Chapter 20
ARES
Iscan the shipping contract in front of me, eyes narrowing at the fine print. These Colombians think they're clever, slipping in an extra clause about liability during transit. I cross it out with a heavy black line and initial next to it.
My phone vibrates on my desk. Christos's name flashes on the screen. Odd. He's with Katerina and Calli for lunch.
"What is it?" I answer, still reading through the contract.
"Boss," he says, his voice heavy, and he's breathing deeply. I know that tone. It's the one my men use when everything has gone to shit. "There's been an ambush. Multiple shooters. Johnny's dead."
My pen freezes mid-stroke.
"They were after Calli and your wife."
The world stops.
My blood turns to ice. The pen drops from my fingers, rolling across the contract and leaving a trail of black ink like spilled blood.
I say nothing. I can't. My throat has closed up, and a rage so hot it burns is spreading through my chest, turning my lungs to fire.
"Boss? You there?"
"Are they hurt?" The words scrape out of me like broken glass.
"Your wife took a graze to the arm. Calli's shaken but physically fine."
I stand so abruptly my chair crashes into the wall behind me. My fingers curl into a fist, and I slam it into the desk with such force that the crystal tumbler of whiskey topples over, amber liquid spilling across the mahogany surface and dripping onto the floor.
"Where are you?" My voice is deep, like a predator's tone before the kill.
"We're heading back to the house now."
"Hurry up," I say and hang up.
I pace my office. My heart pounds like a war drum in my chest, but my mind is terrifyingly clear. Someone touched what's mine. My family. Someone tried to take them from me.
I reach into the bottom drawer of my desk, pull out my gun, and slide it into my shoulder holster. The way it presses against my ribs instantly turns me into the god of war I'm named after.
A high, piercing sound from my phone cuts through the silence—the all-hands alert that Chris activated.
My security feeds cycle automatically, showing me my men moving rapidly.
Some take defensive positions at the front entrance, others fortify the perimeter.
The gate is being locked down, additional guards posted.
The door to my office flies open. Theo stands in the doorway, eyes wild with fury.
"What the fuck happened?" he demands.
I meet his gaze, the ice in my veins turning my voice into something unrecognizable.
"They tried to kill my wife and our baby sister."
Theo's face darkens, a flush of rage takes over his face. "Who?" he asks, his tone carrying the promise of violence.
"Don't know yet." I reach for another gun in my desk and hand it to him. "But we're going to find out."
He takes the weapon. "Casualties?"
"Johnny's dead." I pull on my suit jacket, adjusting it over the holster. "Katerina was grazed."
At the mention of Katerina's injury, something shifts in my chest—a crack in the ice, a flare of something beyond rage. Fear. I push it down.
Fear is weakness.
"How bad?" Theo asks, reading me too well.
"Chris says it's just a graze." I turn away, not wanting him to see what's in my eyes. "They'll be here soon."
Theo moves to the bar cart against the wall, pouring himself a drink. His hands are steady, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. "You think this is retaliation for what happened at the docks?"
"Perhaps." I check my watch and think about the note on our dad, the one only I and now Katerina know about. The sons follow the father.
Maybe that extends to Calli, too.
"Or it's connected to Father. Either way, blood answers blood."
"Always," Theo agrees, downing his whiskey in one swallow.
My phone pings with a text from Chris, and I read it carefully.
"They're here," I say to Theo.
We move through the house toward the front entrance. The staff have made themselves scarce, sensing the danger in the air.
Alex, my head of security, meets us at the door, his face stern. "We've doubled security and patrols, boss. No one gets within a mile of this place without us knowing."
I nod my approval. "Call Dimitri. Have him take the lead. I want every camera feed from the restaurant and surrounding areas. Find me those fucking cars."
"Already working on it," Alex says and turns to leave.
I walk out onto the front steps, Theo at my side, as the black SUV pulls up to the house. I don't even wait for Chris to turn off the car before I'm ripping the back car door open.
I see Calli first, her face pale, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. There's a small cut on her cheek, and her hands are trembling slightly. Despite this, she holds her chin high, every inch our father's daughter.
"I'm fine. I'm fine," she says, stepping out. "Your wife saved me. Help her," she says and hugs Theo.
I run to the other side of the car and open the door. We lock eyes, and my world breaks and comes back together all at once.
"Katerina!" I say and help her out of the car, my chest constricting almost painfully when I see it.
Blood.
It's all over her white dress.
Too much blood for just a graze, I think.
Her face is composed, but I can see a hint of shock in her eyes, the slight tremble in her jaw that she's fighting to stay strong.
I don't speak anymore. I can't. The crimson color has stolen my voice, my reason. Something primal takes over. She's in my arms before I realize I've moved, crushed against my chest where nothing can touch her.
Where she belongs.
Her body is stiff at first, resisting the sudden contact. Then, like ice melting, she softens against me. Her face presses into my shoulder, and I feel her exhale a shuddering breath that breaks something inside me.
