Chapter 4
CALLI
What the actual hell just happened?
One minute I'm drinking wine and laughing with a flirty bartender, and the next, I'm getting driven home by a mafia heir with eyes like midnight and the audacity to just show up.
I push away from the door, leaving wet footprints on the wooden floor as I head toward the bedroom. My hands are shaking as I peel off my outfit. I change into an oversized sweater and leggings.
I walk back out into the living room. The fire is dead, but I don't feel cold. I don't know what to feel.
The only thing I know for sure is that my brothers would kill him if they knew he was here. They'd kill me too, probably.
Looking at the clock, it's just after midnight. So evening in Boston.
Keira should answer. I need to talk to someone, someone who won't judge me or lecture me.
I grab my phone from my purse and dial her on FaceTime, curling up on the couch as I wait for her to answer.
She answers on the third ring, green eyes and red hair filling the screen as she adjusts her camera. "What are you doing up? You do realize it's late there, right?"
"Wow, you look amazing," I say automatically.
"Thank you," she says as she continues to get ready.
"Where are you going?"
"Dinner with a guy who thinks I care about his yacht." She winks. "Also, I'm keeping this," she says and lifts up my Hermès bag I forgot to bring.
"That's fine. I told you it's great with your skin tone anyway."
"So, is everything okay?"
"He came," I blurt out.
Keira pauses, mascara wand halfway to her eye. "Who came?"
I swallow. "Niko. Niko Petrou."
"Wait. That guy from your dad's thing?"
"Yes," I say. "That Niko."
She smiles. "Ohhh, so you did text him."
"No! I mean, I thought about it. A lot. But I hadn't yet. I went to that pub you told me about up the road, just to get out of my head, and he... he just showed up."
Keira's jaw drops as she leans closer to the camera. "No. Fucking. Way."
"Yeah."
She grabs some wine and takes a sip. "Okay, I don't know if I'd be extremely turned on or mildly terrified."
"I know!" I groan, pressing the heel of my palm into my forehead.
"Okay, so what happened when he showed up? I need details, Calli. All of them."
"He just appeared. Took my wine like he owned it, drove me home because it started pouring, said cryptic shit the whole time like, 'I don't wait long for what I want,' and—"
"And?"
"And nothing. He dropped me off. But Keira, it was intense. The way he looked at me. Like he could see right through me."
Keira fans herself with her hand. "I mean, damn."
"Keira!"
She laughs. "Okay, so he tracked you down without being invited. That's either incredibly romantic or deeply concerning." She tilts her head. "Which way are you leaning?"
I sigh. "I don't know. My brain's still stuck on 'WTF is happening.' Both? Neither?" I shrug. "I should be furious. I should tell him to go to hell."
"But you're not going to, are you?"
I stare at her. Unable to answer.
She smiles. "Okay, if it were me, and you know it could be me, I'd at least get that drink with him. You don't have to sleep with him. But I mean, he flew across the damn world. That's some high-tier attention."
"I just. If my brothers found out—"
"Calli," she cuts me off gently. "You've spent your whole life following rules. Being the perfect little sister. When's the last time you did something just because you wanted to? Not because it was safe or smart or would make your brothers happy?"
I stay silent.
"You're allowed to want something. Someone. Especially when they're not chosen for you," she continues.
"I don't know, Keira."
"I mean it," she says. "Live a little. Flirt. You're in Ireland, not Chicago. No one's watching. No one cares." She shrugs. "Just think about it. Sleep on it. If he gets weird, I'll come early and kill him. I got you, girl."
I laugh despite myself. "I know you do."
"That's better. Now, I've gotta finish getting ready and you should get some sleep. Call me tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay. Love you," I say.
"Love you more," she says.
We end the call, and I sit there for a moment, staring at the wall. Keira's voice in my thoughts, and Niko's eyes fighting for dominance in my mind.
I crawl into bed and lay there.
Sleep doesn't come easy.
And when it does, I dream of things I shouldn't.
When morning comes, I'm no closer to a decision than I was last night.
The next evening arrives slowly.
I've spent all day doing exactly what I shouldn't—thinking about him.
Why he came.
What he wants.
What I want.
Keira's words of encouragement are there the whole time.
I decide to turn to what I've been doing lately to clear my head. I need to move. To sweat. To exorcise him from my system. Time to hit something.
I walk to the bedroom and fumble through my suitcase. I grab my black sports bra and matching high-waisted leggings and change into them. I tie my hair in a high ponytail and wrap my hands tight with my wraps.
I grab my gloves and head to the back of the house, to the small gym that used to be a storage room. It's nothing fancy, just a heavy bag, some weights, and basic equipment, but it'll do.
I slip on my gloves and roll my neck, feeling the tension there. I then face the bag, feet planted, body centered, raise my fist, and begin.
