Chapter 2
ATHENA
"You are your face. Your body. Nothing else matters."
I hear her voice even now, clear as crystal through the years.
"God blessed you with height, with beauty. With that waist, that chest, those eyes. You'll let all women down if you don't use it."
I stare into the mirror and see her ghost in my features. Same high cheekbones. Same full lips. Same eyes.
The mascara wand trembles in my hand. I steady it against the vanity edge, inhale, and try again.
I sweep the mascara across my lashes, watching them thicken to impossible length. I've been perfecting this routine since the first time my mother caught a man looking at me and decided it was time for lessons.
"Make them want you before they forget you, Athena. Be unforgettable or be discarded."
My mother's voice, not mine. Always hers. Even now, after she's gone.
The hotel lights overhead cast a soft glow on my skin. The red dress hugs every curve, sinfully. It's the kind of dress that makes promises I have no intention of keeping. A dress my mother would've adored.
I see her in my own reflection again.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Not tonight.
I sigh and lean back, closing my eyes.
It was late. A Wednesday.
The phone rang. Private number.
I almost didn't answer.
It was the manager of the building my mother lived in. His voice was brittle and cold.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Athena."
I remember how time seemed to stop when he said the words "passed away" instead of what he really meant: that my mother had swallowed enough pills to drop a horse.
I'd been in Florence. A small modeling job, nothing like her glory days, but it was something. I was trying. For her.
I close my eyes tighter, and I'm there again, standing in that tiny dressing room as the cell phone slipped from my fingers.
"Miss Lianou? Are you still there?"
I wasn't. I was running. Out of the studio, into a taxi, to the airport, back to Athens. Back to her. But of course, I was too late.
It's funny. When someone dies at a distance and you have to travel. You're up in the air, and you feel as if time's frozen. That maybe, just maybe, when you land and regain access to your phone, it will have been a mistake. Or maybe the call never came at all.
Instead, you're hit with the reality that they are gone. And your time up in the air was the closest you'll ever be to them again; hovering between life and loss, never able to land where they are.
When I finally got to her, she was still in her room. She'd put on makeup. The famous dress she wore on the cover of Athens Fashion Week Magazine. And taken every damn pill she had.
I sat in a chair by the bed, looking at her.
She looked peaceful, like she was sleeping.
A few weeks before that, I got another call.
The great Cosmo Kouris. Member of Parliament. Infrastructure Minister. The one who promised my mom the world and gave her nothing but secret hotel rooms and a daughter he barely acknowledged.
Murdered.
After the news, I ran to her, only to find her curled on the bathroom floor, the phone still clutched in her hand. Mascara rivers down her cheeks.
"He's gone," she said over and over.
And all I could think about was the fact that he never told anyone about us.
Twenty-five years she'd waited for him to leave his wife.
Twenty-five years of being the secret, the shadow.
Twenty-five years of raising me alone and teaching me that being beautiful was the only power we had. And in the end, it wasn't enough to save her.
I blink my eyes open and I'm back in the hotel room.
I reach for the matching red lipstick to put on.
There are two things I swore the day I buried my mother. First, that I wouldn't be a woman left behind. And second, that I would find out who killed Cosmo and take my revenge.
Not for me. I only saw my father a handful of times.
And not even for myself, but for her.
Which is why I'm here getting ready.
A few days after my mother's funeral, a man by the name of John G. called me.
"I have information about Cosmo Kouris."
I nearly hung up, but something in his tone stopped me.
"And why would I care about this person?" I had said, years of lying flowing out easily. "I don't know a Cosmo Kouris."
"You can cut the act. I know he was your father."
I couldn't respond.
"If not for him, perhaps you'd prefer justice for your mother. The woman did take her life because of what they did."
I still couldn't find the words.
"Think about it," he'd continued. "You have my number."
I stare at my reflection now, remembering how I'd called him back that same night, drunk on cheap wine.
"What do you want from me?" I'd asked.
"Your skills," he replied. "Your beauty. Your ability to make men do what you want."
"And what do I get?"
"The name of the person who killed your father, and the perfect chance to get him and watch him burn."
It had been so easy to say yes.
Because in my drunken state, all I could see was the look in her eyes the night she told me that Cosmo was the only man who ever made her feel alive, even though he never stayed.
Someone was going to pay.
If not the man who destroyed her, then the men who took him away.
I put the final touches on a face designed for seduction. For revenge.
Once done, I slip into my four-inch red-bottomed heels and grab my clutch.
Inside: lipstick, a vial, and a burner phone.
My tools for the night.
There's a knock at the door. I glance at the time, exactly when he said he'd be here.
John G.
I still don't know if that's his real name. I don't care.
I open the door. He stands there in a black suit, expressionless. Mid-forties, salt-and-pepper hair. Forgettable face.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod. "Let's go."
In the car, John G. drives in silence.
The city gives way to the countryside where old architecture mixes with new.
My heart beats steady.
"Run through it one more time," John says as we near our destination.
"Find Dimitri Kastaris. The youngest brother."
"And?"
"Get him alone. Dose his drink. Call your men to handle the rest."
"Good. And remember, he's dangerous. Don't underestimate him."
I scoff. "Men like him are all the same. They see tits and ass and their brains shut down."
"Not this one," John warns. "He's killed more men than you've broken hearts. One flicker of doubt and you won't leave this wedding alive."
"Sounds sexy." My voice drips sarcasm.
"This isn't a joke. If he suspects anything, you'll be dead."
"Do I look like I'm laughing?" I turn to face him fully. "I've spent my entire life learning how to handle self-proclaimed dangerous men. My mother died because of one. I know what I'm doing."
He studies my face for a beat.
"Change of plans." My voice is steady. "I'm going with them when they take him."
"What? That wasn't part of the deal."
"I'm changing it. You either let me come or turn around."
The car slows near the grand entrance.
"Fine. If you want to come when we take him, then come. But once you're in, you're in. You'll have to see it through. You ready for that?"
I yank my arm away.
"Don't worry about me. Just get us when I call."
I step out of the car, steadying myself on my heels. The gravel crunches beneath them.
"Remember," John calls as I walk away. "Look for the tattoos. Neck, arms, hands. He'll be the one not smiling."
I don't look back. I know who I'm hunting. I've seen his damn picture.
The guard at the entrance barely glances at my invitation. A perfect forgery. His eyes are too busy following the line of my dress.
Inside, the wedding reception is in full swing.
Champagne flows. Music plays. Beautiful people dance and laugh, unaware of what's coming.
I scan the crowd, looking for my target.
And then I see him.
Standing at the bar.
Tall, broad-shouldered, scowling at the world.
Tattoos creeping up his neck from beneath his collar, covering his hands as he holds a drink.
Dimitri Kastaris.
He's much hotter in person. A shame what I'll have to do to him. But it won't stop me.
A flicker of doubt claws at my gut. I bury it deep.
I take a breath, tilt my head, and let my smile spread across my lips. The one I've practiced a thousand times in the mirror.
"Make them want you," my mother whispers in my head. "Before they forget you."
The countdown to his death begins now.