Chapter 5 Calli
CALLI
The hot water cascades over my body as I wash away the sweat and the lingering eyes of Niko. It doesn't work. I can still feel exactly where his eyes wandered, where his fingers traced over my wraps.
I close my eyes under the spray, trying to pretend like this is just a normal night.
That the man waiting in my living room isn't Niko Petrou.
That I didn't just agree to go out with someone my brothers would gladly put a bullet through.
To be fair, that would probably go for any man trying to take me out.
It's small, but I notice it. My brain is starting to give him a pass. Must be the groundwork of Keira's words to me on FaceTime.
I step out, steam curling around my legs, and towel off quickly. I pull on the only dress I brought, the one I packed thinking I'd have a girls' night out with Keira, maybe a few drinks and dancing, nothing serious.
Now it feels like a mistake. Or maybe fate.
It's black, long-sleeved, hits mid-thigh. It hugs every curve without showing too much. Paired with one of my red-bottom heels I only packed because Keira said I'd regret it if I didn't.
I grab my makeup bag and start applying foundation, concealer, blending everything carefully. My hands aren't as steady as they usually are.
My hair's not doing exactly what I want, but I'm starting to feel bad making him wait. Not that I should, but I hate to make people wait on me.
Screw it. This is the best it's getting on short notice.
I swipe on some mascara, a deep wine-red lipstick, and spritz a little perfume on my neck.
"Just a drink," I whisper to myself, remembering Keira's words from earlier. "You don't have to have sex. Just a drink."
I give myself a once-over in the mirror, turn away to grab my clutch, and walk toward the bedroom door. My hand pauses on the knob.
Last chance to back out.
Last chance to be sensible, Calli.
I twist the knob and step out.
He's sitting on the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, typing something into his phone. He looks relaxed.
At the sound of my heels on the floor, he stops immediately. His fingers freeze mid-message, and he looks up.
He slides the phone into his pocket without even glancing at it again. He stands slowly, his full attention shifting to me.
Interesting. Most men I know do that "let me finish" nod before speaking with me.
His gaze is like a physical touch, moving from my face to my dress, down my legs, and back up again.
"Wow," he says. "You're stunning."
"Thanks," I reply, struggling to keep the warmth from his reaction down. "You look nice as well. And since you didn't tell me where we're going, I figured I'd match you."
He smiles and walks closer to me. "You think I look nice?"
"Well, I..." I stop and clear my throat. "Yes, but don't let it get to your head or anything."
He looks at me for a moment. "It's a surprise," he says, "where we're going. And you're dressed perfectly for it. Actually," he pauses and looks me up and down again. "Maybe too perfect."
I laugh and cover my face. "Okay. I've already agreed to the drink. You don't need to smooth-talk me."
"Are you always uncomfortable with compliments?" he says, looking down at me. "The way your neck gets slightly red when I say them. I like it."
"What? No. I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe it's hot in here. Are we ready?"
He pauses for a moment, and I get a little nervous he'll poke at one of my flaws.
"Okay, orea mou. Let's go."
I glance up at him, raising my eyebrow. Of course he would say my beautiful after I brush off his question.
He's just trying to get under my skin, so I don't respond. I just walk toward the door.
He steps in front of me, opening it and waiting for me to walk out first.
The night air hits me, and I take in a deep breath as I lock the door.
The rain has stopped, but everything glistens. The gravel path sparkles under the moonlight, and for a moment, it almost doesn't feel real. Like I've stepped into some fairy tale that's about to go horribly wrong or impossibly right.
Niko opens the passenger door of his sleek black car. Not just opens, but waits. Doesn't gesture to hurry. Just allows me to be.
He walks around and gets behind the wheel. We pull away from the cottage and reality settles in.
This is happening.
"So," I say, looking around. "You're really not going to tell me where we're going?"
He glances over, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. "Where would the fun in that be?"
I narrow my eyes. "I agreed to a drink, not an abduction."
He smiles. "Would I really go to the trouble of flying across the world just to kidnap you?"