Jab. Cross. Hook.
My fists connect with satisfying thuds. Each impact sends a jolt up my arm.
It's cold, but the adrenaline warms me fast.
I throw another jab. I shift. Kick.
Breathe.
I continue throwing punches and kicks at the bag, imagining it's my own weakness. My own ridiculous attraction.
You don't need a dangerous distraction.
Kick. Jab. Elbow.
You shouldn’t want to see him.
Cross. Duck. Uppercut.
My brothers would kill me.
I grit my teeth and drive a knee into the bag, twisting hard.
Shift.
Elbow. Cross. Jab. Kick.
Breathe. Knee.
Jab. Jab. Cross.
But the tension won't leave my chest.
It won't leave my head either.
I go back to the party, him watching me across that room. His fingers brushing mine when he handed me that damn napkin.
I punch harder. My muscles burn.
Duck. Weave. Kick.
I lose myself in the rhythm.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Kick. Repeat.
My ponytail whips around with each movement. Beads of sweat run down my chest. I'm not thinking about proper form anymore. I'm just moving, trying to escape the restlessness in my head.
I don't hear the knock at first. It blends with the pounding of my fists against the leather bag. But then it comes again, louder. I freeze mid-punch, my heart suddenly in my throat, breathing heavily.
I pull my right glove off with my teeth, tossing it aside, then pull off the left. My top is soaked through. Strands of hair have escaped my ponytail, sticking to my neck and shoulders.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, the wrap rough on my skin.
I walk to the cottage door barefoot. My skin is damp, and I can feel beads of sweat running down my temples. My heart is hammering in my chest as I unlock the door and pull it open.
He's there again.
Niko Petrou. Standing on my doorstep.
I stop breathing.
He's dressed all in black again. Tailored three-piece suit with a coat that's gathered rain on the shoulders. His hair slightly damp from the weather. One hand holds a closed umbrella, the other in his pocket.
He says nothing at first. Just looks at me. His dark eyes drop slowly from my flushed face down to my sports bra, lingering on the exposed skin, before moving to my stomach, hips, and then back up again.
When his gaze returns to mine, it's darkened.
"I knocked twice," he says.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.
"What—" I step back instinctively. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you I wouldn't wait long." He tilts his head slightly. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
I should say no. I should close the door on this terrible idea, but Keira's voice floods my thoughts and instead, I step back, making room for him to enter.
With a confidence that's both infuriating and magnetic, he steps forward and walks past me into the cottage.
He pauses to survey the room casually and then looks back at me.
"You should shut the door. The rain's getting in," he says.
I look down. Dammit, he's right.
I hesitate for a moment, but I don't feel like ruining Keira's family's wooden floors.
I do, and as I lock it, I'm suddenly, acutely aware of how I look—sweaty, disheveled, exposed.
I look down at my wrapped hands.
"You train here?" he asks.
"I train wherever I need to," I say, not moving.
He turns to face me, his eyes studying me like I'm a puzzle he's already solved but still wants to take apart.
Silence stretches between us, the kind where you know something's going to happen, but you don't know what.
He steps closer.
"You look different out here," he says, voice still soft. "Without the fake smiles and expensive outfits."
"And you look the same," I shoot back, crossing my arms. "Though a little wetter."
That earns me a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
He then approaches and reaches out, not touching, just hovering over my hand.
"May I?"
I don't know what I'm agreeing to. But I nod.
He takes my hand in his.
His thumb drags slowly along the inside of my wrist, over the damp wrap, like he's reading something etched beneath it.
Then he lets go.
The heat of it lingers.
"You know what you're doing. Who taught you to wrap like that?"
"I have a trainer."
"I see," he says. "I take it your brothers want you to be able to protect yourself? Ironic they would never let you do it yourself."
"It's for me, actually. Not them."
He nods and looks at me.
"Well. Time to do something else for yourself," he says, looking down at me. "While I don't mind you like this in the slightest, you should get changed. We're going out."
My eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"
"You're not hiding in here. I came this far." His eyes hold mine. "You owe me one drink."
I lift my chin. "I don't owe you anything."
"No?" He raises an eyebrow. "Not even curiosity? Not even the chance to see what happens when Calli Kastaris does something just because she wants to and not because her brothers allow it?"
Something shifts inside me. A recklessness. A desire to break free, even if just for a moment.
My heart pounds against my ribs, a warning and an urging at once. This is dangerous. This is wrong. This is exactly what I've been told never to do.
But part of me, the part that punches bags until my knuckles ache, the part that dreams of a life beyond the boundaries my family has set, that part wants this. Wants to see what would happen if I said yes to something that's entirely mine.
I draw in a deep breath. "Fine," I say finally. "Wait here."