Chapter 35 Katerina
KATERINA
Istep out of the car and walk up the few steps into the private jet. Once I'm inside, I see an empty chair beside Ares and two open ones across the aisle from him. I opt for one of the seats across the aisle.
I settle into the leather chair. He doesn't acknowledge me. His eyes remain fixed on his laptop screen, headphones firmly in place. Fine by me. I'm not exactly in the mood for small talk either.
It's barely dawn. The sky outside the window is that murky blue-gray that makes everything feel strange. The jet engines roar to life as they power up, the sound vibrating through my seat.
My throat still aches when I swallow. I want to hate him for that, for crossing a line I never thought he would. But emotions aren't that simple, are they? Especially not when it comes to Ares.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He's still pretending I don't exist.
A stewardess with too-white teeth and huge breasts approaches, smiles, and asks if I want anything to drink before takeoff. I request water. My voice sounds rough, like I've been screaming for hours. Maybe I have.
Ares doesn't move his headphones. Doesn't look up from his screen. His fingers tap away at the keyboard like he's writing the most important business email of his life rather than sitting just feet away from me, his wife, the woman he claimed meant a lot more than what I ended up being.
The woman returns with my water, and I thank her. The jet lurches forward, taxiing toward the runway. Chicago will soon disappear behind us, the city where I started to feel alive again, where I began to believe that this marriage might be more than a business arrangement.
What a fucking joke.
As we wait to take off, I'm startled by his question.
"Did you make the call?" Ares asks suddenly, removing his headphones. His voice is dry, all business and devoid of emotion.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"When will I meet him?"
I turn to face him, meeting those cold eyes that had once looked at me with such heat. "He'll be meeting us. The evening after we arrive. It was his only available time."
"Where?"
"At my uncle Stavros's vineyard."
Ares raises an eyebrow. "At Stavros Petrou's vineyard?"
"Yes. It's private, secluded. No chance of being overheard." I take a sip of water. "And on safe, neutral grounds."
Even Ares knows that neither would have been okay meeting on their own territory. I can see in his eyes he doesn't like it, but he doesn't have a choice.
"He didn't ask questions?"
"Of course he did," I reply, but not the ones he really wants to know. "He asked how I was adjusting to married life. He asked how Chicago was treating me. He asked if I was happy."
Something flashes in Ares's eyes. Irritation, perhaps, or jealousy. "And what did you tell him?"
"I lied." I hold his gaze. "I said I was adjusting well. That Chicago was beautiful. That I was happy."
The words hang between us, sharp enough to draw blood.
Ares's jaw clenches tighter, but his expression remains neutral.
The jet's engines roar, and we start racing down the runway. I grip the armrests tightly. I've never liked takeoffs.
Ares falters for a moment. "You can move next to me if you're scared," he says suddenly, voice still emotionless.
I almost laugh at his absurdity. Almost.
"I'd rather fall out of the sky," I reply with a fake smile and breathe my way through the takeoff.
Ares doesn't respond, just replaces his headphones and returns to his work.
I look out the window, watching clouds swallow us whole.
My body is exhausted, but my mind refuses to rest. I've barely slept since our fight.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face—enraged one moment, then empty and cold the next.
I heard the sound of my hand hitting his face. Felt the sting on my palm and fingers.
We'd come so far. Somehow, against all odds, we'd created something real between us. Trust. Desire. Maybe even the beginnings of love.
And now? Now we're strangers again. No. Worse than strangers. We're adversaries with a shared goal but opposite beliefs.
Hours have passed now, and I've been trying to lose myself in this romance book. I figured a dark love story seems fitting for my current situation. Ares has been relatively quiet.
Theo came out of the back bedroom looking a bit hungover and talked to Ares about something he did at their little sex club. I forgot he was even coming on this trip.
Then about three or so hours ago, he took a meeting with Enzo and Gio Bonventi to go over some shipments coming in. I tried not to listen because I don't care.
Obviously, I still do have something there, because little miss bleached-white teeth and perfect boobs has been looking at Ares, and it's bothering me, something I'm not used to.
Just as I'm about to finish a chapter and call her over to order some food, the plane jolts suddenly.
My head snaps up, book tumbling from my hands. My fingers instantly clamp around the armrests. The aircraft dips, then steadies, but my heart keeps hammering.
I fucking hate turbulence.
Another jolt. My stomach drops as the plane levels out again.
I glance around, searching for any sign that this is normal. Instead, I catch Ares watching me. His eyes haven't left my face. The turbulence doesn't seem to bother him at all. He sits there like he's carved from stone, unmoved while I'm fighting the urge to vomit.
He removes his headphones, letting them rest around his neck.
"You're obviously scared so come sit next to me," he says, still lacking any emotion.
I straighten up, even as the plane shudders again.
"I'd rather sit on the pilot's lap then look for comfort next to you," I reply, my voice shaking briefly when another patch of rough air hits us.