"You flew across the world for a drink. So yes. It's not off the table."
He laughs. "Fair enough. I promise I'll return you to your little cottage when we're done."
We drive in silence for a while, but it's not uncomfortable. I notice the way the fields stretch endlessly in every direction, stone fences reflecting the headlights from the rainwater.
I look up and see the night sky blanketed with stars. Out in the countryside here, there's tons of them.
"You never see stars like this in Chicago," I say. "City lights drown them out."
He glances up. "The stars are always there. We just rarely get to see them properly."
"Yes. They're so pretty."
I feel him watching me instead of the stars now.
"You deserve to always see pretty things, Calli." His voice is soft now.
I scoff lightly. "I'll keep that in mind."
The car turns onto a smaller road, and ahead of us I see a small airstrip, a single hangar, and one sleek private jet sitting on the tarmac like it's been waiting just for us.
"What is that?" I ask, surprised.
"A private plane."
I turn to him. "No, I know that. Is it yours?"
"Of course," he says simply.
Niko parks and turns to face me.
"Dublin is a short flight," he says. "And there's a place there I want to take you."
I shake my head, amazed. "Are you serious?"
"Yes," he says and opens his door. "While I didn't travel across the world to kidnap you, I did do it with the intention of taking you to the best place this country has to offer."
He climbs out and comes around to open my door.
The moment my heel hits the tarmac, I realize I'm about to get on a plane with a man I think I kind of know from years before. And not only am I not stopping him, I'm kind of excited.
It's just a drink, Calli. Just a drink.
Niko guides me up the steps, placing a hand on the small of my back. It lingers just long enough to leave a trail of heat through the fabric of my dress.
The interior is all cream leather and polished wood. A flight attendant greets us with a smile.
The seats are plush, oversized chairs, and instead of taking one across from me, he sits right beside me. The proximity is intriguing. His cologne subtly fills my senses, his thigh inches from mine.
"Champagne?" he offers, nodding to the attendant who promptly brings two flutes.
"This is, um... a lot," I say, accepting the glass. "For just a drink."
"Really?" he asks, studying my face. "Do you not think you're worth it?"
"No," I say. "Not that, but it's just—"
"You're worth a lot more than this, Calli," he says and taps my glass with his. "But you'll have to settle for what I've got planned."
I open my mouth to respond, but the engines kick on and I look away. I'm kind of relieved because I didn't even know what the hell I was going to say.
The takeoff is smooth, and before I know it, we're up in the sky.
The flight is short, barely enough time to finish our champagne. But each minute stretches with tension. Each accidental brush of our hands, graze of his knee, each shared glance over the rim of our glasses builds something dangerous between us.
When we land, another car is waiting. This one a black Bentley with a driver. Niko ushers me inside, and we drive through Dublin's streets.
The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet street. A stone facade glowing with warm light. Inside, it's all soft lighting and hushed conversations. The ma?tre d' greets Niko by name, ushering us to a secluded table by a window overlooking a small courtyard.
Niko holds my chair as I sit, and then he takes his seat. Two candles flicker between us.
I look around and I'm struck by how carefully Niko orchestrates this. Every move, every detail, planned.
"You've done this before," I say, leaning forward.
He lifts a brow. "What?"
"Impressing women."
"No. I've never met one worth impressing before," he says and leans in. "How am I doing?"
My cheeks flush, and I hate how easily he seems to be able to do that to me.
I glance at the menu. "You know, I only agreed to one drink," I remind him.
"You did." He nods. "Then only order a drink," he counters. "But you'll miss one of the best meals of your life."
I look at him. "You're very good at persuasion."
"I'm good at offering what someone secretly wants," he replies, eyes locked on mine. "The rest is their choice."
It's hard to argue with that when the waiter appears and pours us glasses of something that smells like flowers and fire.
We toast silently.
I take a sip and moan before I can stop myself. "God, that's good. I need a bottle of this."
He watches me like he's just won something.
Now that we're here, I feel myself relaxing a bit. Not 100%, but I feel myself returning to normal around him.
