Chapter 24
KATERINA
Ilay in bed staring at the ceiling. I check my phone.
I sit up. "This is fucking crazy," I say to the empty room.
I toss the covers off and stand, sliding my feet into warm slippers.
Four days ago, Ares came to me and told me he'd taken care of the people responsible for the shooting. Calli and I were relieved, and knowing how this world works, I didn't ask details. I know all too well what it meant.
But since then, he's shifted. He's been holed up in his office, and I don't think he's slept in the last 48—hell, maybe even 72—hours.
The best way I can process it in my mind is he's fully surrounded by his own fire, hiding his own scars from the world.
I walk down to his office and open the door. I don't knock.
His office is illuminated by the harsh glow of computer screens and monitors. Documents are spread across his desk. Images of people and places—ones I recognize from Kalamata.
He hasn't seen me yet. His back is to the door, shoulders rigid as granite beneath his black T-shirt. There's an energy vibrating off him—something dangerous and unhinged.
"You're not eating?" I say, stepping past a plate of food Emma prepared hours ago.
Ares doesn't turn. "Hunger helps me stay focused."
I walk toward his desk and see a dozen screenshots of black SUVs. License plate numbers circled in red. Faces of men I don't recognize marked with Xs through them.
"Can it help you sleep? It's three in the morning," I say, my voice too loud in the silent room.
I move behind him, close enough to feel the heat of his body but not touching.
On his screen, I see the restaurant where Calli and I had been having lunch, just before everything erupted into chaos.
My stomach tightens at the memory—the glass shattering, the spray of bullets, Johnny's body hitting the floor.
"Come on. You need rest. Come sleep with me," I say. "I miss you."
The last words come out a bit too vulnerable for me, but I stand by them.
He turns to look at me and rubs my face.
"I'll sleep when I get to the bottom of all this." His voice is flat, emotionless. Not the voice of the man who held me through the night after taking my virginity, whispering promises against my skin.
He then goes back to his train of thought. "It always comes back to that fucking family."
I reach out, hesitating before placing my hand on his shoulder. The muscle beneath my palm is wound tight as a steel cable, ready to snap. "Maybe taking a break from all this will help clear your head?"
He shakes his head. "I don't need a break, Katerina. I need answers."
Okay, I think to myself. Maybe I can help him talk through it.
"So what family does everything come back to?"
"A rival family," he says and doesn't give me much else.
"And why would they target Calli and me?" I ask.
Ares laughs, but it's not his usual laugh. "Because you're my family. Because if they hurt what's mine, they think I'll break." He turns suddenly, and I take a step back, startled by the motion. "They're wrong. I don't break. I burn everything to the fucking ground to protect all of you."
"Ares, you're scaring me," I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
He turns, and for just a moment, I glimpse the Ares I know—the man who held me through my nightmares, who kissed my scars like they were precious things. But that Ares vanishes almost instantly, replaced by something colder.
"You should be scared. Not of me. Never of me. But of what's out there."
"I'm not afraid of what's out there," I say. "I'm afraid of what this is doing to you."
He realizes something and approaches me, rubbing my cheek with his fingertips.
"Look, if I rest, I miss something. If I miss something, someone dies.
I think about you, my sister, my brothers," he says and leans into me.
"The note. What if it's not just sons following their father—it's his children, Calli, or maybe even my wife—you.
No, I can't let that happen. And Theo's been digging into something, too," he adds, almost to himself. "Something doesn't sit right."
I can't help but stare at him, this man who is my husband—this stranger who killed for me without hesitation, who took me to bed with equal fervor just days ago. Now he stands before me, obsessed with vengeance, with control, and I feel him slipping away.
"I understand you're worried," I say, grabbing his hand and placing a gentle kiss on it. "But not sleeping, not eating, and locking yourself in here won't make or break my protection, Ares. You'll just drive yourself into the ground."
He scoffs, unsure of what to say.
I feel it then—the crack in him widening. His obsession. And obsession is something I understand all too well. I lived with it after the fire: the need to make sense of senseless tragedy, to force order onto chaos. I know the path he's walking because I walked it for years.
He leans in and gives me a kiss. "Go back to bed," he says. "I'll join you for breakfast when you get up, okay?"
I don't move. "No."
His eyes narrow. "What?"