Ares pauses. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, calculating his next move like we're pieces on that chessboard he tried teaching me to play.
"If you even think of doing that, I will choke him with my bare hands and figure out how to fly this damn plane myself," he finally says.
"Oh, great so you'll give him the same treatment you gave your wife yesterday?" The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and honest.
We lock eyes and despite the turbulence, neither of us looks away.
Ares's jaw tightens. His eyes flicker briefly to my throat, and for a split second, I see regret.
Good.
"That was..." he says and pauses. "If you're trying to punish me for it, it's working," he finishes, and for once, the almighty Don Kastaris sounds uncertain.
I lean forward slightly. "I'm not. I just don't forget."
The plane dips again, and I clutch the armrests tighter, hating the fact that I'm so scared right now.
"Move over here," he says, not quite a command, not quite a request.
"Why?" I challenge him, even as another wave of turbulence makes the plane shudder.
"Because you're terrified, and I can help." His eyes soften slightly. "And because I hate seeing you afraid."
"You didn't seem to mind when you were the one causing it," I shoot back, anger flaring hot in my chest.
He flinches.
"Katerina." My name on his lips is different now.
Another violent shake of the plane decides for me. To my surprise, Ares unbuckles himself, crosses the narrow aisle, and takes the open seat next to me.
He buckles himself in.
I stare straight ahead, not wanting to look at him. "This changes nothing."
"I know," he says. His hand rests on the armrest between us, palm up. An invitation. I ignore it.
The plane steadies for a moment, and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"Do you want to know what I'm most angry about?" I ask quietly, still not looking at him.
He doesn't respond, but I feel his attention focused entirely on me.
"It's not that you grabbed me. It's that you did it because I disagreed with you." I turn to face him now, meeting those piercing eyes I was once lost in. "The moment I had a different opinion, the moment I challenged you, you reverted to force."
Ares's expression darkens. "That's not what happened."
"Isn't it? You didn't like that I was defending George, so you decided to remind me who's in charge. Who has the power."
"I grabbed you because I was angry—"
"And that makes it better?" I interrupt, voice rising.
"No. It doesn't. Nothing makes it better."
His admission catches me off guard. I expected defiance, justification, hell -even brushing it off. Not this raw acknowledgment.
"Then why did you do it?" I whisper back.
The plane shakes again, and this time, without thinking, I reach for his hand. He intertwines our fingers immediately, his grip firm and steady.
"Because I thought you were choosing him over me," Ares admits. "And I lost control."
I scoff.
"I wasn't choosing him over you," I say. "I was choosing the truth over blind revenge."
"That," he says, loosening his grip on my hand. "You think I don't know the truth? You think my brothers failed?"
I shake my head. "No, but mistakes happen. Uncertainty can and will exist in life, Ares. What if—"
"And if you're wrong about him?" he asks, not letting me finish. "If he really did order the hit on my father?"
The mere suggestion makes my stomach turn. It's almost unthinkable.
"Then I'll be the first to admit I was wrong," I say firmly. "And I won't stop or get in the way of whatever it is you need to do."
He nods, unsure what to say. After a few minutes, the turbulence is gone, and he goes to undo his seatbelt.
"And what about us?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "What happens to us after this?"
"What do you want to happen, Katerina? It all depends on you."
"On me?" I pull back slightly, anger flaring again. "You're the one who thinks I'm betraying you, that you've made a mistake, and whatever else you fucking said."
"I know," he says. "What do you want?"
"For starters, an apology for hurting me."
He looks away, jaw tight. "I wasn't thinking clearly."
"That's not an apology."
"No," he agrees. "It's not."
We sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the jet engines filling the space between us.
"I've never apologized to anyone in my life," Ares says suddenly.
"That's not something to brag about, Ares."
He shakes his head in agreement.
"I'm sorry, Katerina." His eyes meet mine, and for once, I see that all his walls are down. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
As I process the words, I start to feel sad. Even though I thought this is exactly what I wanted, now that I've gotten it, I realize it doesn't help. It doesn't change things.
"I don't know if I can forgive you yet," I admit.
"Then I guess I'll have to earn it."
He stands, and as he crosses me to head back to his seat, I stop him.
"You can start with a promise to never do that again. Last chance I'll ever give you, because if you ever put your hands on me like that again, I'll destroy everything you love to the ground. Starting with you."
His eyes narrow in on me, "I'd expect nothing less."
As he sits back in his seat, I lean over the aisle. "Oh, and if you do anything and you're wrong about all this, I'll never forgive you."
I lean back in my seat, feeling both drained and somehow lighter. Nothing is fixed between us—far from it. But at least now we're on the same page about some things again, even if it's one made up of caution and conditional trust.
A short time later, the captain announces we'll be landing in Kalamata soon. My past coming to meet my present. It's a strange feeling, but not as strange as the overall thought I can't shake:
I don't know who I'm more afraid of - George Zervas, or the man sitting across from me.