit."
"Do any of them link Zervas?"
He shrugs. "Two out of the five. The others make wild claims or say they don't know anything."
He takes another sip of his whiskey. "You went out there with Dad. Is there something he said? Maybe it didn't seem like anything, but—"
"No," I say firmly. "I've fucking racked my brain every day since. He only told me we were stopping by on our way back here. He wanted to fix that villa up we have by the water."
Dimitri nods. "Yes, I remember you telling us."
"I never saw that man in the picture Theo showed. But you know Dad. If he didn't want you to know about something, you didn't."
"Oh yeah, and that guy—George, from the Popolus family, a small faction outside Athens—he's the only one who claims to know who that guy was."
I sit forward. "Did you find him? Did you talk to him?"
Dimitri puts up his hand. "Don't get too excited. It wasn't the guy. Me and six others showed up at this poor bastard's house at three in the morning, and I think he pissed himself he was so scared."
I shake my head. "So, no?"
Dimitri finishes his drink. "No. Kind of looked like him, but no, wasn't him. Whoever that guy is in the picture with Dad—he's a ghost."
"What about people claiming to have seen him right after Father's death?"
"Yes, a few different people confirmed that. But they don't know who he is."
I slam my hand down on the table. "Dammit, we need to find that motherfucker."
"Yes. I've got all our men, plus our allies out there looking for this guy. If he's in Greece, we'll find him."
I lean back in my chair and rub my chin. "Yeah. Thanks, Dimitri. You've done a good."
He stands. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to head home. Jet lag's a bitch—even after bouncing back and forth most of our lives," he says with a laugh.
"Sure. No problem."
Dimitri goes to leave and stops at the doorway. "Oh—how's the whole thing going with, uh, Katerina?"
I sigh. "Good, actually. I'm surprised, but I think things will work out."
"Like strategic alliance work out, or happily ever after work out?"
I laugh. "Get out of here."
He leaves and then pops his head back in. "Oh, that tea you asked me to bring—I gave it to Alex."
"Thanks, Dimitri. I appreciate it."
He nods and leaves.
I down my whiskey and lean back in my chair, my mind churning with Dimitri's update. We're no closer to finding who killed my father, and it's eating at me from the inside. It's on my mind so much, only Katerina can rival it.
I glance at the security feeds—watching, waiting, searching for threats that seem to hide in every shadow.
I shake my head and decide to focus on work. Six new contracts for shipping carriers need to be looked over and signed.
An hour passes in silence before I hear a soft knock at my office door.
"Come in," I call out, expecting Alex with my nightly house report.
Instead, Katerina steps in, wearing an oversized black T-shirt that barely falls to her upper thighs and white ankle socks.
Her hair is loosely wrapped in a bun, and a few strands fall on either side, framing her beautiful face.
My body responds instantly, a lustful desire igniting within me at the sight of her long, bare legs.
I notice she's holding a small wooden box in her hands and has a genuine smile spreading across her face—one I'm still getting used to seeing.
"Hi," she says and holds up the box. "How did you—?"
I smile and shift in my chair. "Dimitri. I told him to pick up a couple boxes for someone special."
I see her cheeks turn a slight red.
"I just can't believe you remembered," she says, placing the tea box on my desk and trailing her fingers over the carved wooden lid.
I lean back in my chair. "Of course. Why would I not remember your favorite tea?"
She'd mentioned it only once, weeks ago, when I found her staring at an empty tea canister in the kitchen. Her favorite Greek brand—unavailable here in the States. She'd looked so disappointed I made a mental note to have Dimitri bring some back.
"Thank you." Her voice is soft. "I can't wait to have it tomorrow morning. I'll make sure to ration them."
I laugh. "What? My wife doesn't ration. You run out, I get you more. That's how things work."
She smiles. "And if I drink them all tonight?"
I narrow my eyes at her. "Then we're on an AM flight to Kalamata."
She nods, a smirk on her face that tells me she's testing me—but I'd do it.
She sighs and walks around my office, her fingers trailing over the spines of books, touching the edge of my desk. This is new—her exploring my space freely, without hesitation or fear. I watch her, fascinated by this shift.
"What are you working on?" she asks, glancing at the papers scattered across my desk.
"Business." An automatic response. I need to work on those.
She raises an eyebrow. "Always so specific."
I smile. "People want to use our ships to bring things into the U.S. They tell me how many containers they need, I tell them how much, and they pay. Boring stuff, see?"