"I said no." I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm not going to lie alone in that big bed while you destroy yourself down here."
"Katerina—"
"I lost my entire family to fire," I cut him off. "I tried to save my family and failed." My voice breaks, but I continue. "And when it was over, I spent years tormenting myself with 'what ifs' and 'if onlys.' I obsessed over every detail, every decision. I blamed myself."
Ares stares at me, motionless.
"And you know what? It didn't bring them back. It didn't change anything. It just ate me alive until there was nothing left but obsession that made me emotionless."
"This is different," he says, looking at me.
"Is it?" I step closer. "Look at yourself, Ares. You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You're pouring over these screens until your eyes are bloody. This isn't strategy. This is punishment."
His hands clench at his sides. "You think I don't know the difference?"
"I think right now, you don't." I reach for his hand again, and this time he lets me take it. His skin is cold. "I think you're drowning in guilt over your father's death, the note, what happened to Calli and me—and now you're terrified of losing anyone else."
The muscle in his jaw ticks. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" I tug his hand, pulling him toward the door. "When the restaurant was attacked, when that bullet grazed my arm—you know what I was really thinking about?"
He doesn't answer, but his eyes never leave mine.
"I thought about how I couldn't save my family. How I failed them. And I was terrified it would happen again with Calli." I swallow hard. "So I know exactly what I'm talking about, Ares. I know what it feels like to be consumed by the fear of failing the people you love."
Something shifts in his eyes—a recognition, maybe even a surrender.
"I couldn't save him either," he says so quietly I almost miss it. "My father. I should have been there and I don't know how to let it go."
"I know," I tell him, and I do. I understand the weight of that guilt better than most.
I hug him tightly.
He kisses the top of my head. "If something happened to you…"
"Nothing's going to happen to me," I say firmly. "Or Calli. Or your brothers. Because you'll take care of it—we'll take care of it. You say we're a family. Well, family looks out for one another—it's not one person doing all the work."
His shoulders slump slightly, the first sign of exhaustion breaking through his armor. "But—"
"No." I squeeze him tighter. "No more 'what ifs.' Not tonight." I release him and start walking toward the door, holding his hand tightly. "Tonight, you need to rest."
For a long moment, I think he'll refuse. But then something changes in his expression—a softening around his eyes.
"Fine," he says, the word coming out gruff. "But just for a few hours."
I lead him from the office, up the stairs, back to our bedroom. He moves like a man in a trance, letting me guide him. When we reach the bed, he sits on the edge, looking lost in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Take off your shoes," I tell him, and he does.
I help him out of his shirt, my fingers brushing against his skin. Even in his exhausted state, I feel him respond to my touch, his muscles tensing, then relaxing. I push him gently back onto the bed, and he goes willingly.
"I can't sleep," he says, staring up at the ceiling. "Every time I close my eyes, I see—"
"I know," I say, lying down beside him, curling my body against his. "I know what you see."
He closes his eyes and I feel his body giving into his exhaustion, the burden he's been carrying since his father's death. Since my arrival. Since the attack.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest.
"I can't lose you," he whispers. "Not when I've just found you."
The words stir something deep inside me, a warmth only he's been able to ignite in me.
"You won't lose me," I promise him. "I'm right here."
His grip tightens, almost painfully, then gradually relaxes. Within minutes, he's asleep, his body heavy against mine.
I stare at the ceiling, listening to his breathing, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my ribs.
I think about the cracks I've seen in him tonight—the fears that drive him, the guilt that haunts him. I recognize them because they're mine too. The fear of failing those we love. The guilt of surviving when others didn't. The desperate need for control in a world that offers none.
We're more alike than I ever wanted to admit. Both scarred by our own fire, both trying to build something from the ashes.
I gently kiss his chest, feeling a strange protectiveness wash over me.
In this moment, I'm not just his wife by arrangement or his partner in survival.
I am the guardian of his rest, the keeper of his vulnerability.
It's a role I never expected to take, especially with a man like Ares Kastaris, but one only I can fulfill.
But as I hold him close, I realize that perhaps this is what real strength looks like—not the ability to destroy, but the courage to be broken and still hold someone else together.
And as I feel him sink deeper into slumber, I make a silent promise: I will not let his obsession consume him like my own once did me.
Even if that means that one day soon, I'll have to be the one who walks through his fire to bring him back.