"You're okay," I murmur, my voice low. "I've got you. You're safe now."
Her fingers grip my jacket, digging in like she's afraid I'll disappear. I look down and see it again.
Her blood.
I can't stop seeing it. Spilled by someone who doesn't value life—because I'm going to take it from them.
The rage builds inside me, a living thing with teeth and claws that tears at my insides, demanding release. It starts as a burning coal in my stomach, then spreads through my veins like Greek fire—unstoppable, all-consuming.
I hold Katerina with one arm, keeping her pressed against me, while my eyes find Chris over her shoulder. He stands by the car, alert and waiting. I want to ask him what happened, the full details, but I know I'll get it in time.
For now, my rage just wants a voice.
"I want the fucking head of whoever did this," I command, and I'm not exaggerating.
Chris nods once, sharply.
You go after my wife and sister, the two most important women in my life, a literal head is what I'm after now.
Katerina shivers against me. Whether from pain, shock, or my words, I don't know. Don't care. She's alive. That's all that matters.
"Let me see," I say, gentler now as I ease her back just enough to examine her wound. My fingers carefully peel back the makeshift bandage of tissues. The bullet grazed her upper arm, leaving a raw, bleeding trail in her flesh.
"It needs to be cleaned," I say, keeping my voice controlled despite the storm raging inside me. "Let's get you inside."
She nods, her face pale but composed. There's no hysteria, no tears—just a calmness to her. She's stronger than I gave her credit for.
The house is in lockdown mode—extra guards at every entrance, men with assault rifles patrolling the perimeter. Fear and danger are heavy in the air, but here, in the circle of my arms, Katerina is untouchable.
"Does she need a doctor?" Theo says, appearing in the front hallway. His eyes flick to Katerina's bloodied arm, then back to my face.
"No, I'll tend to her myself," I reply.
As we ascend the grand staircase, I feel Katerina lean more heavily against me. I tighten my grip on her waist.
"Almost there," I mutter against her hair.
In our bedroom, I guide her to sit on the loveseat.
"Stay here, let me get a first aid kit," I say and walk into the bathroom.
I walk out and I see her staring down at her outfit.
"I liked this dress and now it's ruined," she says, sounding almost conversational.
I laugh. "I'll buy you a hundred more," I say, setting the first aid box down and opening it.
Her eyes look over the contents of the box and then at me. There's a bit of vulnerability filling them.
"Could you..." she hesitates, then continues, "could you help me change? I don't want to look at the blood anymore."
"Of course," I say, my voice rough. "Let me get you something to wear."
I walk into her closet, selecting a loose button-up shirt that won't irritate her wound. When I return, she's trying to stand, wincing slightly.
"Don't," I command, then relax my voice. "Let me."
My fingers find the zipper at the back of her dress, and I ease it down slowly. The sound it makes is louder than usual—a reminder we're both quiet. I carefully slide it off her shoulders and help her step out of it.
She's standing in her bra and underwear. I try not to look at her in that way, but I can't avoid it. My eyes rake over her beautiful body. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to hide her burn, even though I've told her not to.
I force my attention back to her wound. It looks worse against her bare skin—angry and red against her perfect olive complexion. Dried blood has tracked down her arm in small streams. I clench my jaw, holding back the rage.
I slide on the shirt but keep it draped over her left arm so I can clean the wound.
I sit her down and walk quickly into the bathroom to wet a cloth. I gently clean the blood from her skin. Her eyes never leave my face, studying me as I notice she does more recently.
"You're angry," she states simply.
"Yes."
"Because I was hurt?"
I look up, meeting her gaze directly. "Because someone dared to try to take you from me."
The possessiveness in my voice can't be hidden, and I don't try.
She raises her uninjured hand and places it against my cheek. Her palm is warm. The contact jolts through me like lightning.
"I'm still here," she says in a low voice.
With three simple words, she brings attention to the hole in the armor I've built around myself since my father's death. She makes me realize in that moment, that if she wasn't, then I don't know if I'd want to be, either.
It's a deep feeling that's too overwhelming to comprehend right now. I need to give her all my attention.
I finish cleaning the area and gently wrap a bandage around it. "Is that too tight?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "No. It actually feels okay," she says, moving it slightly.
I smile. "I added some numbing gel. I'll add more later if it bothers you again," I say and brush some strands of hair out of her face.
I look down at her exposed shoulder, the button-down shirt still hanging low. My eyes wander a little lower to the top of her breasts—her skin looks so smooth.
I look away, trying to contain myself. I'm torn between anger, revenge, and the burning desire to take my wife right here and now, but after what she's been through...
Her hand reaches out and grabs my chin and brings my eyes back to her.
She looks at me for a moment, biting her lip.
She then leans in and kisses me with such passion I tense.
Her tongue slides into my mouth and the primal needs I've been trying so desperately to keep locked in a cage come bursting out.