She shakes her head. "No, it's interesting to know how things work, you know? Maybe one day I can help you."
"Maybe," I nod, "but you might be busy."
"Busy?" she asks.
"Sure, chasing the little ones around the house."
It's the first time I've brought up children.
"Mmm," she says and walks over to the built-in shelves, spotting a remote.
"What's this for?" she asks, picking it up, turning it over in her palm.
"The entertainment system."
"You have an entertainment system in here? Ares, I thought this was the boring room."
She points it toward the wall panel and presses the power button. The large screen embedded in the wall flickers to life, displaying a news channel.
"Katerina," I say, a warning in my tone. I don't like distractions when I'm working.
"How do I turn on music?" she asks, ignoring my implied protest.
I stand, moving toward her. "Music?"
"Yes." She's already pressing buttons, cycling through menus.
"Press the blue button, it'll take you to—" Before I can finish, jazz pours from the hidden speakers, a saxophone filling the room.
She wrinkles her nose. "Oh no, we're not trying to sleep here."
Her fingers move across the remote again, and suddenly an upbeat pop song replaces the jazz, the tempo quickening, the bassline vibrating through the floorboards.
She turns to me, her hips already swaying slightly. "Dance with me."
I blink at her. "Excuse me?"
"Come on," she urges, moving closer. "You need a breather, Mr. Stares-at-screens-all-day, and I'm trying to help. You can spare five minutes to dance with me." Her lips curve into a teasing smile as she grabs her hair and runs her hands down her face and body. "I'm a pretty good dancer. Are you?"
"I don't dance," I say, but I'm already walking closer to her, drawn to her like a magnet.
"Everyone dances," she counters, reaching for my hand. "Some just need more convincing than others."
She pulls me to the center of the room, away from my desk, away from my worries. Her body moves with the music—uninhibited, carefree. She raises her arms above her head, and the T-shirt rides up, exposing more of her thighs. My mouth goes dry.
I stand intently, watching her. She's transformed—light and playful—a complete shift from the woman I married who seemed empty, hollow.
"You call that dancing?" she teases, taking my hands in hers and pulling them to her waist. "Move your hips, Ares. Feel the music."
I let her guide me, my hands settling on her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton. Gradually, I begin to move with her, our bodies finding a rhythm together.
She laughs. "There you go! See? Not so terrible."
The song changes, the tempo slowing, the beat becoming heavier, more sensual. Katerina's movements change with it, her body pressing closer to mine. Without thinking, I grab her and pull her flush against me, my hands sliding down to her hips, guiding her movements against mine.
Her breath catches, and she looks up at me, her eyes widening with surprise and something darker—desire. I move my hips against hers, slow and deliberate, watching her reaction.
Her hands slide up my chest to rest on my shoulders, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. The sensation sends electricity through me. We're barely dancing now—just swaying together, bodies pressed close.
I can't take it anymore. I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her deeply, hungrily. She responds immediately, her lips parting, inviting me in. Her taste is intoxicating—sweet and warm. I back her toward the desk, lifting her onto its edge without breaking the kiss.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. I groan into her mouth, my hands sliding up her thighs, under her shirt. She's not wearing a bra, and I cup her breasts. The discovery sends a surge of primal possessiveness through me.
I try to push her back onto the desk, ready to take her right there, but she pulls away, breathing hard.
"I'm not ready," she whispers, her forehead pressed against mine. "Not yet, but close."
I should be frustrated. No, fuck. I am frustrated. But there's something in her admission that tempers my impatience. She's not rejecting me; she's asking for time. And while I don't want to give her a second more, I know her grappling with her virginity is hard.
I slide my hand between her thighs and move her underwear to the side.
I run my fingers up and down, feeling her heat and wetness.
"This belongs to me," I tell her, my voice full with desire as I slide one finger inside her.
"You're only delaying the inevitable, Katerina.
I will have it. I will be inside you," I finish, sliding another finger in and moving slowly.
She bites her lip and whimpers. "And if I deny you?"
"I doubt you'll be able to a second time," I say looking into her eyes.
I circle my thumb over her clit, watching her face as pleasure overtakes her. She clutches my shoulders, her body trembling as I push her toward the edge. She's so aroused it doesn't take long before she comes—and when she does, it's with my name on her lips.
Afterward, I bring my fingers to my mouth and lick them clean, savoring her taste while she watches, her cheeks flushed and eyes dark.
"You're playing a dangerous game, wife," I warn her.
The smile she gives me is anything but innocent. "I think I'm going to lose."