"So…" I say, needing to talk. "I will admit, once I saw you at my father's thing, I've been thinking of my younger days running around Greece in the summer. The last I remember, you were falling on your face trying to learn to windsurf."
He laughs. "Yes. Unfortunately, I remember that too."
"Did you stick with it?"
"I did. I'm pretty good now."
"Is that so?" I ask, taking a sip of the most delicious wine I've ever had.
"Yes. I'll teach you next time you're in Greece."
The waiter comes and Niko orders the chef's recommendations. "How can you not eat what a Michelin star chef recommends?" he said, and I couldn't find a fault in his thinking.
"And you? What do you enjoy?" he asks once the waiter leaves.
"No." I smile behind my glass. "I want to learn more about you."
His eyes narrow and he nods. "Okay. What else?"
"When you're not windsurfing or flying around the world to take women out for drinks, what do you do for fun?"
He pauses and thinks. It's interesting that I can tell he's not used to talking about himself much. What he likes. I like to think I'm pretty good at reading people, and that's what I'm picking up anyhow.
"I love cooking," he admits, surprising me. "It's meditative."
"Really? That's great. I can't cook to save my life," I confess. "My brothers banned me from the kitchen after I tried serving them burnt dinner."
He laughs. A genuine sound that softens his face completely. "What's your favorite meal?"
I don't even have to think. "Pastitsio. My grandmother's recipe. It's total comfort food."
Something flickers in his eyes. "I make the best pastitsio."
I laugh. "Of course you do."
"I'm serious. I'll make it for you."
"You're confident."
"Because mine will ruin all others for you."
"Oh, is that so?"
He nods, deadly serious. "You'll never want anyone else's again."
I shake my head, smiling. "So confident."
The food arrives and each dish is more exquisite than the last, flavors exploding on my tongue.
The rest of dinner blurs in the best way, like being tipsy on connection instead of wine.
We talk about food, books, childhood, travel, the conversation flowing easier than I expected.
We argue over the best islands in Greece and whether baklava is overrated.
He listens with the kind of attention that makes your skin warm under your clothes.
And he smiles like every word I say adds something to his world.
And of course, we carefully dance around the edges of what we both know are dangerous topics.
As the evening winds down, I realize I've enjoyed myself more than I have in years. There's a freedom in being away from Chicago, away from my brothers' watchful eyes. A freedom in being with someone who sees me not as the Kastaris mafia princess, but as a woman.
By the time we finish dessert, it's late, but there's a part of me that doesn't care.
"We should go," he says. "I think they're closing."
I use the restroom while Niko pays, and we walk outside.
The drive back to the plane is filled with this bubbly excitement in meeting someone new yet familiar.
When we board the plane again and ascend into the sky, he leans back in his seat and watches me.
"You surprised me tonight," he says.
"How?"
"You came. Didn't run."
I glance out the window.
"I thought about it," I admit. "A lot."
"Why didn't you?"
I look at him. Really look. "Because something about you makes it almost impossible. I'm too intrigued."
He doesn't respond.
He just stares at me like I'm the only thing holding his world upright.
When we land, it's almost midnight again, and before I know it we're standing outside the cottage door.
"Thank you for a nice evening," I say. "Regardless of how it's unfolded, I did have a nice time."
Niko doesn't move. He just looks into my eyes.
"When can I see you again?" he asks, his voice low.
I look at him. "Again?"
"You think this is the end of it?"
I laugh. "I don't even know what this is."
"Then I'll help you figure it out. See me again."
I look up at him and know what I should say.
I should say never. I should end this now. Tell him one and done.
But Keira's words ring in my head, you're allowed to want something. Especially when no one else chose it for you.
So I don't.
Instead, I blurt out, "Tomorrow."
His smile is slow, satisfied. We both know what this means, that I'm allowing something to begin. Something that could destroy us both.
"Then I'll see you tomorrow, orea mou."
And I let him walk away with that. With a tomorrow I never should have offered, but already want.